FicWad

I broke the silence first by turning to the computer and sighing. “So, you win. No love interests for Thanatos.”
He blinked, seeming to surface from some kind of memory. “Yeah, of course,” he said, scrolling down the page.
I scribbled down a few more notes. “Okay, this should be enough. Let’s start typing up the report.”
He opened a clear document and we filled up about ten pages, planning to actually read aloud about three of them. When that was done, he asked if I was hungry. I said yeah, and soon I was walking close behind him, down the stairs and into the creepy part of his house. It made me feel like I was completely out of place, from the future, if you will.
“So, um, your house is really…authentic,” I said.
“I know. My parents are obsessed with the Middle Ages. I’m just waiting on them to get a guillotine.”
I laughed softly, trailing a hand along the wall. “Where are your parents?”
“Most likely downstairs, poring over their books. You like spaghetti?”
“You cook?” I asked, sitting at the ordinate, wooden table as he moved around behind the counter.
“Yeah. It’s a good distraction.”
“Distraction from what?”
“Life.”
I fell silent as I watched him fill a pot with water and set it on the stove.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Nah, it’s fine.”
“So what do you like to do in your spare time?” I asked, deciding to interview him since I was bored.
“I read. I cook. I drive around aimlessly. I listen to music. I sometimes play an instrument, like guitar or piano, when I can get a hold of one. Sometimes I even write poetry, but it’s really bad and I usually end up throwing it away.”
“Where did you live before you came here?”
“I’ve lived everywhere.”
“You got a girlfriend waiting for you to move back?”
He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “No,” he said finally after I wondered if I’d asked the wrong thing.
“What’s your favorite subject in school?”
“Literature,” he said, pouring sauce onto the steaming noodles.
“Do you have a job?”
“I did. Not anymore. I’m looking for a new one.”
“Do you get good grades?”
He glanced up at me from under his thick hair. “Do you?”
I coughed and quickly changed the subject. “What music do you like?”
“I like a little bit of everything.”
“What’s your favorite animal?”
“The raven,” he mused, suddenly distant and distracted. A timer went off at the stove and he jumped, reaching over to shut it off, bringing him back to reality. Then, pouring the meal onto two plates, he sat down across from me, and I tried to pry more out of him.