14. French Toast

Facing the door, my gut bended out of shape again. Taking slow even breaths, I took the spare key from my bra - an underrated place for safe keeping - and shoved it inside the deadbolt.

The musty smell of the cabin made my nose recoil. The living room was big and obscure, and I found it almost impossible to find the light switch. Fumbling around the wall, beside the disabled alarm, I felt the small light-switch and my panic was short-lived. With the flick of my finger, the foyer was illumined by a warm glow. When I looked up at the crystal ball above me, it left a ghostly little black dot over my pupil. The light fixture had a very antique aspect – much like the rest of the house - It was pretty, with brass seashells decorating the base and frosted flowers printed across the glass.

Dust particles danced over my head, but everything around me looked clean, shiny and dust-free. The carpet was silver color and vacuumed until soft. The wooden stairs to the second floor were mopped and spotless. Even the small vintage console table to my left had been wiped down. The golden leaf designs on the mirror, was gleaming under the light, and my reflection was so clear, it could concuss a bird.

Leah had informed me that the place was visited by a cleaning lady every week. Because of me, that cleaning lady would no longer be required. I felt bad that she lost this job. I'm sure Leah's mother paid her well. But no one was allowed to know that Greyson and I were living here.

No one, except Leah who convinced her mother she was the one living here for a while.

I knew the Agency would eventually find me. With the technology we had these days, it wasn't very difficult to find someone in hiding. But I needed to hold them at a distance for as long as I could. At least until I found another hide out. Or until I could leave the country all together.

Opening the blinds, I spotted Greyson outside. He was sitting on the dusty gravel in a cross-legged position. The wind had picked up, but instead of shivering, Greyson closed his eyes and turned his face to it, giving me a better view of his tranquil expression. The moon appeared from the few swab of clouds gliding across the sky. It draped a soft blue light over Greyson's features, like oils paint melting over the lines of his cheeks, his long nose and cupid's bow. He looked content. Serene. And his suit danced like a freedom flag against his arms and chest. It warmed my heart to finally see him unleashed, and no longer forced into captivity.

I leaned my temple on the window frame and observed him for a spell. At this time, I don't think anything could have bothered him. Not even me, even if I tried. Not even the bite of autumn chill that quivered my bones just a moment ago, seemed to wipe the content tilt of his mouth.

This is exactly what he had been waiting for all these years. He had finally achieved what he once thought was impossible. Steeling my spine, I felt pride for having played such a big part in making his dream come true.

Once I had familiarised myself with the house, I turned on the furnace, and began to settle in. Every time I stepped out of the door, Greyson would cast his attention to me. Surveying me, as I heaved bags from my car all the way to the big white house. He seemed unsure, and all together confused when I left him again and again outside on his own. He wasn't used to people letting him do as he pleased. No one had ever allowed him a choice, and he didn't seem to know how to make one, at least without feeling anxious about it.

The floorboards of the front porch creaked under my feet. I had just heaved all our bags up to the second level, placing a bag of men clothes - shirts and pants that Percy donated because he never wore them – in the guest room upstairs, and placing my own bag in Leah's mother's room. Both rooms were homely and comfortable, but the guest room had a wall full of books, so I thought Greyson might enjoy that one more. Back at the Agency, books seemed to have been a way for him to escape the world around him. I wanted to make sure he still had the means to escape flee reality whenever he wished.

"Greyson, are you hungry?" I asked, leaning over the wooden railing.

My voice echoed against the mountains, and that seized both mine and Greyson's attention. It forced me to notice the stars again, though now that the lights inside the house were turned on, it made them seem less spectacular than they had been a moment ago.

A coyote answered before Greyson could. Their screams rang like sirens, deep inside the forest. Their shrieks were high pitched and long, and came from various directions. It was as if my voice had set them off, and now they were alerting each other of my and Greyson's presence, while also warning us to keep our distance from them.

I had to smile at the way Greyson jolted back, unsure how to react to the peculiar choir of howls.

