A Question on Love

Chapter Five: Confrontations

When Keyuri woke, she found herself alone in Francisco's bedroom, soft sheets underneath her. The bed she had lain in was large, maroon comforter, cream colored walls around her. A cherry wood dresser sat across from the bed, a flat-screen television atop and half the room filled with boxes, some opened and others still closed. Lifting herself, she found she was still fully dressed, clothes wrinkled, and she patted out of the room quietly, just in case Francisco was still asleep.

Indeed, she found him snoring softly on his couch, one leg off the side as he had the same blanket she had used the night previous covering the upper half of his tall form. It was admittedly kind of cute, his black hair ruffled and a thoughtful wrinkle between his eyebrows. It felt nice to not be alone. With that in mind, Keyuri decided to make breakfast, strolling into his kitchen. Rifling through Francisco's well-stocked fridge, she found eggs and milk and decided on pancakes and scrambled eggs (she did not eat pork, much like her late adoptive father). As she searched the rest of the cupboards, she easily discovered that there was no utensil or ingredient missing for her current task or a host of other ideas she might have had for breakfast.

The first pancakes sizzled on the griddle when Keyuri heard motion (and a yawn) from the living room. Francisco emerged moments after, wearing nothing but yesterday's slacks, the top button undone. At the merest glance, Keyuri blushed heavily at the sight--Francisco was not some potbellied academic, but a man who obviously attended regularly to his health and appearance. Noticing the flush in her cheeks, Francisco smiled warmly and rested his hip against the kitchen counter.

"Morning, cara mea. I hope you slept well."

"It was... fine, I guess." The hum under her chest slowed at the thought of last night. She flipped a pancake unceremoniously, a sigh escaping her lips.

Noticing the shift, Francisco leaned into her vision, his eyes searching her face.

"Don't worry about yesterday too much, Keyuri. You're here and away from that idiot. How about you take a shower and I finish making breakfast? Pancakes and eggs, yes?"

"I don't have any clothes," she replied softly, the sinking feeling in her chest deepening. "I left everything at my father's house."

"Just borrow one of my shirts and I have a pair of sweatpants that you can pull up. Then, once your done with classes today, we can..."

"I'm not going to class," she stated with finality, her lips pouting. "I don't want to run into either of them."

"Keyuri," Francisco sighed, like a parent doting on a child. Keyuri did feel rather like a child, sulking and going on like some lovelorn teenager. "You told me that you did not want to fall behind. Don't you think skipping class is counter to that?"

"Okay, okay. But I'm not going into the office. I'll call the office manager and tell her I can't come in today."

"I'm sure they'll live." He smiled again, warm and reassuring. Gracefully, he took her place, taking the spatula from her hand and ushering her gently from the stove. "Now, off you go. The shower is at the end of the hall from the bedroom. I'll put some clothes on the bed for you."

Keyuri watched him flip the pancake expertly, not once touching it with the spatula, before she resigned herself to follow his "orders." She made her way back up the stairs and down the hall, as he had instructed, and entered into a small-but-cozy bathroom with purple walls and modern fixtures. Taking stock, she found a spare towel (thankfully) in a tall cabinet and, shutting the door behind her, undressed unceremoniously. The bathtub was, in her estimation, probably half the size of the entire room and she relaxed in the automation of starting the shower.