Morning came with the clatter of pans and the faint crackle of a fire. Adrian blinked awake to the sound of footsteps moving around in the kitchen.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Good morning," he mumbled.
"Morning," Misha said without looking at him, still clearly annoyed he'd spent the night on her couch.
"You should go. I need to start getting ready for work," she added, voice clipped.
"But I'm hungry too," Adrian said, dragging out the words with a teasing tone.
"Shut it. You crashed here for free—you're not getting a free meal too. Ten gulden if you want breakfast," Misha snapped.
"What? Ten? For one meal?" Adrian looked at her, genuinely shocked.
"Hey, I could've—no, should've—kicked you out last night. Be happy I'm not charging you a hundred," she said, flipping something in the pan without missing a beat.
"Okay, okay," Adrian muttered, dragging himself up from the couch. He walked over to her, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a few crumpled bills.
He slapped them onto the counter with a small thud. "Ten gulden. Happy?"
Misha didn't even look at him. "Ecstatic," she said flatly, still focused on the pan in front of her.
Adrian leaned on the counter, watching the food sizzle. "So… what's on the menu?"
"Regret," Misha said. "Seasoned with bad decisions."
"Okay, but what are you making?" Adrian asked, eyeing the pan suspiciously.
"Food," Misha replied in the same dry tone, though the corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest smirk.
"Alright," Adrian sighed, defeated. He dropped back onto the couch with a quiet thump, sinking into the cushions. "Should've just taken the slap and left..." he muttered to himself, stretching out and staring at the ceiling.
Misha glanced over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. "So you were awake when I slapped you. What are you, some kind of pervert who enjoys getting hit?"
Adrian smirked, not missing a beat. "I don't know, maybe. I did have a lot of fun investigating the church."
She rolled her eyes hard enough to shake the air. "You're unbelievable."
"Thanks," Adrian said, leaning further back into the couch like he owned the place.
"Also, isn't it Sunday? Why would you have to work today?" Adrian asked, finally remembering what day it was.
Misha glanced back at him. "What? No, we still work Sundays—just until two."
She pulled out two plates and quickly dished scrambled eggs onto each. One got a slice of fresh bread. The other—Adrian's—came with a chunk of stale, slightly tough bread.
She set the plates on the dining table. "Food's done. Come eat."
Adrian got up and took a seat, eyeing his plate. He frowned. "Really? Stale bread? I paid ten gulden."
Misha handed him a fork and sat down without missing a beat. "You're gonna eat it anyway, so what does it matter?"
"I mean, yes, I will, but still—don't I deserve fresh bread? I investigated the church the same day you asked me. That's gotta earn me something." Adrian looked at her, attempting to layer guilt into his voice.
Misha didn't even blink. "You also broke into my house and slept on my couch. You're lucky I didn't make you eat outside."
Adrian started eating without another word, clearly defeated. She'd won that round, and he knew it.
Across the table, Misha took a bite of her eggs, then glanced at him with a raised brow. "So… do you break into the homes of everyone you know instead of just getting your own place?"
Adrian chewed slowly, then swallowed. "Only the important people," he said, deadpan. "It's a sign of trust."
Misha snorted. "You're unbelievable."
"You let me stay, didn't you?" he shot back, flashing a smug grin.
She shook her head and went back to eating, muttering, "Only because you're too stubborn to throw out the door."
Adrian kept eating, tearing into the stale bread like a man on the edge of starvation. A few crumbs and pieces broke off, sticking to his beard as he chewed. He didn't even seem to notice.
Misha stared at him, unimpressed. "Why don't you shave that beard if you're not gonna clean it?"
Adrian glanced up, still chewing. "'Cause I don't wanna."
"Yeah, but why not? And while we're on the topic—when was the last time you washed that coat? Or any of your clothes? Or, I don't know… yourself?"
Adrian narrowed his eyes. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying you smell worse than a homeless man," Misha said flatly, not even looking up from her plate.
Adrian froze, then slowly looked down at his food. "...Okay. That's harsh."
"Why? I'll just get dirty again," Adrian said with a shrug, as if he thought it was a perfectly reasonable argument.
