Dionne
The smell of eggs reached me before I was fully awake.
I lay in the narrow bed and listened to the soft clatter of a pan, the low sound of Callum humming something tuneless and slightly off-key and for a moment, I felt completely at peace.
I hadn't felt that in a long time. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like in a body. This wasn't like the absence of immediate danger which I had learned to mistake for peace, like back at the hospital. This was the actual thing. Such stillness felt foreign.
Callum knocked twice on the bedroom door with his knuckle and pushed it open with his foot, a plate in each hand and a mug balanced against his forearm.
"Before you say anything," he said, "I know the eggs look wrong."
"They look fine."
"They're a little brown on the bottom."
"Callum…"
"I'm just saying, manage your expectations."
