"Thaaaaanks." Cynthia rocked back on her heels, humming to herself as he left to fetch a fresh bulb. She swallowed hard, trying to calm her racing pulse.<br/><br/>She use to get so frightened here, in this very same room. The memory came back to her, so visceral. She was off playing with her dolls,  sitting in the corner by the fireplace. Back then it was often lit, keeping the room warm and homey. It was dusk. She couldn’t remember if her mother was already dead by then, not that it made any difference. Her grandmother was in the kitchen, baking a sweet-smelling desert that made her stomach twist with hunger. And all at once, unease gripped her. A brisk wind swept through the room, and all the lightbulbs burnt out with a sharp “snap”. She had screamed, just like today. Gram had come running, just like Tracy did. Cynthia had been shooed out of the room, told to go into her room and lock the door; as if breaking lightbulbs was some horrible thing that children can’t handle. Well, now she was an adult.<br/><br/>She glanced uneasily over her shoulder, pulling out of the memory. Something about this place always felt off to her, and maybe it was just the darkness of the room, or her grandmother’s recent death playing on her paranoia, but… she startled as Tracy reentered, lightbulbs in hand.<br/><br/>“My hero.” She side-swiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, trying to keep the blanket hitched up and on her shoulders. She casted a glance around the dark corners of the room, waiting as he broke open the pack. She opened her arms, allowing him to wedge the case into her blanket-wings. It wasn't very helpful of her, but there was no way in hell she would drop the ends she was holding and exposing herself to the chill.<br/><br/>“Mmm, I like a working man,” she teased, swishing in place and offering no help for such ‘hard labor’ task, as could be expected. Hell she wasn’t even good at feeding herself on her own. She let him place the burnt out bulb on top of the case she was holding with her arms, adjusting awkwardly to try and balance it. She smiled up at him, stepping forward to wedge the case between her chest and his. There, easier.<br/><br/>“I have a thought. Or two.” She went up on her toes, trusting him to catch the case that would surely slip between them and smash on the ground if he didn’t. She kissed him. Not a brush on the lips or a peck, but a real<span style="font-style: italic">sinking</span>kiss. She kissed him in a way she hadn’t the past few weeks, not since the news had disrupted  their  “normal” and knocked Cynthia's mind out to god-knows-where. The blanket slipped to the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, her hands going into his back pockets. This felt good.<span style="font-style: italic">He</span>felt good. She sunk into him, trying to ignore a sudden bitting anxiety in her gut. It took a moment to understand it, her thoughts wrapped up in other...<span style="font-style: italic">distracting</span>senses. She pulled back with a gasp, her hand on his chest, lightly pressing him away as she strained to see around them in the dark.<br/><br/>"...Did you lock the back door?" she whispered, her heart pounding. Someone was in here, she was sure of it.