"Another reason why you shouldn't venture in there," I noted, alluding back to our previous conversation. I chuckled when he glanced back at me looking more like an owl than ever before. "They are called coyotes. They kind of sound terrifying, but don't worry they're nothing to worry over. We are safe as long as we stay here." He didn't seem convinced. I stifled a laugh. "Are you hungry?"

His gaze dropped, but he didn't answer.

I could tell the idea of going inside troubled him. Maybe he thought it would be another prison, hidden behind a different appearance.

Folding my arms across my chest, and hating the way the fabric of the hazard suit rubbed against my skin, I gave him a reassuring smile. "You know, most people love going home. This," I pointed at the door behind me, "is what a home looks like, and it's nothing like the Agency. It's meant to be a shelter. A place to relax. It's not a prison. You can move around freely in there, and you can leave anytime you want. You'll be able to come outside again. I promise."

His eyes lit up.

A wind came to ruffle my hair and I shivered. "Come on in." I waved him on. "I'm planning to make French toast." I crinkled my nose at our matching outfit. "And, it's about time we get out of these awful suits. Don't you agree?" I nodded towards the door. "Come on." Then I thought better of it, and added: "If you're ready."

This was it. His first real decision, I thought. He was allowed to refuse or accept, and I was going to respect his decision. Even though I should really encourage him to eat something.

Fortunately, he gave me one modest nod.

A yes. I smiled brightly. "Great. Then, come on in!"

Turning with a tinge of pride glowing somewhere deep inside of me, I entered into the now warm house. I left the door ajar, and climbed out of the white plastic hazmat suit. Satisfaction engulfed me as I shoved the stupid thing in the corner, by the coat closet.

The door groaned opened as Greyson stepped inside. Gazing over my shoulder, I watched as his frame was barely able to fit under the head jamb of the door. God, he was tall. I hoped the structure of the house wasn't going to be too much of an inconvenience for him.

"Welcome home," I said with opened arms.

He came to a halt, as his eyes focused on me.

"What?" I looked down at my outfit. I had decided to wear something casual today considering I was going to be spending hours on the road. The plan was to take off the hazmat suit earlier, but I saw no point in it since it was dark out, and cold. It ended up replacing my coat which I had, unfortunately, left behind in Everett's office earlier that evening. I stopped once to get gas for my car, but even then, the hazmat suit wasn't a concern. The road was deserted, and no one was inside the gas station to notice my strange outfit. Underneath that suit, I was wearing a simple long sleeve sweater, and some jeans. Nothing to deserve such a awed reaction from Greyson. "What is it?" I asked again.

"Nothing. You just look..." He seemed unsure of his next word: "Different."

"Oh." I laughed. "Is that a good different, or a bad different?"

A sweet frown appeared on his brow. He scanned me, over my knitted crew neck, down my blue high waisted Levis, all the way to my colorful socks. My cheeks unexpectedly flared under his stare.

His frown deepened.

"Well?" I asked, my chest feeling like a shaken pop can, about to explode.

"Good different." His gaze jumped up and fixed on mine. "I like that you don't remind me of them."

"Them?" Now, it was my turn to frown. His head cocked to the side. "Oh, you mean the Agents?" His eyes dimmed. Gotcha. "Yeah, well, I hardly walk around in a pants suit, high heels and a long white coat, when I'm home."

He just blinked as if what I said had never crossed his mind.

I scoffed, I pointed at his white hazmat cover atop his orange inmate jumpsuit. "And you shouldn't be wearing that when you're at home either." With the stairs facing the door, it wasn't long before I was leading him up the stairs towards his new wardrobe. "Come with me, I'll show you your room."

"No, thank you."

I stumbled to a stop.

Staying rooted in his spot, he looked like he was about to be sick. "I don't want one." This sentence, however plain, came out of his mouth like acid.

At first, I was stunned. But after some careful reflection, a light switch clicked in my head, and I recognised the reaction as fear. "It's not that kind of room, I assured you," I told him. It seemed to ease the lines forming between his brows. "Trust me, I wouldn't put you back inside a cage, not after all the trouble I've gone through to get you out of one."

"Okay," he decided, sounding more comfortable. "Show me, then."

