[quote=@Stern Algorithm]
<Snipped quote by Haeo>

Now she headed into the kitchen and looked around, impressed by the care Vern seemed to take in it.  First she found a bag of rice, pouring some out into a pot she found, filling the pot with water and began boiling it to make porridge.  She took out some salt, pepper, and vinegar, and looked for some light foods like pickled vegetables to go with it.  She also took out an egg that she would poach in the porridge right before the porridge was ready.

Shizuak wandered between the kitchen and Vern, alternating between checking up on him and the meal she was preparing.
[/quote]

A warm touch.  A soft sound.  Vaguely familiar footfalls coming closer, then drifting away again.  His dream was full of these things.  They were everywhere.  The great stage where he stood, waiting for the spotlight, waiting for the show to begin, was surrounded by a crowd of waiting people.  Faceless and silent in the dark, they stood waiting for the show along with him.  It seemed like they would wait together forever.

Drip.

Drip drop.

The first few drops of rain soon became a low hiss like steam from a kettle.  The stage was covered in water.  The crowd dissolved and was replaced by fog that rose and thickened.

It smelled like tea and porridge.  A thought in words skated across the mind that couldn't remember their meaning.  "I have strange dreams."

Vern's eyes opened.  He looked at the ceiling, his ceiling.  This was the ceiling that belonged to his bedroom.  He didn't remember coming here.  His arm felt weird.  Oh, it was up.  But he couldn't feel his forehead with his hand.  Odd.  There was something in the way, something warm.  A hand that wasn't his?

Memories trickled back into his consciousness.  He had been getting tea.  He wasn't alone.

"Shizuka?"  He whispered, surprised at the weariness in his voice.  It almost sounded like it belonged to someone else.  He turned his head to make sure.  Yep, it looked like he had been put to bed by his pretty employee, probably after dropping on the kitchen floor like a sack of flour.  And, he was holding her hand.  He must have grabbed it while she was checking his temperature.  If he wasn't so numb with fatigue, he would have been horrified.  As it was, he just let go and put his arm back down at his side.  "Sorry."  He whispered. "I was going to make you tea.  Some host I've been."