Edwin opens the door to his apartment, wondering if he cleaned up this morning. He always does, but what if he forgot today? What if he left out anything dirty, or anything private? He wouldn't know what that'd be, but still. Vincent has never been here. He doesn't want to leave a bad impression. It should be fine, though. He cleaned last week, and Vincent is not a neat freak.

"Make yourself at home," he says. He points at the doormat with his shoes, and the coatrack above it. "Kitchen is through here."

He drops the shopping bag in his bedroom and opens the kitchen cabinet where he keeps his pots. Vincent leans against the counter next to the stove. "What are you going to make for me, darling?"

"What do you want to learn? We can see if I've got everything then."

"Do you know Bangladeshi food? Or Indian food?"

Dammit. Of course even when Vincent wants to learn cooking, it's not the type of food Edwin knows, that he's good at. "I can look up a recipe," he offers.

Vincent shakes his head. "I don't think you're going to have the ingredients. What's easy to learn? I don't want to keep you up too late with your party tomorrow."

Edwin huffs. "I can sleep in. It's just Ellen and the girls. They'll have made cake or pie. Food that I'm not allowed to cook."

"They deprive you of that on your birthday? Shame on them, darling. It's a disgrace."

"I do the same when it's Ellen's birthday." Edwin scans the shelves of his pantry. Something easy. "How about couscous?"

"Sure, pumpkin. That sounds great."

Edwin grabs the box of couscous and an onion, and the vegetables from the fridge. He doesn't have the right type of meat, so it's going to be vegetarian couscous today. He shows Vincent how he should cut the vegetables and gets to work on the onion.

"Are you always so sad when you cut vegetables?" Vincent teases when Edwin wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

Edwin shakes his head. "Onion. Didn't want to give it to you with your make-up."

"Very kind of you, sweetheart. I'm honoured you're shedding tears for me."

"Not for you," Edwin protests, but without any real bite.

Vincent is very careful and slow cutting the vegetables, so Edwin takes over some of his once the onion is all chopped. Vincent purses his lips and the look of focus on his face reminds Edwin of Vincent playing clarinet, consumed by what he's doing. Getting it exactly right. He must look like this when he works on his watches and jewellery.

While Vincent is still busy with the butternut squash, Edwin starts frying the onion and tomatoes, mixing it with the spices.

"That smells nice," Vincent says. "I'm already getting hungry, darling. How long does this take?"

"A while," Edwin deadpans.

"Fine, girl. Tell me what you're doing. How much oil did you use?" Edwin looks at the pan. He'd forgotten he's meant to be teaching Vincent. They're not just cooking together. It's not just about the recipe, but even the basic skills. Vincent meant it when he said he couldn't cook.

He tries to explain what he's doing and Vincent comes to stand next to him, his vegetables still not fully chopped or sliced. It's an easier closeness than earlier in the store, less tense, and it feels like a thousand days spent cooking with Ellen, standing next to each other in front of the stove, talking, joking, affectionate. This is not that, but it almost could be. Vincent jokes and teases him — and here, doing this essential, life-giving thing that is routine and still a joy in his day, it feels equal. He can joke back about Vincent's cooking skills, tease him for his clumsiness while stirring. Vincent accepts it with a smile and goes back to the vegetables, which get added to the pan to cook.

When everything is in the pan, Vincent looks over Edwin's shoulder as he stirs. Edwin can feel his breath in his neck. Vincent could hug him from behind, warm and tight. Edwin could turn and they would kiss. He could do it right now. He could have his kiss.

And Vincent would reject him, and leave and not eat the food they cooked because staying through the awkwardness would be worse.

"It's strange to remember," he starts as he turns away from Vincent to fetch plates, "but it's been almost a year since I realised I was gay." In his mind, it seems only a few months ago, and at the same time, many, many years.

"When did you realise?"

"February. Moonlight. I told you."

"You did, darling. I haven't forgotten. Has it been a good year?"

Edwin thinks that over. The first months were miserable, definitely. But then ... "I'm thankful," he says. "To be here, now. That I didn't lose Ellen, or my family. I made new friends, great friends."

Vincent cocks his head. "Like me? I'm flattered, sweetheart."