"It's up here."

Crossing the long hall to his room, I pushed the door opened and waited for him to follow me inside. His eyes darted between every nook and cranny. First, he noticed the books, and his face seemed to perk up. I knew he would like them. Then, he noticed the bed. King size. A bed he could truly fit his entire body into.

The window faced the back yard, and just under it was a reading bench adorned with a multitude of decorative pillows. And the wall? Well, they were green. Not white. Actually, nothing in this room lacked color. It was a nice change from what he was used to. It was perfect.

"Let's hope there is some useful stuff in here," I said, flopping the top of the suitcase open. I had heaved it on top of a long bench that guarded at the end of his bed. "Let's see..."

Towering over me, Greyson peered down at the array of clothes before him. A light thud in my chest warned me to keep a fair distance from him, but I ignored it. He didn't mean to be so close. He was just curious.

Yes, it had become obvious to me, now, that I had been harbouring a crush for the guy since I'd first met the guy. But I knew it was only because he was a tortured soul that I was eager to fix. I always seemed to fall for the emotionally unstable. It was my curse. I had no idea who I got it from - Probably my aunt, Sue who once married a guy who she rescued from the streets. He had been homeless for thirteen year until aunt Sue found him and gave him a new start at life.

This relationship between Greyson and I, however, could never turn romantic. First of all, he was an alien, and I didn't even know if he could be attracted to a human, let alone someone like me. I wasn't anything special. Second, my plan was to send him away, once I found his lost family. That meant he wasn't staying here for long. Not if I could help it, anyway. Third, I was scared to death of the species he was related to. The Grey's and I were not on good terms, to say the least. Fourth, I was not in the right place, mentally, to start a relationship with some man. I was on the run from the law, and I had no idea what my future was going to look like once he left me here on my own. Fifth, this was just a stupid crush.

It surely would not last much longer. Right?

My bottom lip curved down. "Not bad."

Glad to see that the wardrobe Percy had given Greyson was not his usual flashy attire, I sent out a tiny thanks to the universe. Nothing was attention-grabbing, thank god. There was nothing but clean jeans, various cotton t-shirts, long sleeve knitted sweaters, and a black hoody with Percy's university name written across it.

"Why don't you choose something you like, and then you can come down and join me in the kitchen."

"Okay," his voice was barely a whisper.

When I turned to face him, our noses nearly touched and my heart catapulted against my chest. He reeled back, the moment I flinched in surprise.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I gulped. "S'okay. I just didn't expect you to be so close."

He backed himself into the dresser behind him.

"Careful."

Living together was going to be a bit awkward, at least until he learned how to properly engage with people in a social setting. It was clear he was not used to socialising with people outside of a prison cell.

He looked unsure what to say next, looking at me with big doe eyes, as if he wanted to hide under a rock. I decided to help him out, and speak first, breaking this odd tension hanging between us:

"I'll, um, see you down there, okay?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, wearily. "Alright."

The moths inside my stomach were stirred awake - I hurried past him, walked away before my mind could question why that instant of closeness had stabbed at my chest so forcefully.

It's just a dumb crush, I reminded my heart.

The kitchen was painted crimson and all the furniture chosen to compliment it, were white: pantry, fridge, table, etc. There was a great big colonial-style window that faced the backyard. The blinds were open, but it was too dark to see anything save for my brown eyes staring back at me amidst the faint background of dancing trees and swirling leaves.

Once I had located everything I needed to make my French toast dinner, I washed my hands and set the table.

"I'm assuming this is a kitchen?" Greyson said from the archway, between the hallway and the kitchen.

"You got it," I said, placing the second plate on the table.

Looking back at him, I lost track of my thoughts. "Wo."

He looked...

With a white pullover shirt, a pair of navy jeans and some black socks, Greyson almost looked... like a normal dude. I say almost because his eyes were still chillingly dark, his skin was still gray enough to be compared to charcoal, and his complexion was still unnaturally flawless. He was an oeuvre d'art. But now, it wasn't overshadowed by the ugly jumpsuit I was so used to seeing.

