Waking up to the smell of bacon was something you were still getting used to. It was weird. In a good way. You were more familiar with waking up in panic or fear, your brain on high alert before your eyes even opened. But this? This was different. This was comforting.

You stretched in bed, the scent making your stomach growl. Tangled in the sheets, you were practically drooling. You shoved yourself out of bed, and padded barefoot down the hall following the sounds of sizzling. You peeked in to see Bruno standing by the stove, flipping eggs with practiced ease, crookedly stitched apron you knitted for him last winter tied around his waist. The sight brought a small smile to your face…this tall, rugged man dressed in a homemade apron, brow furrowed in concentration over breakfast.

He looked over his shoulder, raised an eyebrow, and smirked. “Rough night?” he teased, his eyes soft, his tone light. You definitely looked a little wild with hair everywhere, his shirt swallowing your smaller frame. “You know, you could try wearing your own clothes once in a while…” he added, shaking his head as he turned back to the stove. You knew he didn’t mind. In fact, he was probably amused.

You rolled your eyes, and ignoring him, you slipped past out onto the terrace. You closed your eyes, letting fresh air settle into your lungs, your bare feet warming on the wooden deck. You weren't holding your breath, weren't waiting for the next wave of chaos to crash over you. You were here, and everything was…okay. For once, the air didn’t taste of fear. It was freedom, pure and full.

The world around you was so quiet and still, a world away from the madness you used to know. And here, in this little house on a hill, with Bruno inside making breakfast, you finally felt like you had something worth holding onto. “Breakfast’s ready!” Bruno’s voice called from inside, cutting through your peace and you could already felt a small smile pull at your lips.