Breakfast was slow going. I finally got myself out of bed a little after ten, went to the bathroom, checked a bit and decided I wasn't going to need to worry about covering up, cleaned myself, and headed to the kitchen where Manu was cooking. Not that I needed to, but I could have just followed my nose; the scent was strong, and attractive, and I was definitely hungry. Manu had obviously prepared for this exact scenario—which made sense, we knew we were going to meet up Friday night—and had a bowl of salad already mixed up and ready to go on the table, along with a couple place settings.

"Go ahead," Manu said from the stove. He'd put on an apron, but was clearly naked underneath (in that I could see his bare ass, along with the bare rest of him). "Once I get the eggs going, I'll come join you."

I started scooping from the bowl. Spinach as a base, oranges, onions, cucumber, apple, the dressing smelled of something fruity, possibly raspberry. I could see flecks of seasoning in there, too.

"Take it slow on that," he warned as I started scooping. "It might be a bit much."

I nodded, taking the advice seriously, and took a first tentative bite. It was as flavourful as it looked, and the advice was reasonable. The scent fluttered through my olfactory system as I swallowed. The burn followed almost immediately. And everything kind of descended on me, then. The burn felt like fire, but not a lot of fire. Just enough to warm me, make me flush. There was no pain, I was just... burning.

It was Her. Just a little of Her.

It was too early in the day to deal with it. "It's delicious, Manu," I said, taking another bite.

"Not too hot?" he asked, not looking up from the stove.

"Not even a bit," I replied. "It's perfect." I took some more, just to prove the point.

"Great," Manu said. He hadn't been obviously nervous but he seemed somehow calmer. "I just sort of trusted my instincts, thought of you, and..." He shrugged, cracking an egg into the pan. It sizzled cheerfully.

Trusted my instincts. There She was, right there in those words. And She was working very well.

"Your instincts are damn good," I said around my next mouthful.

I wasn't generally a jealous person, but I was starting to get a little tired of my new relationship being a constant triad. I wanted Manu to myself. And I kind of wanted the Presence to myself, too. I wanted my spiritual force on one side, and my romantic force on the other, and I didn't really like the idea of the two of them mixing, for whatever reason. And maybe I was a little upset that Manu's relationship with the Presence seemed to be effortless, or at least frictionless. No nightmares, no hidden voice, just magic fire in his meals.

Maybe in his mad science, too.

I didn't begrudge Manu his connection to the Presence, either. I just wanted that to be separate from his connection to me. I wanted my ... religion? I guess? ... to be separate from my romance. I mean, I wasn't about to start worshipping the Presence, and Manu had his own spirituality...

Which I realized I knew nothing about.

"Manu," I said, a little tentatively. "We've never talked about... a lot."

"We haven't really had a lot of time."

"True."

"And in what time we have had," Manu continued, turning away from the stove, "talking, at least general conversation, hasn't always been top priority."

"Also true." I took another forkful of salad as Manu sat. "I'm just kind of wondering about things like, um..."

He waited for me. I really wanted him to interrupt me and change the subject, but I knew that he wouldn't. He was too attentive, too conscious, too polite.

I took a deep, steadying breath. "So, ah, this atheist-leaning-agnostic kind of wants to know what you think about... metaphysical... things." I swallowed. "Like, you mentioned, ah, 'Neraka' last night?"

"Hindu Hell. Well, not just Hindu, but... yeah. I don't believe, but I've heard the stories, culturally. Pretty sure the people that told me the stories don't really believe, either. I'm just..." he shrugged. "Probably the same as you, right? You've heard all the stories, but you don't actually believe that someone packed two of every animal onto a big boat to survive a massive flood."

"Right. Okay. So."

"So. Now confronted by an actual supernatural reality."

I nodded. He nodded and put some of the salad on his plate. I ate some, he ate some.

"While we're talking about religion," I said, "there's apple in the salad, right?"

"A little forbidden fruit, Eve?" he joked.

I winked at him, and sat up straighter, pushing out my chest. "Feeling tempted?" Still, something about the name made my skin crawl a little. "I like 'Chameleon' better," I said, turning back to the food.

"I like 'Chameleon' better, too. And it's fun that my Chameleon has a little temptation in there." It was his turn to swallow his bite of salad. "So what does the apple have to do with religion, other than the whole Garden of Eden thing? This place," he waved his fork around in the air, indicating the apartment, "is nice, but it sure doesn't feel like Paradise."

"Well, there's that, sure, but for some reason, apples have inspired a lot of mythological stories," I explained. "Maybe they have a part to play in ours?"

Manu took another bite of his salad and got up to tend the eggs. "I'm listening," he said.

