The first thing the girl notices when she wakes up is the tray.
A standard breakfast-in-bed sort of table, it is decorated with a simple doily, and bears a charming, home-style meal. There is a bowl of thick, gluey macaroni and cheese, a plate with several slices of garlic bread, utensils, a glass of milk, and a plastic medicine cup of pills.
The second thing the girl notices is the hunger. An ever-present, aching pain, the hunger has plagued her for years. The food serves only to renew it, and the girl almost cries out in longing as a fresh hurt tears through her gut.
The door opens. It is the boy. He is wearing jet-black jeans and a white t-shirt with skulls and swords swirling across it. He smiles, pulls a chair up to her bed, and gestures at the food.
"Eat."
The girl does not hesitate to obey. She picks up the spoon with one shaky hand, and begins shoveling the macaroni into her thin mouth. It is soft and rich and is just the right temperature. She stops eating the macaroni only to start on the garlic bread, devouring three out of four slices before a wave of nausea hits her. She leans back, suddenly all too aware of her stomach, shrunken from years of deprivation, now packed and churning with greasy food.
The boy watches her, fascinated. The meal is not unreasonably large, he ponders, and she should be able to finish it. The girl breathes deeply, then turns to face him. Before she can say anything, he interrupts.
"You haven't taken your pills."
The girl glances at the medicine cup, then raises an eyebrow.
"What are they for? How can I trust you?"
This seems to amuse the boy. "Had I wanted to administer harmful medication," he says, smiling, "I could easily have concealed it in the meal that you seemed to have no qualms about eating." He grabs the pill cup, then gestures at her. "Hold out your hand. This is a multivitamin, for everyday maintenance." He drops a white tablet into her hand.
"These are biotin, for hair and nail strength." He deposits two white capsules next to the vitamin.
"This is amoxicillin, for your ears; they're both infected." A large, pink tablet.
"These three are vitamins D3, B12, and C, of which you have a particular deficiency." Three clear gel pills.
"This is calcium, and this one's iron." He drops the last two pills into her hand, one large and yellow, the other smaller and red. "I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you."
Confidence renewed, the girl nods and pops the pills into her mouth, swallowing them with a sip from the glass of milk. A few, however, seem to be sticking in her throat, and she ends up finishing the milk in order to get them all down.
By this time, the tray is looking less intimidating. She has about a third of the macaroni left, and only a slice of garlic bread remaining. To the boy's delight, the girl starts on the meal again, full stomach forgotten, if only momentarily. She devours the garlic bread with relish, and only seems to slow down when she returns to the macaroni. With only a few spoonfuls left, she puts her spoon down in resignation.
The boy steps in. She needs to finish her breakfast.
He picks up the bowl in one hand, and the spoon in the other. Carefully scraping the sides of the bowl so as not to miss any cheese, he scoops up half the remaining food. The girl has realized by now what is going on, and looks mildly uncomfortable as he brings the spoon to her mouth. Nevertheless, she accepts the macaroni, and watches, intrigued, as the boy refills the spoon and once more brings it to her lips. She is no longer hungry, and shakes her head. He does not say anything, but presses the spoon against her mouth until she cooperates and swallows the last bit of food. Satisfied, the boy sets the bowl and spoon down on the tray, which he lifts up and off the bed before exiting silently into the hall.
The girl's visibly distended midsection throbs. She has not had a sufficient amount of food for a very long time, and has not had an excessive amount of food for even longer. She leans back, breathing heavily, and her eyes close almost immediately as she drifts into a deep sleep.

The boy is agitated. He paces around his room, picking things up, then immediately putting them down. Angry questions fill his head.
Why did he leave without saying anything?
Why did he make her finish the macaroni and cheese?
Does she hate him?
Did she hate him before?
He throws himself facedown onto his full-size bed. His head throbs. He needs an ibuprofen.
The boy has just removed the lid from the pill bottle and is shaking several tablets into his hand when his watch buzzes. The girl is awake. He quickly dumps the ibuprofen into his mouth, gulps some water from the faucet, and rushes from the little bathroom back into his room, then out of his room and down the hallway. He skids on the tile floor as his socks fail to provide the amount of friction necessary for him to maintain control of the position of his feet on the floor. He slips just as he reaches the girl's door, banging his shoulder and clavicle as he crashes to the ground. The boy grimaces. This does not help his headache.
He dusts himself off, does his best to regain his composure, and slowly opens the door. The girl is already alert, having heard the thud of boy hitting tile. She has thrown her covers to the foot of the bed, and is sitting upright, with her legs dangling towards the floor. She no longer seems to be uncomfortably full, which is reasonable, as it has been several hours since he left her.
"Are you going to tell me where I am now," the girl asks, irritated, "or are you going to do something else creepy?"
The boy feels a twinge of guilt. This girl must be terrified. But he doesn't know how to respond.
"You're here, not on the city street; that's what's important." The girl rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. "That's not an answer. Where is here?"
"That's not relevant," the boy responds, regretting each word as he says it. "But it's not up to me to decide whether-" he cuts himself off.
"Whether what? What is going on?" The girl is furious now, as she jumps to her feet and glares up at the boy. She wasn't expecting him to be truthful, but she was expecting some sort of answer. Without warning, the boy roughly grabs her by the hand and pulls her with him out the door and down the hallway.
