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It’s around late afternoon when he awakes, though he actually doesn’t know the time. He’s guessing around 6-ish, since it’s beginning to darken outside. The wonders of winter, when it’s pitch black at only seven o’clock at night. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he prefers it that way. He is currently laying- in a rather awkward position too- on his small couch nestled in the back of his room. His mouth feels dry, like cotton, and the old bottle of water sitting on the floor seems irresistible. Though he quickly shows some self restraint, not wanting to risk being contaminated by two week old water. There’s some particles floating around in there, too. Gross.
He lays stunned for a moment, eyes half ajar, hand limp falling off the couch, and his leg dead and tingling with the start of pins and needles. Something is sitting on it too, which doesn’t help the tingling. He groans and tries to remember his name- Guts. Right, he’s Guts. His head is still spinning. If his guess is right, he’s currently been snoring away for about 3 hours. A new record for the longest nap he’s taken- by his own will, of course. Head trauma doesn’t count.
Shuffling up, Guts groans, feeling lightheaded and black blobs blurring his vision. Iron deficiency? He’s not sure, honestly. He normally asks Casca about medical stuff and whatnot. Speaking of. Guts looks at the heavy weight sitting on his leg.
Casca.
She’s laying about as uncomfortably as he is, the couch obviously not built for two people to lay on it. Guts’ own leg is trapped under one sprayed out leg and the other one has its foot dangerously close to his own face. He jerks his head away and picks up the foot with two cautious fingers, then moves the foot away. Disaster avoided. She doesn’t stir as he does so. Another disaster avoided: Casca doesn’t like being woken up when napping. Though, Guts tends to rile her up on purpose doing things like that. Guts calls it banter. Casca would beg to differ.
He stretches out, hearing Casca groan and reach for a threadbare pillows that’s seen better days. She puts it over her head and tucks her chin into her chest. He continues his stretching, hearing his joints click (his back especially, which is somewhat concerning) and watches as Casca twitches slightly. He purposely moves his foot to poke it into her ribs, causing Casca to hiss.
”Guts,” She grumbles, trying to sound angry, which is hard to do when she’s half asleep. “Mm… stop it…”
Guts continues the action, poking his foot back into her side. At first she ignores it, then becomes more agitated as he digs harder. She eventually becomes so riled up she snaps her head towards Guts, coming face-to-face with his foot. She lets out a yelp and whips her head backwards.
“Ew!” She shrieks. “Argh, Guts! Don’t do that!”
Guts lets out a deep chuckle, letting his head fall back into the couch armrest as he continues cackling. She lets out a huff and gives him an unimpressed look.
”It’s not funny,” She protests. “I’m sleepy, and you keep waking me up!”
”Since when did I wake you up?” Guts asks, raising his brows. “I’ve been sleeping like an angel.”
Casca lets out another annoyed huff and pokes him in the ribs. “You’ve been kicking me in your sleep. You’re worse then a child!”
Guts rolls his eyes and swats Casca’s hand away, tutting. “You coulda moved to the bed.”
“I was too tired,” She said, giving a yawn to further her point. “I was up early today, and work is a pain in the ass.”
”Your boss still breaking your balls over that deadline?”
“Mhm, something like that.”
Guts leaned over and gave her a sloppy kiss on the forehead, keeping her there despite her protests by hooking his arm around her shoulders. “You’ll survive,” He purred, voice overly sweet.
She pushed him away and let out a rumble in her throat. “I’m sure I will,” Casca said.
Craning his neck, which made a popping noise that made Casca shudder, he got up from the battered couch, allowing his whole body to stretch. Casca took the chance to get more comfortable on the cushions.
He cracked his fingers and looked back at Casca. “Dinner?” He asked.
”Sure,” Casca responded. “Don’t burn it like last time.”
He gave a chuckle and leaned down to plop a kiss on her head. “I won’t.”
He left their bedroom and opened the door into the hallway, sparsely decorated, and into the kitchen, which was filled with more clutter. It’s more like a ‘kitchen and living room combo’. In fact, it’s more like a kitchenette, but it’s big enough for the both of them. The living room isn’t bad either: decent size, no mould, and most importantly, a pretty comfortable sofa in the middle. It’s perfect. He likes their little apartment in general- it’s homely, if you ignore one or two holes in the wall from stories too long to tell at this moment, and if you politely avoid bringing up the fact it randomly spontaneously combusted about a year ago, leaving a random charred mark in their hallway and bathroom. Oh yeah- it’s perfect.
