When Lane woke up the next day, Damien was already long gone, his side of the bed cold. He had left even before dawn - he had work, after all, and didn't want to make a habit of neglecting his morning routine. He was strict on others, but even more so on himself.
There was a note left on the table for Lane, though. And a spare key. And breakfast for him in the fridge. Ready, 'just' waiting to be reheated…
But it seemed that Damien overestimated Lane's domestic capabilities. He could reheat food, of course… In a microwave. Which Damien's place lacked. There was only some ancient stove…
And Lane had never used a stove. Not that kind. Only the mana-powered types on dungeon raids, and even then, he rarely did anything besides supplying Mana.
Was it worth risking burning food made by Damien just to eat it warm? Lane didn't think so. He just plopped down by the table, and ate it all cold.
It was still good. Maybe not as great as the pancakes he got the last time, but good nonetheless.
