Warmth Like a Flame

For most of his period there, everything was a blur, which was definitely a sign of repressions that he’d have to look at and address eventually.

He stands before the stove. He fears the worst, but he knows any meal that could come out of this was better than the porridge from then.

Between the two of them, it was Beatrice who makes the food, and Sinclair who does the cleaning. A simple deal between roommates. Yet, Sinclair knew he could do better than to make her do all the work. They had been living together for a while, and it wasn't easy.

Returning the favor felt necessary. Batter was already mixed in a bowl waiting to be fried, and the pan was asking to be heated up.

When he turns the knob, a contained fire pops underneath, and his hand reaches for the bowl so he can pour one, two pancakes. Yet the moment his eyes gaze at the blue flame, and the moment he feels that warmth too familiar...

...the bowl drops onto Sinclair's feet, and he falls as a flash of his past life suddenly returns to haunt him.

Fortunately, Beatrice was more than alert, and upon hearing the commotion she rushed towards him.