on eggshells. [k de vries]

synopsis: who knew that baking could be so domestic?

"Did you preheat the oven?" K calls.

"Hmm?" you poke your head out from where you were rummaging in K's cabinet. Why you can't find the extra baking powder is a wonder to them. Their cupboard isn't that deep and they're a fairly organized person. Unless Rylan got in there recently, it should be easy to spot.

"Preheat?"

"That's the first step when baking, you do realize."

You place a container on the counter and pull yourself up. "I wasn't aware we were baking."

"Very funny."

"I'm aware. By the way, you need to stop stuffing important things at the very back," you respond, sliding the baking powder over. K glances it over with a hum, barely managing to ignore the weight of your body beside theirs. "I could've preheated the oven by now."

"I rarely ever use baking powder."

"Which explains why you were wondering why I couldn't find it?"

K shoots you a look, which you avoid by skipping towards the oven. Already, they miss your presence beside them. "Forget about that. Do you want to crack the eggs or should I?"

"How many are there?"

"Three."

"Give me one." You circle around the other side of the counter. "I want to watch you crack the other two."

K has the vague feeling that they're being punished, though for what they're not sure. Or perhaps you're teasing them, denying their clear desire to be beside you. Whatever the case, K feels a flush of heat rush to their cheeks. They ignore it by cracking the first egg into the bowl.

K has never been a subtle person. They pride themself on their honesty, their refusal to sugarcoat things and their advice. The first time they met you, they could tell it had gotten on your nerves. Their blunt tone often came off rude, their dismissals brash.

They'll admit they weren't trying to be nice that first encounter, nor the next few, really, but you never let that deter you. You stood your ground when K was being unreasonable, fought back when they said something that crossed a line. It was both admirable and infuriating, and, for a while, K leaned too far into the latter.

They hated that the first emotion even crossed their mind. They hated that they were starting to think you were pretty, more than in a conventional way. They hated that they wanted to reassure you when you were upset, that they prided themself when you came to them first.

They noticed too many things. Freckles, moles. They could recognize you in a crowd of people based on how you walked. Imperfections on your skin, little habits you had sitting in K's loveseat. How to tell when you were angry or when you were pretending to be happy. The difference between forced smiles and real ones.

When their walls came tumbling down, there was no big confession. There wasn’t a culmination of sexual tension where the two of you suddenly attacked each other's lips. It was quiet and direct, like K.

Kissing came later. Hugs were accepted with time.

For someone who's always been indifferent to touch, K was surprised to find how much they craved yours. They're not an easily distractable person, but God, do they lose track of time when they're with you.

That's another reason you hadn't preheated the oven. They get hot thinking about it now.

Their back pressed against the counter. Your lips against theirs, soft and slow-moving despite the position you were in. Your hands were firm against their hips, theirs at the back of your head, pulling you closer, more flush against them, until nothing was separating the both of you.

Your voice whispering in their ear. K's mouth trailing down your neck, peppering kisses on your jawline on the way down. The quiet pants that left their mouth, the same noises that left yours.

They wanted to move this elsewhere. The living room, the bedroom. Not to do anything sexual, necessarily, but to continue to be this close to you. To kiss kiss-swollen lips until they were bruised. But K had just enough self-restraint to eventually pull away and continue measuring the flour.

It's a miracle that it didn't get all over you two.

K cracks the second egg. "Good enough for you?"

"I think I can do better." You lean forward, grabbing the remaining egg and cracking it on the side of the bowl. The two of you watch as a piece of shell falls into the mixture, small but evidently there. You grimace, staring down at it. "Or, I guess not."

K laughs. They don't remember the last time they laughed so hard, ribs hurting and lungs choking for air. You join in after a second, though they know you're more likely laughing at them than anything. It doesn't bother them.

Only when they calm down do you smile at them, the look in your eyes so fond that it would've sent K running a year ago. Now, they're sucked in by it.

"We should bake more often," you whisper.

K's heart swells with affection. "We should."