"Come with me," he says, suddenly calm, as she struggles to keep up with his long strides.
"It's not like I have any damn choice!" the girl hisses, tripping slightly over her own toes. "Slow down, damn it!" The boy laughs, but does as she says, and they slow to a leisurely stroll. He lets go of her hand. A jolt of panic shakes the girl. Should she run? Can she run? She stops, paralyzed with indecision. The boy beckons, then realizes what she is considering.
"There's no point in trying to escape," he sighs. "This is a very secure place." The girl's face goes white, then turns slightly green. He offers his hand to her, and this time she accepts it willingly, though not without some distaste.
They continue down the hallway in silence for a minute, then the boy stops in front of a door. This door is green, and, like most of the other doors, seems to be made of the same matte material as the walls. The boy twists the doorknob, and the lights inside the room flick on soon after he pushes the door open, gesturing for the girl to go inside. She hesitantly steps through the doorway, blinking in surprise at the difference between the room's decor and that of the rooms she has seen so far.
The room is a half-circle, with one wall adorned with an enormous television screen. Inset into the floor is a curved couch facing the television. The couch's back reaches up to a warm-colored, wood floor, with stairs descending on each end of the room to the lower level. Around the inlay, the wood floor leads into a kitchenette lined with odd machines and storage units. The boy sweeps into the room, and hops down the half-flight of stairs nearest the door. He turns to the girl.
"C'mon in." She slowly follows him to the couch area, watching as he flops himself down onto the soft, fluffy cushions. He shivers, and settles, as if he has just relieved himself of a heavy burden. The girl sits next to him, but about a yard away. She is somewhat frightened at his volatile temperament.
"Let's talk," the boy says, turning his knees towards her and putting his right arm over the back of the couch. "I know you have questions."
"Oh, really?" the girl responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then you're a master of deduction, because I sure as hell wasn't clueing you in." The boy laughs, then scrapes his hair back with his long, bony fingers. "You can ask me anything. I'll try to be completely open and honest with you." The girl relaxes a little. This is more like the person who cared for her yesterday. At least, she thinks it was yesterday. She's not really sure; she has yet to find a window.
"Who are you?" she asks. It seems to be the most obvious question. The boy's face falls.
"I don't know my given name. My father died while my mother was pregnant with me, and my mother had severe complications as a result of childbirth and never really recovered. She died when I was eight months old. I was 'raised'" -- he makes air quotes-- "by my half-sister. She's fifteen years older than I am." He sighs. The girl raises an eyebrow. The story sounds familiar, but one thing bothers her.
"How can you possibly not know your own name?" The boy sighs again.
"Growing up, I answered to a series of names, including 'kid', 'you', 'you little shit', 'boy', and 'fuckface', to name a few."
The girl's heart breaks a little to hear this. "I don't really have a name either," she blurts. "I was subject F13M2-57, and the staff usually just referred to us as 'it' or 'the specimen'." The boy looks alarmed.
"Specimen? Is that why you don't have a chip?"
"I- I was a lab rat. I thought you'd know."
"How would I know? We found you in an alley after someone reported a broken door scanner because it wouldn't let you in." He frowns. "Why, what did you think you were here for?"
"I don't know!" the girl cries. "I thought maybe- I thought maybe you were from the lab and you'd-and you'd come to retrieve me. But it doesn't look like the lab here and I haven't seen anyone else and I'm scared and I don't understand what I'm doing here!" She sniffs and wipes futilely at her dripping eyes. The boy looks both alarmed and concerned.
"I'm so sorry. I really- I didn't want you to be frightened. I'm just- so- damn- lonely." He pounds his hand, now clenched in a fist, down onto his thigh. The girl sniffles. "What do you mean?" He looks away, then looks back at her, and she can see that he is crying, too. "I'm as trapped here as you are." He takes a deep breath. "I can't leave without armed guards and I can't let people see me and I can't interact with people and I can't even see the damn sun because she decided that underground real estate was the cheapest with which to occupy and entrap me. She only let me retrieve you because she thought it was funny that I was so desperate for human contact that I was settling for an essentially nonexistent person." The girl is taken aback, unsure whether or not to be offended. She decides against it.
"Who's this she?"
"My half-sister. She hates me because I look like my father and because my birth essentially killed our mother." He laughs bitterly. "I had just the greatest luck to be born into a family where a bitchy fifteen-year-old has all the power in the world." The girl furrows her brow. She's heard this before, but can't quite place where.
"So you brought me here to keep you company?" The boy buries his face in his hands and groans. "It sounds so awful when you put it like that. Who the hell do I think I am, taking a person?"
"I'd've died if you hadn't."
"Who am I to decide who lives or dies?" The boy shudders, face still covered. He is tense and agitated, and nearly jumps off of the couch when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It is the girl.
"Thank you." she whispers, then smiles. "Thank you for saving my life." The boy relaxes a little. She hugs him as best she can with his odd, curled-up position. He takes a long, shaky breath, then straightens up and hugs her back, pulling her closer to him. The contact is long-awaited. The girl's fears diminish. She has a warm place to stay, food, and, for the first time in her life, somebody, however odd, who seems to care for her. She snuggles up against him, absorbing the soapy-clean scent of his deodorant.