"So, like, there's Eve in the garden, sure—but hey, why do we blame Eve when it's the Serpent—never mind. Anyway. There's also a couple apples in Greek myths, Eros' apple given, quote, 'to the fairest,' and the apples, or the apple tree, that Gaia gave to Hera, and the Norse gods ate apples that would give them eternal youth, and I think where King Arthur was buried was supposed to be the 'Isle of Apples' or something?"

Manu laughed, but not at me and not at what I was saying, or... kind of at me. "It's nice to hear someone nerding out about something that isn't science."

I blushed, but out of pleasure, not embarrassment. "Symbolism and I have a good relationship, I guess."

Manu flipped the eggs over and added... something. I'm not sure what. But given how much I was enjoying the salad, I didn't question. "There's also the tradition of giving apples to a teacher," he said, coming back to the table, "and I'm happy to learn anything you'll teach me."

"Even if it means eternal servitude?"

He didn't sit, he just moved to my side, leaned down over me, and kissed me, long, slow, and deep, his hands finding the small of my back and rubbing gently there. The spice-fire on his lips mixed with the spice-fire in my throat, and a whole different fire burned inside.

"Especially then, I think," he said as he lifted away from me. His fingers still lingered just above my ass cheeks. "Serpent gives apple to Chameleon. Eve gives temptation to Adam. Student gives gift to teacher. And maybe somewhere in there... eternal youth and eternal life, right?"

Fuck, the breath coming out of me said, even if I didn't voice it or move my lips. "What are we doing today?" I asked, softly.

"Until dinner?"

He hadn't moved. I could smell him, smell his cooking, smell the sweet fruit of the salad he'd eaten.

"Dinner?"

Manu smiled. "She said you might not be fully aware of it. We have a double date tonight."

I wasn't aware of it at all, but I still managed to guess, "Rita?"

"Uh huh, and ... I don't remember her partner's name."

"Soleil."

"Okay, might be that I never knew it, then."

We held our positions, smiling adorably at one another like a new couple madly in love.

"You probably need to deal with the eggs," I said.

"Probably, yeah. Don't want them to burn."

We didn't move for a long moment. It probably felt longer than it was. My sense of time was an absolute mess, and I wasn't sure if it would ever recover. I wasn't sure that I wanted it to, really. This odd disjointedness was disorienting and exciting and I think was a creative tool I needed to lean into.

We were burning. The eggs were cooking.

As Manu, seemingly reluctantly, turned away and went back to the stove, I had a moment to think, and what emerged was the soft phrase: we build what we can with what we have. There's an old quote about doing what you can, with what you have, where you are, and that was more or less what we were—or, really, what I was doing. I couldn't speak for Manu, but it felt like his attitude was much the same.

This moment was less about coping and making small changes, though, and more about transforming, changing. What I had was a love who was going away in less than a week nakedly cooking me breakfast and utterly devoted to my every whim, a powerful source of magic and art that I couldn't begin to understand let alone control, a friend who was pressing me to change in strange and enigmatic ways, and the feeling that I was losing little parts of myself to everything.

And from that, I was going to make poetry.

Manu was going to make strange and interesting discoveries, and I was going to make poetry.
We build

I said, and saw Manu tense up instantly. He was listening. He could tell.
in ways we never thought possible

I felt the table under my fingertips, the spice-fire of his salad, the warmth of the air from the cooking.
with tools we never trained to use

He carefully, as focusing though distraction, flipped the eggs over. The spice scent in the kitchen redoubled.
an architecture we can't conceive

My heart was racing. Unthinkingly I put an orange piece in my mouth, and every part of it, the juice, the texture, the raspberry of the dressing that it had absorbed, the seasoning and the spice and... everything, just made the whole world sharper. Everything came clear in interesting and unusual ways.
We build

Manu pressed the eggs into the pan with the spatula. The sizzle mixed with my voice and pushed the rhythm of the text forward.
with the hands of those that walk with us

I squirmed in my seat. There was a knot in the pit of my stomach, a mix of spice and Presence and sexual energy and memory and time.
seeing the waves of hands of those that walked behind us or that turn in the path

Manu was half-panting. His knees trembled. His left hand was flat on the cold part of stove.
reaching to outstretched hands of those that long to pull us up

I heard the soft clang of the pan being moved off the heat. Felt the air currents in the room subtly shift as the flow of heat changed.
We build

I stood, but didn't move beyond that.
to do what we thought impossible

He focused on the eggs, giving them another pass with some of the seasonings.
with what and who we never expected

He plated food. I walked over.
to go where we never knew we could

He wasn't surprised at all when my hands met his ass, or my lips met the back of his neck.