Misha blinked at him. "What are you, five years old? You can't just walk around smelling like shit because you might get dirty again." She leaned back in her chair, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "I mean, what about when you go on dates? Do you just show up reeking like a bum?"
"I don't go on dates," Adrian said, dead serious, staring at her like she'd just asked him why the sky was blue.
Misha snorted. "Yeah. I figured."
"Go take a shower," Misha said, fixing him with a deadpan stare. "I'll only charge you five gulden."
Adrian blinked. "Five? Yeah, no."
She let out a tired sigh and dropped her fork onto the plate. "Fine. I'll pay you. Just go wash yourself, please. I'm begging you."
Adrian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, pretending to think it over. "Tempting offer."
"You smell like you've been living in a sewer, Adrian." misha said
"…Alright, fine," he muttered, standing up. "But I better get paid upfront."
"Hey, wait—I never told you my name," Adrian said, pausing mid-step, a confused look settling on his face.
Misha raised an eyebrow as she stood and carried her plate to the kitchen counter. "I can read paperwork too, you know."
"…Right," Adrian mumbled, feeling a bit dumb for even asking.
He shrugged off his coat and looked around. "So… where's your bathroom?"
Misha pointed down the hall without turning around. "That way."
Adrian stepped into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes with a tired grunt. The hot water hit him immediately—sharp, steamy, almost too warm. He paused, glancing up at the showerhead.
A small red crystal was embedded in a metal ring on the side—a standard heat enchantment. Simple but effective. It pulsed gently, sending warmth through the water line. He recognized it—something sold in most supply shops. Not expensive, but a nice convenience.
"Makes sense," he muttered. "No one likes cold showers."
He leaned into the stream, letting the water run down his face and over his shoulders. Dirt and sweat washed away slowly, tracing faint lines down the drain. The scent of soap lingered nearby—he found a small bar near the edge of the sink and used it to clean himself thoroughly. After that, he filled the sink with warm water, dunked his clothes in, and scrubbed them by hand with the same soap.
The water quickly turned cloudy.
When he finished, Adrian held the damp clothes in both hands and closed his eyes. He drew on his mana and focused, using matter manipulation to pull the moisture from the fabric, making it evaporate directly into the air—just like he did back in the woods when he was hunting trolls. The water vapor rose steadily, disappearing until the clothes were warm, dry, and ready to wear in less than a minute.
He gave each piece a final shake, then put on his shirt, pants, and coat, feeling cleaner and more human than he had all morning.
He walked back into the living room. Misha was getting dressed, still halfway through putting on her uniform shirt.
"Ah, sorry," Adrian mumbled, looking away.
She finished sliding the shirt over her shoulders, then, without a word, tossed one shoe at him. That was it. No scolding, no teasing. She slipped on her other shoe, then walked over to Adrian, picked up the shoe she'd thrown, put it on, and settled onto the couch. Her eyes studied him—sharp, assessing.
"You didn't shave," Misha said flatly.
Adrian didn't dare respond.
"I'd rather not," Adrian said, his voice low, trying to dodge the whole thing.
Misha didn't blink. "Shave," she said, firm and final, like it wasn't even a question. No room for negotiation, no chance to argue.
Adrian sighed, the familiar frustration bubbling up. "Fine," he muttered, the word tasting like defeat.
Her tone reminded him too much of his old teacher—strict, unyielding, the kind that made you just do what you were told without asking why.
"Do you have a razor or something sharp?" Adrian asked, hoping for a quick way out.
"In the bathroom," Misha said, her eyes narrowing. "You should've seen it. Don't act stupid."
Adrian rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smirk creeping onto his lips. "Fine, alright, Mom. I'll go shave," he said, his voice dripping with mockery, the playful jab the only way he could push back without starting a fight.
"Did you just call me 'Mom'?" Misha asked, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
"I was making a joke," Adrian said, turning away and heading back to the bathroom without another word.
He grabbed the razor and started shaving, the coarse hair falling into the sink in little clumps. The scrape of the blade against his skin felt strange—foreign. When he finally finished and looked at himself in the mirror, there was a shadow of sadness in his eyes, a quiet mourning for the beard now gone.