Edwin smiles but shakes his head. "I didn't think I would get here. I came out to be honest, not to be happy."

"And now you are?"

"Getting there," Edwin replies honestly. He has found many moments of joy, but he's still learning to smooth out the fundamental unrest, the anxiety that has thrummed through him for almost a year.

"Aren't we all? Happiness is a work in progress, darling, or whatever the appropriate platitude is."

Edwin chuckles. "I'm not as confident as you yet. In who I am."

"Few are, pumpkin. It'll come, if you've found your people."

"My people?"

"Who make you most feel like yourself, like you can be whoever you want to be. Have you found those?"

Edwin doesn't know. "I have some gay friends. Who are more like me. The people at Bonaparte. Ellen. Caroline." Annick and Mona and Tatsuo might become friends, but he hasn't seen them yet since Christmas Eve. He doesn't know if anyone makes him feel like he could be whoever he wants to be. Only Ellen and Caroline, the people who have been by his side for decades. "Do you have them? Sumaya and Kim?"

"They're my people and then some, sugar. The queer and trans community are my people, too. I'm less buddy-buddy with the gay male community. Too much racism and transphobia for my delicate sensibilities."

"They're not all bad," Edwin objects. "Some of my friends were activists during Aids." They're not — he's not a racist, or a transphobe. He's trying.

"I'm sure they were, darling. I'm not saying you're a bad person because you're white and cis. It's just statistics, and I feel more at ease if I'm not the one Asian and trans person in the middle of a group of white cis gay men."

Edwin pours the box of couscous out in the big container he uses for this. In a flash, he remembers how he stuck to other gay and bi people on New Year's Eve. He has no right to feel hurt, to be defensive. He can't dictate who Vincent feels comfortable with. It doesn't matter if Vincent is not comfortable with men like him. Vincent is still here. Edwin is only hurt because Vincent doesn't like him. It's his crush. His ego. He wants to say something, show Vincent he's not angry, that he's better than this. He can be someone Vincent is comfortable with. Vincent invited him to his concert. He only invites his closest friends. That must mean something, right?

"We're going to steam the couscous," he says. Vincent steps up next to him, so it's okay. He explains all the steps, but the couscous needs to sit in the water for 15 minutes, so they're back to waiting.

"Have you ever ... dated white men? Cisgender?" Edwin asks when his need to know, to hear he has no chance, overwhelms him. He can't look at Vincent while he speaks.

"Sure. My last boyfriend. And several hook-ups."

"And that was ... You felt at ease?"

"I'm not starting a relationship if I think someone is racist or transphobic, darling. I don't know where you are going with this."

"I'm ..." Edwin wishes for the confidence from New Year's Eve, to just lean in and kiss Vincent, to not have to say the words. "Forget anything I've said." He's practically begging Vincent to take pity on him and he shouldn't. It's not right.

"No. Tell me. Why are you so focused on this, darling? You know I like you. Even if you can be a little silly with the ideas in your head."

"Sorry," Edwin says automatically. He stares at the couscous, but the fifteen minutes haven't passed yet, so there is no escape. This was a terrible idea. Is. He turns to Vincent, grabs his shoulder and pecks him on the lips. It barely lasts a second and Vincent's lips are dry and unmoving. A whiff of his perfume is stuck in Edwin's nose when he retreats, the counter pressing into his back.

"That," he says and nothing more because words have deserted him. He should have done a proper confession. Not a kiss. What was he thinking? If he thought Vincent leaving before the food is ready was awkward, rejection when he took a kiss without permission will be a thousand times worse.

"That? And what does 'that' mean, darling? What are you offering? Wanting?" That's not a no. In fact, it sounds like a negotiation.

"I don't think I can ever do a hook-up."

"So no hook-ups. Come on, sweetheart, use your words." Vincent smiles faintly and it hits Edwin, what Vincent is doing.

"You're enjoying this," he states accusingly.

"Sure I am, darling. Who doesn't like to hear how amazing they are and how much they're wanted?"

"You could say it back."

"Say what back? You haven't said anything yet."

"Vincent."

"Edwin, Ed, sweetheart. I'm not refusing. I just need to know what you're asking."

"Would you date me?"

