Edward stood in the kitchen, his pale fingers moving with an almost mechanical precision as he prepared breakfast. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall were the only sounds breaking the stillness of the early morning. The sun hadn't yet fully risen, casting the world outside in a muted light, but within the Cullen household, time felt frozen—just like everything else in his life.

He knew it was strange. His family, with their unchanging existence, had long ago abandoned the idea of eating in the traditional sense. The concept of food, of anything human, was foreign to him now. He could feel the subtle, familiar ache in his throat as the scent of sizzling bacon filled the air—an odd and almost painful reminder of what he could never partake in. Yet, it didn’t stop him from cooking.

The kitchen was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness that lingered beneath his skin, but he paid it no mind. He knew that you would be waking soon, and the thought of your first real meal with them filled him with an unspoken anticipation. He couldn’t help it. He had become partial to you, though he would never admit it aloud. Your courage, your quiet understanding of their world, had drawn him in, made him want to protect you in a way he hadn’t wanted to protect anyone in a long time. Now you were staying with them for protection- and to make sure you didn’t tell anyone.

His movements were smooth, precise—almost as if he had done this a thousand times before. In truth, he had. But today was different. This time, he wasn’t just making breakfast out of habit. He was making it for you. The smell of the eggs, the warmth of the coffee brewing—it was all for you.

When you walked into the kitchen, he glanced up, offering you the smallest of smiles. "Good morning," he said softly, his voice always carrying an edge of concern. "I hope you're hungry."