Fyn and Kalish tiredly returned from their shopping trip a few hours later, loaded with bags. As usual, Kalish hadn't been able to decide on a single thing, which was the main reason for him dragging Fyn along anyway. The journalist had excellent taste when it came to other people's clothes, so it was his job to make the decisions. Kalish had also persuaded him to buy something as well: a nicely-cut three-piece suit in a shade of green that matched Fyn's eyes. It actually didn't make him look like a choir boy like suits usually did, so he had decided to get it.

Kalish let Fyn out of the car in front of his apartment building. "And don't you dare to start a romance with that photographer of yours and not tell me!" Before Fyn could reply, Kalish just grinned and drove off.

Sighing, the journalist went up to his apartment. As soon as he opened the door, a wonderful, spicy smell wafted up his nose. Fyn put down his shopping bags and went into the kitchen to find the source of that delicious scent. There, he was greeted with quite a sight: Eondar bustled around amidst various pans and pots, wearing Fyn's pink kitchen apron. It was a silly thing, all ruffles and bows, a joke-gift from Kalish for one of Fyn's birthdays.

"Welcome back," the photographer greeted him with a slight smile. "You're right on time. Ocathian fruit chicken will be ready in a minute."

"Uh, nice. I'll... set the table." Fyn grabbed some dishes from the cupboard and fled the kitchen. As hilarious as someone like Eondar in a pink apron was... for a split second Fyn had felt like he was in some strange parallel universe where his bond mate waited for him with dinner when he came home. The lifebearer shook his head in confusion. What was he thinking? This was a temporary arrangement, and Eondar was just paying him back a little by cooking. So what?

A few moments later, Eondar emerged from the kitchen. Thankfully, he had taken off the silly apron. "I hope you like it," he said as he put down a bowl of rice and a big pan. It was filled with pieces of chicken, vegetables, fruit, and a sauce that was the source of the amazing smell.

"I love Ocathian food," Fyn answered. "Sadly, there are no restaurants in the city who serve really good Ocathian food. I had a chance to try the buffet when the Ocathian ambassador was in town. The man had the good sense to bring his own cook with him. But this smells even better."

Eondar's smile broadened.

The food was indeed great. The lifebearer ate as much as he could and then even a little bit more until he felt like a stuffed chicken himself. He and his new room-mate cleaned up the kitchen together and then decided to call it a night since both were exhausted for various reasons.

Sometime during the night, Fyn woke up. The chicken had been rather spicy, and he got up to get himself a glass of water. He was about to return to his bedroom when a sound from Eondar's room drew his attention. Fyn hesitated for a moment, but then he gently knocked on the door. "Eondar, are you okay?"

There was another noise, one sounding like someone in pain. Fyn just opened the door and peeked in. "Eondar?"

With a gasp, the sire sat up straight, staring into the twilight of the room. His eyes were wide in the dark, the slit pupils so dilated that they seemed to be round, just like a cat's at night.

"I'm sorry, it sounded like you were having a nightmare again, " Fyn whispered. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Eondar took a few deep breaths and smoothed his mussed hair back from his forehead. "No, it's okay. I'm the one who has to apologize for the noise."

"I was awake anyway." Fyn hovered at the door, unsure what to do. "So... you wanna talk about it? Maybe it'll help."

"I don't know," the sire answered softly. "I won't be getting back to sleep anytime soon. But you should get your rest."

"Nonsense." Fyn waved the objection aside. "I'll make us hot milk with cinnamon," he declared. "That's something I can do without burning it, by the way. You open the window and get yourself some fresh air."

A few minutes later, the journalist returned with two steaming mugs. Eondar stood at the open window, the mild summer breeze playing with the curtains. Fyn hadn't seen it before, but Eondar was only wearing a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. The night lights of the city reflected on his toned, smooth chest that glittered with perspiration.

