Dylan's POV
Breakfast with Ana has become something I look forward to.
Sitting across from me in one of my T-shirts, hair a mess, fork scraping the last eggs off her plate. What a glorious view to start my day with. Sipping my coffee, I pretend not to notice how easily she makes herself at home here. It is her home after all.
"I need to restock the pantry," I say casually. "Haven't really done a proper grocery run since you moved in." Her brows lift. "What were you living on before—air?"
I smirk. "Coffee. Maybe the occasional sandwich." That's a lie and she knows it but instead she rolls with it.
She sets down her fork, giving me a look that could cut glass. "You mean to tell me you survived on caffeine and bread? That's not even living, Dylan. That's… slow suicide."
I lean back in my chair. "Says the woman who's singlehandedly tripled my grocery bill in under a week."
Her jaw drops in mock offense. "Oh no, don't you dare blame me. I saw that pantry. You didn't even have salt. Salt, Dylan. That's basic human survival."
There was a lot more than salt in that pantry, she knows it and I know my kitchen feels it too when I'm at work.
Something in me loosens, and before I know it, I'm laughing. Not a chuckle, not a polite exhale, but a real laugh that shakes my chest. She blinks at me, surprised, then joins in, and suddenly the kitchen feels lighter than before.
We finish eating and clean up side by side. Her humming fills the silence, and I catch myself wanting to ask what song it is then clamp down on the impulse. This isn't… normal. None of this is normal. Soon enough we're done.
"I'm going to freshen up before heading out," I say, drying my hands. "Shouldn't be long."
She hesitates, then blurts, "Can I come with you?"
I pause. My instinct is to say no. It's faster alone. Easier. But she's looking at me with something like hope — and something else too, something that stirs the guilt I keep trying to bury. She shouldn't have to sit in this house like a guest, waiting for me. I can't tell her no.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "You can come."
Her smile is small but radiant. And somehow, I feel like I've already given her more than I intended.
The drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. She stares out the window, soaking in the world like she's been starved of it. I grip the wheel a little tighter, realizing how long she's been cooped up in that house.
We get to the store, I take charge. List in hand, I move aisle by aisle. Orderly. Efficient. That's how things should be.
Ana, of course, has other ideas.
She plucks a bag of chips off the shelf and tosses it into the cart. "Balance," she says when I glare.
"That's not balance. That's junk." I say like it's wasn't about to throw in some for myself.
She smirks throwing another bag. "Better than black coffee and air sandwiches." I shouldn't have made that joke, cause now I'm going to be the "black coffee and air sandwiches" Dylan.
I sigh, pushing the cart forward. "You're impossible."
"And you're boring." She darts ahead, grabs a box of cookies, and drops it in with a flourish.
I pick it up, ready to put it back then I catch the look on her face. She's daring me . I should… I should tell her no, that she should not have so much junk while still recovering. But instead… I leave it, she's already recovered after all.
She grins widely. "Thought so."
I can't stop noticing the way she walks as we move through the aisles. Her crutch is tapping less and her limp is still there but lighter. I want to say something about it, praise her progress but I fight the urge to say anything. She did tell me to stop hovering so I should just give her space.
The progress of her recovery does something to me I can't quite name. Pride or relief, maybe even both. One thing's for certain though, I have gotten used to having her around that the thought of her not being around feels heavy.
We get to an aisle where I notice she's staring at me a little too much. What is she thinking about? The way she's looking at me, its kind of mischievous and daring.
I look around to avoid her eyes, then I see it. We are in the women's aisle, with sanitary products and so many other women's products. She stands there like she's waiting for me to do something. "Well Dylan, choose."
"What I am to even choose here? I don't use any of these." I say, trying to sound annoyed than interested to where this exchange will lead to. "Not for you, silly." She says laughing. "For me."
"But Ana, I don't even know what you use, the brand, the size…"
"Oh so you do know that there are different sizes?" She says, cutting me off and I feel my face getting red as I try to escape the responsibility she has just thrown at me.
My mouth hangs open and she continues laughing. "This is not funny, Ana. And you laughing at me is not at all helping."
"Okay. I'm only picking today so you know for next time." She replies as she grabs boxes in wouldn't even have thought of then throwing them at me. "Know what?" I ask, wishing I could vanish from this conversation.
"Which brand and size I use." She says holding her fingers to show quotation marks when saying brand and size. I just nod along, looking at the box and reading the information that could have saved me from this conversation if I knew about it.
I push the cart fast out of the aisle and she follows behind me. We pick a few more things, well she picks a few more things while I just stand there waiting to move the cart.
By the time we reach the checkout, the cart is fuller than I planned. My list is complete, but Ana's snacks and sweets nestle on top like trophies.
On the drive back, she hums again, the same tune from the kitchen. I don't ask. I just let the sound fill the silence. Then it hit me. Ana spends a lot of time alone in the house, and she does most of the cooking alone.
I realize I should let her write her own list when we go out for groceries. It's only fair that the kitchen be filled with stuff she'd use.