Suddenly, the metaphysical threesome didn't matter so much. When it was sexy, it was sexy.

The fire took over and neither of us cared that we were going to be eating our eggs cold.

Manu spun with me and planted me on the kitchen table. I leaned back at first, as he tore off his apron, but I couldn't keep myself upright and comfortable like that so I lay back, pushing the salad bowl out of the way, somehow avoiding Manu's fork. His fingers tested me, first, and apparently he liked what he found, because he filled me with his cock immediately afterwards.

Just lie back and think of the Presence, I thought to myself, which sent me into giggles as I wrapped my legs around him as best as I could.

"This is ridiculous," he said, but he didn't stop.

I laughed. "Yeah," I moaned. "Keep it up!"

Somehow, the table, despite all its complaints and rattling and shifting under me, survived. Manu's plate did not, getting vibrated off the table and crashing to the floor with the remains of his salad.

Neither of us cared.

My palms pressed against the wall to take more of him in as I started to climax. My push knocked him backwards, unfortunately, and he slipped on the tile slick with salad and dressing, stumbling back and landing against the fridge. I gulped a couple deep breaths, trying to calm myself against the burst of pleasure and check on Manu. The fire subsided and I pushed myself back up to my elbows.

"Manu?" I asked. I could see his face. He was sitting up.

He groaned, half in pleasure, half in pain. "Yeah?"

I managed to sit up. My first thought was that the mess was going to be a problem. An overturned, broken, sticky plate of salad mingled on the floor with bodily fluids. I hoped Manu had a mop.

"You alright?" I asked, working to catch my breath.

"Don't get up," was his immediate, somewhat alarmed reply, which was when I noticed that some of those bodily fluids were quite red.

I propped myself up further, careful to not make things worse. Manu's right foot had a rather nasty, deep gash in it. "Oh shit," I said.

"Don't get up," he repeated. "The plate—"

"Yeah, I see that." The ceramic shards of the broken plate were strewn all over the floor, and Manu had clearly stepped on one as he slipped back. My high-school phys ed first aid training kicked in. "That needs some care, you can't walk on it like that." I looked around for a clear path, no sense both of us being hurt. I swung my feet around to a place furthest from the centre of the crash and tentatively put a toe to the ground.

Manu started to push himself up as well. "No," I said directly, forcefully. "I'll be right there, and I'll be safe. You sit."

"Okay." Manu relaxed.

"Meanwhile, do you have a first aid kit? Bandages? Anything like that?" I walked out of the kitchen, around the blast radius (I hoped), and to the door to put my shoes on.

"Just some small adhesive things in the medicine cabinet."

"Okay, no problem."

I went into the bathroom, took a clean washcloth and ran it under warm water, put it on my shoulder, and moved quickly to the bedroom. I opened my backpack and took out a maxi pad. I knew what was absorbent.

"Alright," I said, making my way back to the kitchen. "Lie down. Uh, once I've made sure you're not going to lie down on anything sharp." I did a quick sweep of the area beside Manu, then nodded. "Yeah, okay. Lie down."

"Okay, sure." He made his way to his back.

"Right, and raise your cut foot."

He did. I made sure that where I knelt was clean, too, with no bits of shattered plate. Once I was sure I was safe, I used the washcloth to clean up the blood from Manu's raised foot, trying to avoid hurting him (and earning a couple hisses when I got too close to the cut) and then covering the injury—fortunately not too long a slash—with the pad, using the adhesive on it to bind it as best as I could to Manu's foot.

"How's that?" I asked, finally done my work.

"Feels alright," he replied.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly, it hurts like fuck, but it feels better since you treated it."

I nodded and stood up. "You need a doctor to see is, quick as we can."

He held out a hand and I helped him back into a sitting position. "Right, uh..."

"Walk-in nearby? Urgent care?"

He laughed. "'Walk-in'? On that?"

I smirked. "Urgent care, then. Probably don't need emerg."

"Right. Okay. How are we—"

I held up a hand to silence him. I pulled a kitchen chair, my chair, over towards the door, out of the danger area. "First step, we get you on that."

He nodded. I nodded. I gave him a hand again, and together, in a careful parody of a three-legged race, we got him seated in a chair. On the way, I checked his back, especially the back of his legs; fortunately, the only thing notable was a spinach leaf stuck behind his left thigh that I brushed off as I sat him down. With him upright, I went to get the washcloth from the kitchen. I wrung it out in the kitchen sink, washed it out as well as I could, and brought it to Manu.

"You should probably clean up," I said. "And then dress, right? Anything you want me to grab for you?"