Fyn caught himself staring and cleared his throat. Forests, he was one frustrated, pathetic lashran. That poor man was going through the gods only knew what, and he had nothing better to do than ogle him!

"Hey, here's your milk," he said. "And you might want to put on a shirt. The night air's warm, but if you catch a cold... sorry, I didn't mean to sound like a concerned parent," Fyn added when he noticed how silly he sounded.

"No, you're right." The sire grabbed a t-shirt from the shelf and pulled it on before he took the mug from Fyn. "I'm used to a far warmer climate."

They both drank a few sips and then sat down on Eondar's bed. Fyn kept himself from prying again; the photographer had to do this on his own.

"I've been having bad dreams for years," Eondar finally told him. "First, they were about my fiancé, after the accident. Later, after I'd seen some terrible things out there in the world, it was about them: starving children, victims of civil wars... and in all these dreams the most horrible thing was me being totally helpless. All I ever did was watch." He paused. "I don't know why this scares me. It's my job to watch."

"You're doing far more than that," Fyn reminded him. "You bring those grievances to the attention of those who can really make a difference. You couldn't ease everybody's suffering on your own even if you tried."

"Yes, I know. I never said that those dreams make sense. Anyway, after my... colleague's death it got even worse. I was getting just two or three hours of sleep each night. That's when I decided to quit and return home. The nightmares stopped, strangely enough, almost immediately."

"Then maybe it really does have something to do with your job, like your therapist says," Fyn mused. "Perhaps you need more time? I won't find a photographer as good as you anytime soon, but your health should be the priority here."

Eondar shook his head. "It's not that. I did some odd job photo shoots before I started to work at the "Valkyrie Times", and I had no nightmares afterwards."

"Then it has to be my coffee," the lifebearer joked lamely, but regretted it immediately. "Sorry, this isn't funny. I wish I could help you somehow."

"Maybe i really do need more time," Eondar answered and took another sip of his milk. "But you don't have to look after me every night."

Fyn smiled. "Why not? I'm a light sleeper anyway. And I know from experience that talking about it, some cinnamon-flavoured milk, and fresh air do wonders."

Eondar just looked at him. As usual, he never asked, just waited for Fyn to continue.

"I had some nasty nightmares as a kid," the lifebearer admitted. "I can't really remember if there was an actual reason for it, just the fear itself. My dad always came to comfort me. He made me tell him the dream to get it out of my head, then we let it out of the window. After that, I drank my milk. Dad always said that it was a special medicine against nightmares." Fyn smiled at the memory. "I know now that it's just a good psychological trick, but it surely worked on me as a kid."

"Then maybe it's going to help me as well," Eondar said, emptying his cup. "Thanks, Fyn."

"No problem." The journalist also drank his last few sips of milk. "Give me your mug; I'll bring them back to the kitchen." He took the empty mug from Eondar and was about to stand up, but since the sleeper sofa was far lower than a normal bed or a chair, he needed a bit more momentum. Hence, Fyn's right leg decided to buckle at that precise moment, and with an undignified yelp, Fyn crashed back on the bed - right on top of Eondar.

"Sorry!" Fyn had somehow managed to keep hold of the mugs, but those prevented him from pushing himself back up again. Eondar, however, caught him around the waist and gently pushed him into a sitting position, right between his legs. No concerned comment, no offer to help came, and for a few moments, Fyn simply enjoyed the warm hands around his waist and the broad chest against his back. He usually wasn't fond of getting help without having asked for it, but it was different with Eondar. The sire only intervened when Fyn clearly couldn't manage on his own or was about to hurt himself.

And instead of helping Fyn any further, Eondar simply took the mugs from him to give the lifebearer better leverage to stand up. As soon as Fyn was firmly back on his feet, the photographer handed him the mugs without a comment. "Thanks," Fyn mumbled, glad for the semi-darkness of the room. Forests, he was blushing again! "Good night."

He felt Eondar's gaze follow him out of the room.

To be continued...