Midnight Snack

Tommy wakes up with a start. His eyes snap open as his body jerks forward so he’s upright sitting. His breath is labored and he’s drenched in sweat. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, running a hand through his messy locks. He glances to the spot next to him where his wife and son should be. They’re right next to him, still fast asleep. Relief floods him as he sighs. That’s good… he always feels a bit guilty everytime he wakes either of them up.

He takes his time to watch them for a while. Maryam is holding little Robert in her toned, her blond hair spreads messily on the bed like a lion mane. Tommy chuckles heartily, swipes away the hair that got to her face as gently as he could. He kisses her and Robert sweet dreams, before taking his glasses, getting up, and out of the bedroom.

He’s sweaty and it soaks through his pajamas, and it makes him feel really sticky and gross. Tommy is thankful of the distraction. Maybe he’ll take a long, cold shower and then laze around before doing the laundry. He’ll probably write to Dylan too while he’s at it.

All in all, it wasn’t a very bad night. The night terrors aren’t the worst, and he can’t remember what it was after he woke up, and he woke up next to his wonderful family still asleep and safe and sound. In his book, this has been a pleasant night so far. He thinks about he hasn’t gotten fully used to this kind of normalcy, after years of his family business, how his parents would never let him have so much as a childhood.

He tries not to care, so he thinks about other things. He thinks about how adorable a grumpy Maryam in the morning looks like, how she would hug him from behind once she had her coffee and murmurs half-coherent things to his back, or how his heart leaps everytime Robert speaks or takes a step. His not-fully-awake mind wanders and fantasizes about how both Maryam and Dylan could easily carry him in their arms.

Now he’s just flustering himself.

He’s a bit occupied with his thoughts that he doesn’t realize the lights on the living room is on, until he’s close enough to the source of light. He grimaces due to the sudden assault of his eyes from the brightness, before eventually blinking to adjust his vision. Who’s awake at this time of the night? There’s only him, Maryam, and Robert in the house.

Oh, and Maes. Right. She’s just moved in a few days ago, after Maryam’s parents politely asked them to take care of her, making pardons and excuses. Tommy knows better than to think that they’re not trying to get rid of the poor kid. He can see through people like them—nasty folks.

He was one, after all.

It is Maes who is sitting on the couch, legs pulled up to her chest. Her pale orange eyes stare at him, and he notices the way she squirms slightly away and deeper to the couch. Tommy doesn’t know what exactly happened to her, but 14 in captive can’t be a good thing. As someone who had worked for the mob, he can only speculate just what had been done to her, and none of his speculations are very pleasant.

Maes doesn’t look like herself, and there’s more reason to it than how her hair is longer and her eyes are a different color now. There’s deadness in her eyes that he’s not stranger with, and he feels disgust because a child isn’t supposed to have to bear that sickening look.

Though, it’s kind of awkward, given they’ve never really interacted one on one before, there were always Maryam or Dylan or both to fill in the gaps of Tommy’s lack of social skills, but now Dylan is overseas, and Maryam is asleep, and Tommy doesn’t have the heart to just leave her alone after he’s spotted her.

He knows how it feels, after all, when your dreamscapes are out to torment you in your sleep, and how lonely and miserable the nights are. He had Dylan back then, and he has Maryam and Robert now, so there’s no way he’d just shrug Maes off as if he didn’t see her, especially that he knows how much she means to Maryam.

He sits on the other end of the couch, remembering how Maes had reacted to physical contact. Maes stiffens, still looking like she wants to run or fight. When Tommy smiles, she licks her lips and fidgets with her hands on her lap. Tommy notices a set of barcode on her right wrist, the one that has only been there after she came back home; the word ‘human trafficking’ whispers through his mind.

“Can’t sleep?” Tommy asks the obvious, using his voice still feels strange to him, but he knows Maes isn’t very fluent on sign language, and she looks like she could use someone to talk with, if only to distract.

Maes shrugs dismissively, still tense, still not looking at him. “Wouldn’t be here if I—if I could.”

“I’m gonna assume you did the laundry?”

That gets her to look at him, if not only halfway. The edge of sarcasm in her voice is immediately replaced by something more apologetic. “…Did I wake you up?”

“You didn’t,” he says honestly, gesturing vaguely to his own head. “It’s the same reason you’re up.”

It doesn’t take very long for Maes to understand. “Oh,” she says, averting her gaze again, something heavy weighing on her expression with a touch of shock. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to forgive,” he says, making sure Maes can hear the smile in his voice. She looks at him again, and he maintains the same gentle smile he has before. She hesitates again, before flashing him a quick grin.

Tommy observes her some more for quite some time, there’s an uncomfortable tension in the air as they both sit in silence, in the middle of the night, while everyone else is asleep. Tommy is not good at this. He had been a blackmailer, a manipulator, all kind of things that can never be applied for this situation. He’s not used to help people. He’s not good at this.

After minutes of unbearable awkward silence, Tommy gets up. He notices how Maes flinches at the sudden movement, and he’s sure she’s watching him as his back disappears to the kitchen. He grabs two mugs as quietly as he could not to wake up anyone. He puts sugar, flour, egg, and other necessary ingredients to the mugs and stirs them well.

After microwaving them, he comes back to the living room, placing both mugs filled with some sort of chocolate chip cookies. He goes back to the kitchen to grab a pair of spoons and a jar of strawberry jam. Maes watches in her own silent confusion the entire time.

Tommy puts a finger on his lips and shushes. “Midnight snack,” he says with a smile. “Chen sent me a recipe for this a while ago, and I never tried it until now.” Tommy offers Maes a spoon, with an arched brow. “And I remember that you like putting strawberry jam on everything.”

Maes’ cheeks are tinted red as she takes the spoon, looking less tense and more slightly embarrassed. That’s a good step. It’s another good step when Maes hesitantly opens the strawberry jam jar and takes a few glances at Tommy while doing so, Tommy pretends he’s not seeing anything and just starts to feast on his own snack.

…Did he put in salt instead of sugar?

Now it’s him who sneaks glances to Maes, whose face scrunches up in disgust after she puts the spoon in her mouth. There’s an awkward moment of them staring dead to eachother’s eyes, with Maes breaking it first by putting her mug down. She begins eating the jam from the jar with the spoon. Tommy thinks it’s fair.

He brings the mugs to the kitchen, throwing the failed mug-cookie and washing the mugs. He contemplates trying another attempt, but maybe another time. When he returns, he brings coffee for the both of them.

Maes smiles. Tommy thinks it’s good enough.