The scent of steeped tea fills the air, warm and calming, as Theo places a ceramic mug in front of me. I curl my fingers around it, letting the heat seep into my palms. Across the table, he's slicing apples and peeling an orange. I told him I wasn't hungry, but he's piling fruit on a plate anyway—small, quiet insistence in his movements.
Rainbow, ever intuitive, has climbed into Theo's lap and now purrs softly while being absentmindedly stroked. The sun outside is pale, but it falls in streaks across the floorboards, spilling gold into the quiet.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Theo asks. His voice is gentle, unintrusive. Just a question left on the table like a feather. I stare into the tea for a beat too long before I shake my head.
Instead, I point to the painting leaning against the wall. He follows my gaze, sets Rainbow down, and walks over to retrieve it. The cat promptly climbs onto me instead, curling up like a warm, breathing pillow.
