Page 22 of Burn for Me

His head aligns with mine, and I can almost taste his toothpaste with the soft breaths that fall between his lips. As soon as I process the sound of my door opening, I'm shoved back into the space.

“Sam!” I yell, but he slams the door. Silence surrounds me, but even in the quiet, my thoughts remain jumbled.

Being near Sam feels like inching towards a fire in search of warmth, only to be burned by the heat. I shake my head, anxiety spiking in my chest, as I survey the barren room.

Sam and I come from two different worlds. He may claim he fights just for the sake of fighting, but it’s still for a greater purpose. On my side, though... I tug at the buttons on my uniform. It feels suffocating to be held together this way.

I don’t want order, my father’s idea of a ‘perfect’ lifestyle, or to remember that I almost accomplished everything I set out to do all those years ago.I don’t want to go home.

8-27-2024

It’s still early, but I had no choice but to get up when Sam knocked and insisted I follow him. Although I'm feeling irritable, getting some sleep has eased the tension in my spine, and the view over the setting is a nice distraction.

I bite my bottom lip to stifle a laugh that threatens to escape. The scene looks like something out of a movie featuring a romantic dinner on a dock. The only difference is that this is the budget version: a stained white cloth instead of a pristine tablecloth, a flare in the center instead of a candle, and metal plates instead of glass. I think I like this better than the experiences I've had in the past, though. I don’t have to smile brightly or put on a façade.

Sam sits down, running his hand back through his hair, disheveling the dirty blonde strands. Dark bags circle his eyes, and his brows are permanently creased. I can only guess he didn’t sleep as well as I did last night. I’m half tempted to ask, but since neither of us has said a word yet, I don’t know if I’m willing to be the one to break the silence first.

Thankfully, Moe walked onto the flight deck, grinning as he set down four plates filled with biscuits, sausage, omelets, strawberries, and toast.

“Thank you,” I say politely, even though I want to groan. I hate the military diet we're usually on, but I can’t deny that breakfast is always delicious. I carefully load my plate, refusing to let any pieces of food touch each other—unlike Sam, who haphazardly piles his food on his plate.

Ignoring the horrifying sight, I take a bite of my omelet. I expect it to be oversalted or dry, but it's fluffy and filled with savory flavors. I can't help but moan from the delicious taste, causing Sam to pause with his fork raised in front of his mouth before taking his bite.

Even when we argue, we relax around each other, but we’re sitting like children forced to eat broccoli.I guess it is kind of similar.Sam didn't specify that this was a training exercise, but he doesn't need to.

“Compliments to the chef. This is amazing,” I mutter, though the words feel dry in my mouth.

“Yeah, he did alright, I guess.”

My brows furrow as I study him. “She. We brought Jessie.”

“Right. Anyway, we’re getting to know each other. We've proven time and time again that we know nothing, so…”

I scoff. I doubt we will be questioned about each other's birthdays or our favorite foods at a ball.

“Then tell me something.” I challenge, placing a strawberry in my mouth.

“Our last name is Morana.”

“That's not something aboutyou.”

“My birthday is November first, nineteen eighty-six. I already know yours is January twenty-fifth, two thousand. Better?” He grits out, and my chewing slows as a mischievous smile spreads across my face.

“Old man,” I mutter, taking another bite of sausage. He chuckles, a real laugh. It’s the kind he usually reserves for Tide or Moe, but this one is forme. I wish I could capture that soundand lock it in a box to play over and over. I clear my throat and look around the empty landing pad.

Why was I mad at him again?

“Just give me the easy stuff. If you want answers, you have to give them too.” I grin as he uses the statement I like to use when avoiding something that’ll make me too vulnerable. I guess I can handle the easy stuff. I set down my fork and lean my elbows on the table to hold his gaze.

“My favorite holiday is Christmas. I love the smell of spearmint and freshly cut grass. I don’t know how to cook; I never needed to learn since we had chefs. I used to like cleaning, but it always irritated the maids. Now, I like to create messes. It makes me feel like I’m in control of something.” I rapid-fire as many useless facts as possible, and he responds just as quickly.

“I don't have a favorite holiday. I can tolerate the smell of flowers, but it has to be subtle. I learned how to cook when I was young. I hated cleaning, but when I joined Chaos, it became a necessary habit.”

I want to pull out my notepad. Although this isn't the usual information I'd write down, I have an overwhelming urge to memorize it all.

“I hate the rain; it frizzes my hair. I pay attention to details; it's a learned behavior. I’m terrified of fire.” I'm walking a fine line here. It feels like I'm revealing too much, but I can't stop when he’s focused on my mouth, as if memorizing the words and how my lips form them.

“I hate the sunshine because it symbolizes everything that doesn’t exist. Most of my behaviors are learned—being aware of my surroundings, memorizing schedules, and needing things to be organized…” He pauses as if just now processing my last sentence. “I’m scared of losing control.”

---