SPUD & COACH "The Kitchen at 9:07"

You don’t lose control in the moment. You lose it because you waited until the moment to decide.

The kitchen holds that late-night stillness. Not empty. Just settled into itself. A soft blue from the window stretches across the marble counter. Clean. Quiet. No distractions.

SPUD stands at the open refrigerator, door wide, light pouring over his shoulders. Gray sweats. Faded T-shirt. Barefoot on cool tile. He isn’t hungry, but his hand is already on the shelf.

“Leftover pasta,” he says, pulling it forward. “That’s not even bad. That’s… efficient. Not wasting food.”

He sets it on the counter and leaves the fridge open.

COACH is at the island, sleeves clean, dark shirt, still — watching, not stepping in.

SPUD glances over. “You just gonna stand there?”

COACH doesn’t move. “You already know what you’re doing.”

SPUD exhales, annoyed. “Yeah. I’ve heard the speech.”

“No,” COACH says. “You’ve heard yourself.”

That lands.

SPUD taps the container with his fingers, light and restless. “This would feel good,” he says. “Right now. Just… done. No thinking.”

COACH nods once. “It would.”

SPUD looks up, thrown. “So what’s the problem?”

COACH pushes off the island, one step forward, controlled. “The problem isn’t the food,” he says. “It’s that you’re waiting to decide now.”

SPUD leans back, arms folding. “Oh here we go,” he mutters. “The ‘system’ talk.”

COACH reaches past him and closes the refrigerator. Soft click. The light disappears. The room returns to that calm blue.

“We don’t decide at 9:07,” COACH says.

SPUD glances at the clock — 9:07 — then back to the counter, then to COACH. “So what — you just don’t eat?” he says. “Ever?”

COACH picks up a glass, fills it, sets it down in front of SPUD. “We already decided,” he says. “Nothing after 9.”

SPUD stares at the glass like it’s an insult. “That’s it?” he says. “That’s your big move?”

COACH holds his gaze. “That’s the one you keep breaking.”

Silence stretches.

SPUD looks at the pasta. You can see it. The habit of reaching before he does, the quiet pull. His fingers lift the container. Pause. Turn. He exhales, then slides it back into the fridge and closes the door.

He takes the glass and drinks. Not satisfied. Not proud. Just… less noisy.

He wipes his mouth, already turning away. “Don’t act like that’s something,” SPUD says. “It’s one night.”

COACH leans back against the counter. “I’m not acting,” he says.

SPUD stops at the edge of the room, not fully turning. “Then what is it?” he asks.

COACH answers, steady. “It’s a kept decision.”

SPUD stands there a second longer, then walks out. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t open the fridge again.

If this moment felt familiar, you are not alone & you are not stuck.

I am shaping Themer tools to help you hold onto these moments & move forward.

You are not alone! Welcome Themer!

Thank You so much for visiting & subscribing at SuzyTheme.com so you can stay close as the tools & guides come into place & as SPUD & COACH continue!