Guts flicks on the light switch and then gets to work, popping open the fridge. Not much, but he can work with it. At times like these he wishes he actually paid attention to those cooking programmes on the T.V., as his cooking skills are pretty shabby. Oh well. Practice makes perfect. He quickly grabs whatever he thinks can make a plausible meal and places it on the counter next to the stove. Alright, step one completed.
Onto step two: chop things. He’s pretty sure he can do this- he’s handy with a knife. Or a sword. Most pointed and sharp things, honestly. Anyways. He chops up the vegetables in uneven squares then places down the knife when’s he finished to admire his work. Not too shabby, he thinks to himself. He throws the vegetables into a pot with some water- he thinks he’s making vegetable soup, but he’s not too sure. He’ll have to wing it. He’s winged a lot of stuff: tests, DIY crafts, fixing stuff, sex. Sex is his proudest achievement on the list- he managed not to make the mistake of putting it in the wrong hole on the first try. Woohoo!
Step three: wait. He stands around the counter, then paces back and fourth, then stands again. This is boring. He would play some crappy game on his phone but he’s not sure where it is at this moment. Probably in his room. He should go check, but the last time he left the kitchen whilst checking something the ‘spontaneous combustion’ incident happened. Better to just wait.
Step four: add more stuff. Guts adds seasoning, which he thinks goes with this, and prays to God he won’t give Casca food poisoning. He decides to quickly throw in some more vegetables, which causes the pot to nearly overflow. This is fine. Casca walks into the room at that moment and seems surprised he hasn’t caught on fire yet.
”How’s it going?” She asks, peering over the counter to look into the pot. She grimaced. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
Guts sulks. “I promise it’ll taste good!” He’s lying through his teeth but that barely matters.
Casca sits on the couch and lets out a hum. “I’ll choose to believe you.” She crosses one leg over the other and picks up a magazine on the coffee table to read.
Alright, Casca seems to be willing to try the food. Great job, Guts. All those years as a child having Gambino forgetting to feed you and having to cook for yourself seems to be paying off. Onto the next step: more waiting. Guts decides to switch on the television, the remote conveniently being on the counter. He flips the Channel to some crappy movie. Casca flips the page of the magazine and lets out a content hum.
“It’s nice to see you so happy,” Guts says.
Casca lets out a small laugh. “I’m just glad you didn’t burn anything or set something on fire.”
Guts let’s out a chuckle. That’s pretty funny.
Step five: he forgot about step five. The pot is on fire. He sees this and his eyes shoot out of his head, and he is running around with his hands on his head, having a meltdown. Casca hasn’t noticed yet. He tries blowing on the fire but it only fuels its rage, and the flame jumps even higher towards the ceiling. Casca only finished painting it a day ago. She’s going to kill him. He picks up the pot by the handle and seems to be torn about what to do in this situation. In another universe this is the least worst thing to happen to Guts. In this universe this is high up on the list. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. Casca is going to kill him.
New step: throw pot out window. Guts quickly opens the window as fast as he can, then sends a prayer up above and chucks the pot out, boiling water and all. Casca turns her head curiously, and Guts stands there like an angel. She smiles at him and returns back to her magazine. Guts sighs then hears the yell of a very unlucky man and the sound of a falling pot. Ouch. He doesn’t dare look out the window.
“Dinner ready?” Casca asks.
”Uuuhhh…” Guts replies, sweating bullets and looking around the room. “It…ah heck, screw it. Let’s just get a takeaway or something.”
Casca raises her eyebrows and looks at Guts. “I thought you preferred eating ‘healthy’?”
“Screw it! Just don’t make me cook again,” He pleaded.
Casca laughs and gets up from the sofa, coming to cup Guts cheeks and give him a peck on the chin. “I won’t,” she promised. “As long as I decide what we’re eating.”
”Deal.”
The two sit back on the sofa watching the crappy movie, Guts happily snuggling into her side as she talks on the phone. He’s rather proud he managed to not set the apartment in fire. He lets out a content sigh and closes his eyes, pressing his nose into Casca’s neck. He’s pretty comfortable. He lets his eyes close gently, feeling warm and loved as Casca absentmindedly plays with his hair.
Disaster avoided.