Free-Jones Apartment
New York City
United States of America
September 21xx
When Ansel wakes up that morning, the first thing his senses register is the scent of pancake batter all the way from the kitchen.
He sits up slowly, blinks, and rubs at his eyes. The bedroom was still dimly lit; upon squinting around, he realizes it’s because the blinds haven’t been drawn. They remain closed, preventing the sunlight from flooding inside the room. It’s almost enough to encourage him to lie back down and try to grab another half hour’s worth of sleep; after all, he didn’t have to work on that day.
Ansel tries to get back to sleep, but his curiosity wins over and he ends up sitting up, groaning as he stretches. Parts of his back make popping noises. The brunet grunts quietly as he rotates his neck, attempting to stretch out the sleepiness that had been left behind.
When he feels ready, he gets up and approaches the bedroom door to creak it ooen, take a peek outside. Ansel isn’t sure why he feels nervous all of a sudden—after all, it was only Elena who would be in the kitchen.
So he opens the door. The scent of breakfast comes stronger, and before he knows it, he’s approaching the apartment’s kitchen area.
Ansel sees Elena.
Elena is humming on that morning, wearing her robe and flipping pancakes like no one’s business. Ear buds are nestled comfortably in her ears, her phone most likely blasting pop music from across the pond. She sings quietly while cooking, swaying a little bit at the same time.
The sight is enough to make him smile. Ansel leans against the wall, watches her with a fond expression. It takes a couple more minutes for her to turn around and see him there, and when she does, her eyes light up just a little bit. “Good morning,” she greets. “You’re looking happy.”
“Am I?”
“Mhm.” she turns to face the pancakes again, flips one of them. “It’s not bad. It’s a good change if you think of it.” Ansel says nothing, walks to the fridge and takes out a carton of juice before looking for a glass before Elena asks, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m…”
How did he feel?
“I’m okay,” he replies. Elena hums. “Not feeling anything strong. Then again, it might just be because I just woke up.”
“You should get some sleep if you’re still tired,” she offers, but Ansel shakes his head and pours himself some juice.
“I’ll live. It’s just, what—thirty minutes’ worth of extra downtime?” he drinks the entire glass and pours himself another, “Do you need help with the pancakes?”
“I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry,” she successfully transfers two onto a larger plate already bearing three, “I’ve got this in the pan.” Ansel rolls his eyes at the joke but kisses the top of her head before moving out to check the news.
They eat breakfast in the living room. Elena carries two plates of pancakes, sets them down on the coffee table. Ansel grabs the other necessary things—syrup, butter, glasses, juice—and before they know it, they’re settled in front of the television, curled up together on the couch and eating. The news flashes on the television but they find themselves not really listening.
It’s quiet for a couple of minutes until Elena asks, “How’ve you been doing?”
“Huh?”
“You know, since…” her voice trails off, but he knows what she’s referring to. Ansel doesn’t flinch at the mention. “Since that happened.”
“In an ideal timeline, I’d smile at you and say that I’ve been doing better thanks to the goodness of the world,” he replies dryly, and Elena laughs into her pancakes at his tone. “But to be honest, I don’t know. It’s just…stopped for a moment. I know it’s not gone. I’ve given up on the hope of it disappearing.” he shrugs. “But it’s been tolerable. I don’t feel like breaking into song and dance, but I don’t feel like shutting myself in the bedroom either.”
“That means that the meds are working, right?”
“I guess they are.” he sets his plate down and leans back against the couch, sighing. “But that was expected, right? I should be afraid if they weren’t working.”
“Hey now.” Elena poked his cheek, making him blink and look at her. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing’s wrong, because I literally just heard something in your voice just now.”
“You’re too observant for your own good,” Ansel muttered. She merely gave a smile and poked his cheek yet again. “It’s just—it’s frustrating, you know? I don’t know if it’s me who’s getting better because I want to get better, or if it’s the meds that are hauling my ass. And then comes the thought of when the next breakdown’s going to be. It’s…it’s a fucking mess,” he exhaled.
Elena went silent for a moment.
“And it sucks knowing that this…condition is with me for good. It’s part of me.”
(Somehow, he didn’t sound bitter.
Ansel just sounded resigned.)
Finally, she spoke. “You want to get better, right?”
“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”
“Then there you have it.” she forked another pancake onto her plate, squeezed some syrup onto it, and cut a piece. “You want to get better. Therefore, it’s you.” Ansel was about to protest when she forked a piece of pancake into his mouth, “The meds are just there to help you along the way, but they’re not doing all the work. It’s you. You’re the one who chose to get up today and go out instead of staying in the bedroom.”
“And what if I fall again, Lena?”
“Then you’ll get up again and keep pushing.” she leaned her head on his shoulder, “I know you will. If you were able to get all that happened before, then I’m sure that you can get through the now, too.”
He gave her a small smile. “You believe in me so much.”
“Of course I do. You just have to do the same for yourself.”
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