Wrote a small story between two OCs to help me sleep.
Cloud wakes up, groggy from the previous night. Waking up over and over again, every couple of hours, for no discernible reason. Its always been like this, for a multitude of years. He almost considers it normal, if he weren't painfully aware that most people get a good night's sleep easily. All eight hours in a row… wouldn't that be nice.
He blinks, eyes adjusted to the darkness, but not to his surroundings. Right. He spent the night at Demise's place. You'd think he'd get more used to it by now, but with the far too elegant couch, and classy sitting room, he could never feel like he truly belonged. He's only on borrowed time. It won't be long before Demise gets sick of him and decides to stop inviting him over.
Smells and sounds from the kitchen draw him away from falling back into his dreams. He assumes it would be some sort of private chef, before remembering that Demise said she wanted to try cooking for herself.
He rises from the couch, shamefully tugging back on his shirt and attempting to look at least a small bit presentable. He feels awful for getting his grease on the silk cushions. He doubts the smell will ever truly be washed out.
His eyes drift to the back door. It's possible he could sneak out, its not like she really expects him to stay. The invitation was only extended because he was too crossfaded to drive home last night. He has a pounding headache, but he's at least sober enough to drive now.
Before he has time to decide, the kitchen door swings open. He's equally relieved and terrified to be caught awake.
"Ah, good. I was worried you would sleep until the sun went down again." Her usually authoritative, and deep voice, was softened with an almost teasing nature.
Though her taunting completely jovial, Cloud couldn't help but still feel white hot shame melt through his fur. " 'm sorry." He mutters into his chest.
"Oh please, you could hardly do worse than my sister." She sat the steaming plate down on the coffee table. It looked delicious, yet Cloud felt too nauseous to even begin eating.
Demise sat casually beside him, sipping her black mug of coffee as she turned on some Spanish soap opera.
Cloud could only make out a few of the words, but he was at least glad he introduced her to them. She's really come into her own over the past couple of months.
He stared at the plate of food. It was all his favorites. Stuffed hashbrowns, country fried steak. Even a large glass of orange juice to pair it all together. Demise must have spent a while on this. He had a strong suspicion she made this all from scratch. Knowing her, she probably spent at least a couple hours on making it just right. Maybe if he stared at it long enough it would be in his stomach and the hunger and nausea would dissappear. Unfortunately, the food remained defiantly whole, and uneaten. And Cloud remained a terrible, ungrateful guest.
Demise must have noticed his tension, as she lowered the volume of her shows, and turned her attention to him.
"You dont have to eat it all. I'll pack up the rest of it for you to take home."
Hesitantly, Cloud picked up the silver fork and picked at the pepper gravy. Her yellow eyes felt like they were boring holes into him. Why can't he just be grateful and eat it?? What is wrong with him?!
Her paw gently rested on top of his white knuckles. Had he really been gripping the fork that hard?
"If you can't eat any of it, I can still save it for later." Such kindness and understanding in her words, how could she? When he had been such an awful friend?
He would be crying by now if he remembered how. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me—"
"You're hung over? You drank quite a bit last night, and—"
"I shouldn't have, I'm sorry—"
"Don't interrupt me." Her authoritative tone returned, it was almost a comfort. He felt like he deserved it. "What I mean to say, is that it's fine if you can't eat it. Grease is good for overcoming a hangover, but it's useless if you can't keep it down. We can start with water and salted crackers, or, if that fails, you could always throw up at we try again later."
Cloud shuddered, "I don't wanna throw up…"
"What if it makes you feel better?"
"What if it makes me feel worse?" Her eyes are on him again. He ducks his head, like a child expecting to be hit. "Sorry.."
She sighs, she must be sick of him at this point. Refusing help, being stubborn and useless. "Let's start with some water and crackers." She takes his plate and returns to the kitchen.
He tries to focus on the foreign soap opera in front of him, but it's hardly enough to keep him from spiraling. Why is he always like this? Why must he be so evilly pathetic? Going to her place last night was a mistake, he always makes things about him. He doesn't deserve the attention. She never should have met him. Maybe, he never should have existed at all—
"Catch." Is all the warning he gets before a plastic pack of Saltines pelts him in the muzzle. "Don't take all she says to heart, not all hyenas are payasos." Her muzzle scrunches in thought for a moment. "Nevermind, you can be pretty foolish sometimes."
"Huh?" It takes him a moment to realize she's talking about the show. "Ah, yeah. I guess I am a bit of a payeso."
"Pay-a-so, dear." She pulls over a coaster with her claw, and places an icecold glass of water in front of him. He wouldn't be surprised if the glass was pure crystal. Another thing he shouldn't put his clumsy hands on, lest he break another expensive item.
Still, he can't help but idly rub his finger around the rim. Sure enough, it begins to sing a crystal clear note.
"About… last night…" he starts.
"Forget it. You've got better things to do this morning than mope about 'could have beens' and 'shouldn't haves'. Now drink your goddammn water."
"Pff, yes ma'am." He feels silly, being scolded for trying to be a good guest. But part of him knows she's right. No point worrying about that right now.
He takes a sip, only to realize the water isn't even plain. She's put lime juice inside. Did she remember him complaining about a lemon wedge being the only thing people ever add to spruce up some water? That was more than a couple weeks ago, and yet she still remembered his suggestion to add lime instead. He always did like the flavor of lime more than lemon.
The water indeed was making him feel better, his headache already beginning to ease off. His stomach still wasn't too happy, but it certainly wasn't getting any worse.
He glances over at Demise again. Her focus now trained on the crossword in the newspaper. The soap opera becoming all but background noise. She pauses over one of the longer words, taking a sip from her coffee before committing pen to paper. Her letters are slightly more rushed than usual, pen threatening to tear the thin paper if she presses any harder. She usually is quite meticulous into making sure her lettering is uniform, the only reason she would have neglected that is if she…
"Demise, have you eaten today?"
She pauses in the middle of writing an E. Leaving the letter looking more like a hastily scrawled F. "What kind of animal do you think I am?" She asks, indignant.
"A neglectful one, just like me." Cloud digs a cracker from its plastic sleeve, munching on his own, before offering one to Demise.
She looks hesitantly towards the saltine, as if taking it would be admitting weakness. But Cloud keeps his eyes free of judgement. If she is going to insist on caring for him, he is allowed to return the favor. It's the least he can do to pay her back for all she's done.
"Oh hush. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." She snatches the cracker and devours it in an instant, before returning to finish her crossword.
That makes him feel a little better about staying here. If he can provide at least a small service, perhaps his presence isn't useless after all.
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