Lena woke up to the smell of something burning and the unmistakable sound of someone muttering "Oh no, oh no, oh no" from what had to be a very distressed kitchen.
She blinked against the sunlight pouring in through unfamiliar windows, heart hammering for one surreal second before it all clicked back into place: the train, the hug, the couch that doubled as a bed, the awkward goodnight, and—right—Daniel.
She sat up slowly. Her hair was a mess, her mouth tasted like regret and toothpaste, and her limbs ached from pretending to sleep comfortably on his too-short sofa.
Another clang from the kitchen.
She padded in, barefoot and curious, and found Daniel standing over a smoking pan, holding a spatula like it had personally betrayed him. The kitchen counter was a battlefield—eggshells, toast crumbs, an open jar of jam leaking dramatically onto the floor.
"I thought I'd make you breakfast," he said sheepishly, swiping at the smoke detector with a dishtowel. "It was supposed to be romantic."
Lena coughed once and raised an eyebrow. "Is it supposed to be on fire?"
He glanced at the pan. "No. That part was improvisation."
She laughed, the sound slipping out before she could stop it.
Daniel turned off the stove and looked at her. Really looked at her—bedhead, oversized T-shirt, mismatched socks and all. "You're here," he said, like it was still sinking in.
"I am."
They stood in the quiet of the ruined kitchen for a long beat.
"I was going to make you French toast," he said. "It turned into French… charcoal."
"I'll take it," she said, crossing the kitchen and grabbing two plates. "But only if you promise not to sue me for emotional damages when I pretend to like it."
He grinned. "Deal."
They ate their mostly-burned breakfast on the floor, leaning against the kitchen cabinets, legs stretched out and plates balanced on their knees.
"You drool in your sleep," Daniel said casually, taking a bite of toast.
Lena choked. "I what?"
He held up a hand. "Not a lot. Just… a polite amount."
She narrowed her eyes. "This is payback for the jam-on-the-floor comment, isn't it?"
Daniel gave her an innocent look that didn't fool anyone.
Outside, the city was starting to wake up—honking cars, footsteps on the sidewalk, a distant dog barking. Inside, time felt slower. Softer.
Lena glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was fiddling with his fork, looking suddenly unsure.
"I've never done this before," he admitted. "The morning-after thing. Not like this."
She took a deep breath. "Me neither."
Another pause. Their knees touched.
"I don't want to mess this up," he said quietly.
"You already burned breakfast," she teased gently. "So the pressure's off."
He smiled, but there was something fragile underneath it.
Lena nudged his leg with hers. "Hey."
He looked up.
"I'm here because I want to be. Let's just… figure it out as we go, okay?"
Daniel nodded slowly, as if the words had weight.
"Okay."