When I wake up, the room is dark, lit dimly by the light of the fireplace. I sit up with a soft groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
The first thing I notice is the plastic removed from all the furniture. The second thing is the aroma of tomato sauce in the air. And the third is Riot sitting on the other end of the couch, watching me intently.
"Food?" I murmur, the heel of my hand still pressed against my eye.
He leans forward to grab something off the coffee table and presents me with a steaming plate of spaghetti. It's warm to the touch and I take it graciously.
Curling the noodles around my fork, I try to brush off the feeling of his eyes on me. Expecting him to talk is far from realistic. So I don't bother getting my hopes up.
A few minutes pass by, my chewing uncomfortably loud