He shrugged, strain showing on his dark face. "Boxers, pants, shirt?"

"Nothing more specific?"

He shook his head. "Though maybe, a painkiller from the medicine cabinet?"

"Okay, so the shock is wearing off?"

"Yeah, something like that." He took a hissing breath. "Urgh, not the worst, but..."

"I'll be quick," I promised, leaving the washcloth for him and going back to the bedroom. I grabbed him some easy-to-put-on sweat pants and a button-up shirt, then doubled back for underwear. I handed those off then ducked into the bathroom as he asked to get him something for the pain.

I handed that off, and then passed the kitchen and sat down on the couch. "Right. What's the best place to take you, and how are you going to drive?"

"I can't."

"Okay. I can drive. I have a license. I haven't driven in months, but that's alright." I was trying to keep myself calm. "I assume your car uses the normal pedals for the normal things?"

"We could just call—"

"Nope," I interrupted. "I got this."

I didn't have it, but I felt like I should have. Manu was claiming to be my servant eternally, and I was trying to be a good... whatever-I-was. Caretaker, or something.

Manu put the shirt on, then started to struggle with the underwear. Unable to put any weight on the bottom of his right foot, he had to adopt a strange, shifting shuffle that was, admittedly, a little bit funny.

I started to giggle. Then to try to catch my breath. There was one more looming threat that I couldn't quite voice, couldn't quite put my finger on, but some small-but-growing part of me was very aware.

Manu looked over at me, his pants still around his ankles. "You alright?"

"Not sure," I replied. "Heh, you're the one with the injury and I'm starting to hyperventilate, right? That's a bit backwards, right?"

"It's okay," Manu said. "It's not an emergency, right? We just have to get to some medical attention."

The words started to tumble out, and they didn't make much sense. It was kind of the opposite of when the words tumbled out and they did make sense. It was anti-poetry, coming from a place of anxiety and pain, instead of...

I thought about that for a moment, as I kept babbling and Manu kept listening calmly, with my mouth disconnected from my brain in a curious way. What was different, here? My poetry often came from anxiety and pain, too. From nightmares of fire and stressed-out midnight walks. Why was this so wrong, so twisted?

"Chameleon," Manu said, a smile on his face despite the grimace of pain lingering around his eyes. "What is this really about?"

His clarity, no doubt born from his pain and stress, gave me some, and it all clicked into place for me. "We have to get you to the car," I said, deliberately slowly, as if drawing the words out would give reality time to change. "Even if I'm not driving, even if we call someone, I have to help you down. And you can't take the stairs."

Manu blinked, and something like disbelief crossed his expression. "The elevator?"

My mouth ran dry at the word alone. I nodded.

Manu started to laugh, and underneath the strain I felt vaguely insulted that he would mock my fear.

"Sweet Chameleon," he said through his mirth. "I'm not Zeyla, I'm not drugged and unconscious." He took a breath and explained as slowly as I had spoken, matching my energy, trying to make me see calm and reason. "Walk me to the elevator, put me in, take the stairs down to the car park, and meet me there."

I stared at him. I felt stupid, unbelievably so, because I couldn't see what was right in front of me the whole time. "Oh. Yeah. Right." I took a deep breath, trying to calm the panic—seeing the logical solution didn't stop the adrenaline. "Okay, then, that's what we'll do."

"It is."

I took another slow, deep breath before walking over, intending to help Manu. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Though, uh, there is one other thing to consider."

I froze, a step away from him. "Yeah?"

"You probably want to get dressed too, right?"

I looked down at my naked body, just wearing my shoes that I'd put on to keep from stepping on a broken dish shard and making things even worse. Despite myself, or maybe as a relief valve for all that tension and terror, I started to laugh, which made Manu laugh, which only made me laugh harder. That cycle continued until all the discomfort worked itself out and I wound up leaning (gently) on his shoulder, wiping tears from my eyes.

To complete the absurd moment, the two of us shared a slow, deep kiss, which given the circumstances shouldn't have felt sexual but very much did.

"Alright," I said. "I'm going to go put on clothes so I can get you to a doctor to get your foot patched up so that the promise of that kiss can be fulfilled."

He nodded, the pain still evident behind his quiet expression. "Go. I'll wait here."

I snickered a bit at his statement. "Alright," I repeated. "I'm going."

I didn't go right away. I knew he was looking at me. When I did go, I didn't go too quickly, making sure he had a good view of my ass, too. Something to tide him over while I cleaned up and dressed as quick as I could.

All in all, I thought, pulling on a fresh sweatshirt from my bag, this morning wasn't too bad.