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I open one kitchen drawer to find a few takeout menus, some batteries, a screwdriver, and a pen. I leave the pen out and pull open the next drawer. There’s tape and a box cutter—so, nope.
I go through the house, striking out, until finally I find a notepad in my bag that I’ve never once used, and I’m quite honestly not sure how it got there.
I hate it. I mean, sure, it’s fine for making a grocery list or some shit, but not for whatever fashion people do when they draw clothes. He needs real sketch paper.
A sketchbook.
Several, probably, because giving him one feels weirdly stingy now that I’m thinking about it.
I decide he needs real supplies, which I’ll need to either order or find in the wild, since I can surely buy art supplies.
My phone is already in my hand, pulling up the Notes app.
Kamden
- sketchbooks
- pencils
- colored pencils
- markers?
- good erasers
- ruler
- pencil sharpener
- fashion magazines?
- sewing supplies — TBD, would include needles
- actual fucking socks
I pause, then add slippers, clothes, underwear, pajamas, toiletries, a laptop or tablet, and school supplies.
The list is starting to get out of hand, so I step away from it for now and go back to the kitchen counter to scoop some ice cream into a bowl.
I grab the pen and notepad, put all of it on a tray, and check the camera to make sure I won’t wake him up. He’s not asleep, just staring up at the ceiling, so I figure I’m good.
I give the door a quick knock before unlocking it, then enter with my bounty.
Kamden blinks at me when I walk in, eyes tracking the tray in my hands like he’s not sure whether he’s supposed to be excited or worried. I set it on the foot of the bed, just out of his immediate reach, and sit down on the edge.
He’s never going to ask, so I nudge the tray closer. “Thought you might want something cold. Hope you like cookie dough.”
He glances at the bowl, then at the pen and pad beside it. “Is… is this for me?”
“Nah, it’s for me to eat in front of you,” I deadpan, watching as his lips twitch despite himself. “Of course it’s for you.”
He reaches for the ice cream first, then freezes, hand hovering over the melting scoop. “Can I…?”
“Dig in,” I say. “You’ve earned it.”
Kamden scoops up a tentative bite, eyes fluttering closed when he tastes it. The sigh he lets out is so soft, I almost miss it. He eats with slow, careful movements, like he expects me to rip the bowl away if he goes too fast, or maybe like he’s trying to make it last. I make myself stay quiet, watching the tension in his shoulders loosen with every bite.
He finishes half the bowl before he speaks, voice sticky with sugar. “Why?” The question comes so quietly that, for a second, I think he means the ice cream.