We get back home and I carry every bag inside. She tries to help but I refuse every time she does. And when she tries to insist I give her a short boring lecture about people with crutches and heavy loads, and she backs out quick enough to dodge the full lesson.
Inside I let her take charge and place everything where she wants. Well, me carrying them to where she wants and her telling me where she wants them.
----
Ana's POV
Breakfast is supposed to be simple, almost quiet but Dylan has other ideas. He makes a joke about my appetite and I make one back.
It's not usual for him to be laughing so early in the morning. Except I guess today it is. I made a simple joke and now he is laughing, a real laugh. The sound startles me so much I almost forgot to breathe. It's not polished or polite; it's real, raw, almost rusty, like it's been years since he's laughed.
It makes me want to make him laugh again. And that's seems to be a problem lately. Wanting more. Makes me think that this fake amnesia thing will be worth it even when he finds out. Just hope he doesn't think I manipulated him into loving me when he does.
We finish eating then we clean up like it's the most natural thing. We act out these domestic moments together so perfectly, it's almost as if we've been doing them for years.
We finish cleaning up and he tells me he's going to freshen up then head out for groceries. I know I should let him do his thing alone but I really enjoy spending time with him and this grocery run is a good way to let that happen.
So, I swallow whatever pride I have, holding me back and just blurt out the question. "Can I come with you?" The question sounded hesitant. Not really scoring myself any confidence points right now.
He pauses for a minute too long, I can see he's debating whether to agree or not. I stand frozen waiting for something to happen. Then he says it. "Sure. You can come." I can tell, even he's surprised by his own words.
Exited, I go to freshen up as well. I feel like a child who got promised a trip to the park. It's just groceries, but I'm shaking with excitement. Guess I've been cooped up in here to a point where just leaving the house feels like an adventure.
We finally get out of the house and drive off. Silence settles between us, but it's not heavy. I can't help but smile staring at the world through the window. Watching the world blur outside the window gives me a sense of freedom I didn't even know I'd been yearning for.
The second we step inside the store I realize how different Dylan and I are. He moves like a man on a mission. He's got his list, holding it like a very important document. His jaw is tight and he's rolling the cart at a steady pace.
Then there's me. I practically bounce from shelf to shelf, like a kid who hasn't been let loose in months. Which, technically, I haven't. But today I match his pace.
To make this a bit fun I pluck a bag of chips off the shelf and toss it into the cart and when he glares at me I tell him that it's balance.
And of course it's not. It's a way to annoy him and get him to deviate from his strict routine. "That's not balance. That's junk." He says that like I didn't just see him planning to throw in some.
I smirk at him and throw in another bag. "Better than black coffee and air sandwiches." He's going to wish he never made that joke, cause I will use it every chance I get. He pushes the cart forward sighing. "You're impossible."
"And you're boring." I tell him as I grab a box of cookies and drop it into the cart. At this point I'm not even trying to annoy him. I'm simply just being myself.
He picks it up looking like he's ready to put it and I give him a "I dare you face," I'm waiting to see if he'll push back and say no. Thankfully, he doesn't. I grin widely as I tell him, "Thought so."
We get to the women's products aisle. I start looking at him and he doesn't seem to notice which aisle we're on. I can see he's purposely avoiding my eyes, then he sees it.
He's still looks confused. "Well Dylan, choose." I tell him, just to get a reaction out of him and it works. He's trying to make me think that he's annoyed but I know better. He's got that curious look on his face. "What I am to even choose here? I don't use any of these." His voice and facial expression are not working with each other. "Not for you, silly." I say laughing. "For me."
"But Ana I don't even know what you use, the brand, the size…"
"Oh so you do know that there are different sizes?" I say cutting him off and his face turns a shade of red. I almost didn't laugh, well almost.
As his mouth hangs open I try to bite back more laughter but the sight of him turning red because of something I said makes me laugh even more. "This is not funny, Ana. And you laughing at me is not at all helping."
"Okay. I'm only picking today so you know for next time." I tell him, as I grab a box from the shelf. "Know what?" He asks as he looks ready to vanish to from this moment.
"Which brand and size I use." I say, holding up my fingers to show quotation marks when saying brand and size. He nods while reading the information on the box. He seems to be taking notes.
He pushes the cart out of the aisle fast and I know it's not fast enough, and I follow behind. He wheels the cart to few more aisles and we pick up last few things.
When we get to the checkout point the cart is full, and his list is complete with a few snacks sitting on top as a symbol for a victorious grocery run.
We get to the car and drive back home and it's silent again. Still not heavy, certainly not after witnessing the shade of red his face turned back in the store.
We get home and he insists on carrying all the bags inside. Every time I try to help him he refuses and gives me lectures, I don't even try to listen to or at least pretend to care about. So I leave him be.
Inside I take full charge. I telling him what to put, where and how. He listens and doesn't argue, even when it's not how he'd organize his things. Another domestic moment I feel proud to exist in because such things never happened with Xander.
He just didn't care like Dylan, and right now that's okay because I don't have to worry about being his anymore. Dylan's all I got now and who I'm sticking with.