"White definitely suits you," I uttered and gave myself a mental shake. "It really does."

He looked down at his wool pullover and smirked. "Thanks."

"Um." I cleared the tightness in my throat. "Ready to eat?"

He looked out the window behind me and worried his lip. "When can I go back outside?"

"Anytime you want... But we've been on the road for hours, and you should probably eat," I said, taking an egg out of the carton. "Have a seat. It won't take long."

His face sank, but he conceded and plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs. He sat in the most proper elegant manner, as he watched me crack an egg into a bowl.

I regarded him with amusement. "You don't have to sit so formally, you know?"

With the sound of another egg spitting open, Greyson gazed down at his perfect posture with confusion. "I'm I sitting incorrectly?"

"No, not incorrectly per se." I discarded the egg shells into the trash, before dipping each slices of bread inside the bowl and soaking them into my concoction of yolk, vanilla extract, cinnamon and milk. "It's just, way too proper for you to do that at home," I said. "Just, you know, relax." My shoulders mimicked him and then I shook off the stiffness to show him what I meant.

He looked at what I did, as if ready to learn, and tried to copy me. He shook his shoulders, the way I had – in the most ridged way possible. It didn't help. He just looked more tense than he had been moments before. He was like a puppy trying to learn a new trick, moving his body in different awkward positions, looking more and more uncomfortable as it went on.

"Okay, okay, I get it. You're not a sloucher." There was no helping it, I snorted. "At least you tried."

His frown lines dug deeper.

"Don't look so discouraged," I said as I turned the stove top on high. "It's not a bad thing to have good posture. Honestly, it should be me taking notes from you. Instead of the other way around." I placed the pan on top of the ring of blue flames. "Plus, it's not required of you to act human around me."

The butter began to sizzle around the yoked-bread, sending a sweet smell throughout the kitchen. My mouth was quick to water as I flipped the sweet bread to the opposite side. And when I turned to look at Greyson, seeing a shadow loom over his features, as if he was being forced to drink a flask of poison knowing it would kill him.

Did I say something wrong? I wondered.

And he was slouching, I noticed. He was leaning forward, with his arms set over its knee. There was nothing awkwardness about his silhouette anymore. He was simply... relaxed.

Weird. He had such a difficult time doing that, not five minutes ago.

"What is it?" Greyson asked, noticing my stare.

Shaking my head. "Nothing." I took the plate with the first two French toast and walked over to Greyson. "For you."

Nostrils flaring and eyes closed, he took a big inhale. The sweet smell coming from his plate, seemed to put him on cloud nine. He sat up straight, pulling his chair closer and gazed down upon the golden bread.

"Is it your first time eating French toast?" I asked, dusting a layer of icing sugar and a tea spoon of butter on the top of the bread stack. Both of which had been set on the table, before he came to join me. "Oh my god, please tell me you don't have a specific diet or something. You eat human food, right?"

His brows furrowed and his jaw ticked. "Yes," he said through clenched teeth. "But I've never had a French toast meal before."

"Good!" I clapped my hands together, and grabbed the syrup from the middle of the table. Dripping a healthy drizzle of golden sugar over his meal, I smiled, and egged him on with a gleeful: "Bonne Appetit!"

Taking a cautious bite of his food with his fork, the taste seemed almost erotic to him. With a groan, he savored every chew. His fist even clenched as he was smacked by the flavor.

"From your reaction, I'd say it's safe to assume you like it?"

A deep exhale through his nostrils later, his square jaw tightened and he hummed in agreement - that did something to my insides. It sent a warmth spreading inside my stomach.

Suddenly, his nose wrinkled, and his eyes fluttered open. "Eh... Ashlyn?"

Meeting his puzzled gaze, I shot him with a dubious look. "Yeah?"

"Do you smell that?" He asked, glancing behind me and grimacing. "It's an odd scent."

Burning! "Oh, crap!" My French toasts were sending smoke clouds above the sizzling hot pan. "Oh, come on! I turned my back for a literal second!"

Guess my food was going right into the garbage. But at least his, would have made Martha Stewart proud, and that's all that matters.