Waking up comes real slow and relaxed, as if the day was kind enough to come softly into focus. The gentle white-gold light of morning peaked through the curtains, illuminating the room. Though the room was lit up beautifully, the smell inside was unbearable. A putrid stench of decay hit my nose, drawing out every inch of drowsiness left from me. As I use my elbows to prop myself up straight on the couch, I notice a big fleece blanket over my lap that wasn't there before. I glance over to my side and look down at the empty spot next to me, remembering that Brahms and I had passed out on the couch yesterday. He must've snuck back into the walls during the middle of the night. I'm usually a light sleeper so, normally, I would've caught him leaving but I was too exhausted at the time to notice. I didn't even get to put out the fire which would have been a real hazard that I, and especially Brahms, would very much like to avoid. To put in perspective of how tired I was, the house could've went up in flames and I'd sleep through it.

The rancid smell of decay from the rabbit we forgot to cook last night was beginning to give me a headache. I tried to look for it, but it wasn't even in the room anymore. I'm guessing Brahms took care of it himself.

The stench made my eyes water. I can't bear staying in this room any longer. I arose from the couch and as I make my way down the hallway, a new scent fills my lungs. I sniff and sniff, trying to follow the aroma. My nose leads me into the kitchen, where I find Brahms. He had just closed the oven as I walked in. He had on a pair of grass-stained blue jeans and a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It looks like he'd been cooking.

" So, I take it that the power is back on?"

He nods.

" I was wondering what had happened to the rabbit. It's not in there is it?" I ask, pointing to the oven.

Brahms shakes his head, " It was rotten. I had to toss it but, don't worry, I went hunting again this morning."

" It just sucks," I say, "All that work for a damn rabbit and we didn't even get to—."

Before I could finish my sentence, I feel a pain gnawing in the upper left side of my abdomen.

" Aughh!" I groan, eyes squeezed shut. I apply pressure with a hand atop of my belly, clutching tightly at the fabric of my shirt.

Brahms hurries over, laying a hand on my shoulder, " Are you alright?" he asks, worriedly.

" Yeah," I nod, " think so...I'm just hungry, that's all."

" Hunger pangs," he mutters quietly to himself. He returns back to a normal speaking volume as he lets me go, " Just a few more minutes and it'll be ready."

Brahms squats down in front of the oven. Watching closely as whatever he caught this morning cooks inside.

" What's that?" I ask.

Still squatted behind the glass door of the oven, " Fish," he answers.

" No," I say. Brahms breaks his stare to look up at me. Tilting his head in confusion.

" You don't like fish?" he asks.

I shake my head, " You said something about 'hunger pangs'?"

" Hunger pangs," he repeats, " It's a pain caused by an empty stomach, or hunger."

" You think I have that?"

" Most likely," Brahms says, " There's other causes of hunger pangs that could have an affect on you. Like, environment, lack of sleep, stress, hormones... Have you been feeling nauseous?"

" Kinda..." I respond, " And I have a slight headache as well."

" Those are some of the symptoms," he says. The oven begins beeping but gets stopped abruptly with the press of a button.

" I didn't know you were a doctor," I smirked.

" I didn't tell you?" Brahms asks, putting on some oven mitts, " I have a PhD in medicine."

Did he just make a joke?

Brahms pulls down the oven door and removes a baking dish with two large fish in it. Before he puts it onto the counter, I quickly grab a trivet and place it down first. He sets the baking dish on top and observes his creation. Silently critiquing it in his head.

" Not only are you a doctor but you're a chef too?" I laugh, but, Brahms is silent. He's still staring down at the fish... and for way too long for that matter. I'm beginning to think maybe he actually didn't know what he was doing. I inch a step closer and see that the fish was still translucent.

" How does it look?" he finally speaks up.

" Let's see," I say as I poke the fish around with my finger, " Maybe you're not a chef after all," I respond.

Brahms' head lowers.

I shake my head in disappointment, " Gordon Ramsey would not approve."

" Who?" he asks.

I point my finger at the fish and in the best English accent that I could muster, I shout, " It's fucking raw!"

I watch as Brahms' eyes widen. I think I might've just angered him so, I quickly try to diffuse the situation.

" We've been joking around so..." I try to explain, " I knew you wouldn't get that joke but, I thought I'd say it anyways."

For awhile, I stood there awkwardly. Rocking back and forth on my toes and heels with my hands cupped together. Feeling embarrassed at myself for even thinking of doing that. Brahms finally nods his head, and I began to fall back at ease.

" May I?" I ask, not wanting dinner to be ruined.

Brahms nods once again and steps back.

I take a look at the spice rack. The Heelshire's had a wide range and selection of brands that I've never heard of before. All their spices came in glass containers, no McCormick in sight. I grab the dried rosemary, thyme, Italian herbs, chili flakes, garlic powder, paprika, salt, and black pepper. I sprinkle it over both sides of the fish, doing what I can with the little ingredients I had to work with. After washing and drying my hands, Brahms removes the mitts from his and puts them over mine.

" Just a few minutes on broil should do the trick," I explain as I put the fish back into the oven.

Brahms tilts his upper body forward into a small bow, as if to say "thank you".

I nod then ask if he's ever cooked before. He tells me that he's only ever made stuff from boxes or cans.

" I'd figure from all the reading you do that you'd know a thing or two about how to chef it up in the kitchen." I point out. But, then I remember something Brahms said before, " Remember when you told me, " Imagining something isn't the same as experiencing it."?"

Brahms hums a slow, "Mhm."

" I think I understand what you mean by that. You can read about how to cook and imagine yourself cooking but, it's different when you actually have the ingredients before you and have to actually measure everything out and prepare it."

I glance up at Brahms to see if I am on the right page. His stare is blank which gives me nothing but, his silence tells me that maybe it isn't what he meant...

" Did I get that wrong?" I question.

He shakes his head, " No. You're exactly right."

" Then why are you staring at me like that?"

Brahms scratches the back of his neck, " I...didn't mean it in that sense..."

" Well," I laugh awkwardly, "what exactly did you mean?"

" At the time, I was reading a particular book that had something to do with why I brought it up."

My mind flashes back to that moment. Trying to remember other details. Then it all comes back to me. It was that time in the library when Brahms was reading something and before I could see what it was, he put it back onto the shelf. It was the same shelf with the Fifty Shades of Grey, and other erotica books. I think Brahms could see it on my face that I remembered.

" Imagination," he begins, " puts your brain to work to define a new thing. Experiential learning engages more of the senses than "imagining" so, the experience is grasped much more easily and quickly."

He waits awhile before continuing. I nod to assure him that I understand.

" Take this as an example," he says while taking a step closer, " If you think of a cake, you can imagine what that cake will taste like. But when you actually taste it...physically, only then you will know just how delicious it is," Brahms takes another step forward, " how soft and delicate it'll feel in your mouth." The way he slightly whispers and elongates certain words sends chills down my spine. Brahms' eyes leave mine and travel down past my nose. I pout my lips and bite down. With his eyes locked on them, he finishes, " how sweet it'll taste."

The atmosphere around us suddenly shifts. The air is feeling dense and hot. Though Brahms was already so close to me, I wanted to get closer. I lean forward into him until my chest makes contact with his stomach. Leaving no space in between us, we breathe heavily into each other. Bathing in each others stares like warm sunlight until — beeeeeeep beeeeeeep beeeeeep.

For a second, I thought I was dreaming. That my alarm clock was going off but, it was just the stove timer. Brahms and I both turn our heads towards the oven, " You hungry?" he asks.

I turn to look back at him, moistening my lips with the lick of my tongue, " Starving," I reply.