Breakfast. Void. by Solaas

The egg oozes accusation from the floor. The milk drips reproach from the ceiling. The bacon sizzles disgust from the stove. At least that was where it should be, and not exploded messily all over the kitchen like the rest of his breakfast. Gojou sighs and supports himself heavily on the kitchen counter, bowing his head in defeat. It is with profound exasperation he seeks the only release available to him at the moment; just one word: "Fuck."

He should have known better than to think he could do this all by himself. Gojou isn't an untalented man, far from it, but his gifts are attuned to other aspects of corporeal pleasures than feeding the stomach. Gojou thrives at night, when he can feed hungry skin, sate starving lips and soothe his carnal famine. The rituals of morning are not for him to conduct, so here he is--making a mess out of his kitchen. Again.

It's all Gonou's fault, he thinks angrily. Before he dragged that sorry carcass home, he'd never even thought about this stupid stuff. He usually got out of bed by mid day, just in time to grab lunch at one of the local pubs. Breakfast had been at best something he was served by a pretty woman as payment for his nocturnal skills, but mostly it'd been a non-issue.

And then he brought home that gentle raider who, after regaining enough strength to stand for more than five minutes at the time, insisted on cooking breakfast every morning, and insisted (politely and silently) that Gojou eat it. And Gojou did.

Now that unobtrusive invader is gone, and the tiny cottage is loud with his absence. Gojou tries in vain to shut out the sound of silence by repeating the rituals he's grown accustomed to in the short time Gonou stayed there. It's not working. Gojou can't cook, hates cleaning and things like shopping lists and dates for garbage disposal just don't stick in his mind. It's all he can do to remember beer and smokes, and that's only because they're part of his cravings.

With a disgusted sigh he straightens up, scoops the bacon chunks out of the frying pan onto a plate, grabs three slices of yesterday's bread, drips frying-fat on them and takes the three steps over to the table. He makes a show of ignoring the egg and the milk (but for whom?), and stubbornly scarfs down the amputated morning meal.

It fills his stomach, but fails to satisfy. The salt bacon tastes a whole lot of nothing and the bread chews like fleece. Gojou slurps as he chews, hoping that sound will help the ritual to life.

It doesn't.

When he's done, he leaves his plate on the table, finally remembers to turn off the gas at the stove and leaves the cottage. It's too vast in there, so he spends the rest of his waking day in the crammed places that isn't home.

The next morning, Gojou decides that breakfast is permanently over and merely gives the accusatory egg a polite nod as he steps outside from the void.