23 - DEVLIN

“I thought you said we were training?”

“You can’t train without eating,” Brixton says, pushing the plate of food closer to me.

The plate in front of me is full. Not a nicely put-together plate, but ‌a plate where all the food is touching. They roasted the chicken to perfection, and beside it the mashed potatoes have a pool of melted butter on top, leaking under the chicken and vegetable medley beside it.

“Where’s yours?” I look up, but it's never easy to feel his full attention on me. There's already warmth spreading to my cheeks as he half barks out an order.

“Eat, Devlin.” His eyes are still locked onto mine as the familiar weight of a utensil is shoved into my hand. The hand that’s still covered in blood.

The utensil clinks against the plate as I press away from the makeshift table he set up in my room and dash towards the bathroom.

Strong arms catch me from behind, pulling me into a warmth that's easy to get lost in. Luscious, delicious, juicy grape invades my space and m