[He returned to cooking, slow and steady about it, not caring much for the silence. He stirred the rice that he had put on and returned to his vegetables, moving them around as he felt his awareness of Steve pique. It always did in such silences, his longing building to frustration at their separation, and the painful want of his own flesh and soul for the one sitting on the counter. The pain was just as much a thrill though.]

I was doing the right thing; I was building a better world for those good enough to see it through. The scum would finally pay for their transactions... but nope, now I cook barefoot in my own kitchen and think about what position to sleep in tonight.

[He sighed and shifted his shoulders, feeling the pull of scarred skin, a testament of a failed dream. Ah well, dreams failed all the time.]

Why don't you throw me in a burlap sack and run off in search of him?