Vincent smiles beatifically. "I might be willing to try." His hand comes up to Edwin's face and he kisses Edwin firmly. An embarrassing noise, half laugh of relief, half moan, half whatever-it-is, escapes Edwin and he tries to hide it in Vincent's mouth. Vincent's lips are warm and soft and his mouth is wet and he blindly grasps for Vincent's shoulders, pulling him in. Against his will, another noise escapes him, caught between their lips, and Vincent chuckles and pecks his mouth again.

"If your couscous tastes as great as you do, you can feed me whatever you want from now on, darling. Every day if you want. You've whetted my appetite." Vincent's tone and half-lidded eyes suggest he doesn't only mean food and heat pools in Edwin's stomach. He remembers with sudden clarity a half-forgotten, she let a snack like you go off alone? And he wants it, fuck, he wants it and he can have it. Maybe not right now because there's food, but he can have it.

Right. Food. "I think we can steam the couscous now," he rasps and he coughs. He sounds like sex from a kiss. Vincent is going to tease him for this, he can tell.

He pours some sunflower oil and salt in the container and they mix it through the couscous, pressed against each other. Edwin wants to kiss him again, and again, and again. He probably wouldn't stop until his stomach was truly growling.

He pours the couscous in the steam pot, but then they need to wait again and he can't help it. He leans in and Vincent is right there, draping his arms over Edwin's shoulders, smiling, kissing up his jawline. He blows air against Edwin's mouth and Edwin almost giggles in some sort of teenage giddiness, shudders with desire. He had barely dared to imagine, with any man, with Vincent, but now it gushes over him, rushes through him. He could run up a mountain, light as a feather, and yet he is anchored to Vincent's body, Vincent's mouth.

"You're such a sweetheart," Vincent says. His voice is low and smooth and Edwin can't think when Vincent speaks like that. He'd follow Vincent out the door right now if Vincent coaxed him in that voice, and not even the anxiety of people seeing, knowing, would hold him back.

"You're," Edwin starts, but he doesn't know how to end it. A menace. Hot and beautiful and confident and teasing. "I'm losing my mind."

"Yeah?" Vincent's hand trails down Edwin's back and he groans.

"Why are you still —" Edwin waves at Vincent's whole togetherness. He's maybe breathing a little heavier, but he still has the brain power to tease Edwin, to dedicate himself to the task of driving Edwin crazy.

"Stubbornness?" Vincent suggests. "I know how to get what I want." And what he wants is Edwin at a loss for words, apparently, surrendering to whatever Vincent has planned.

He breaks loose from Vincent's hold and lifts up the lid of the steam pot. "We should focus on the food."

"But we're waiting around so much, darling. Do you have a better use of our time in mind?"

Edwin doesn't, so they make out while the couscous steams or soaks in more cold water. It's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. He's a horny teenager who can't control himself. Not that he's ever been like this with a woman. Or a man. His skin feels static, sensitive, all his pores open, and he's jittery with desire to keep kissing, stay close to Vincent. He makes Vincent groan when his hand tightens on Vincent's upper thigh and he's on top of the world.

When they finally sit down to eat, Edwin stretches out his leg to press against Vincent's and Vincent doesn't pull away. In fact, he glances up coyly through his eyelashes with a crooked smile that slithers down Edwin's neck.

"So, for our first date," Vincent starts, "what would you want to do? Are we going on an actual date? Do any of our usuals count as a date? What's the plan here, sugar?"

"I don't know," Edwin says. He didn't think Vincent would say yes, so he has no idea what comes now. "What do you want?"

"Uh-uh." Vincent waggles his finger. "You don't get to toss the ball back. You asked me out, darling. You gotta tell me your expectations first. 'Dating' can be too many things, so you gotta clarify." Edwin stares down at his plate and chews on the vegetables in his mouth. He doesn't want to ask something Vincent isn't willing to give. He doesn't want to pick wrong.

"Okay, let's try this another way. You don't want hook-ups. I'm gonna go ahead and assume you want monogamy. Do you want casual? 'This is fun for now, I'm testing this whole dating-a-man-thing out'? Or do you want this to be a long-term, 'maybe this relationship will last thirty years too' kind of thing?" Vincent leans back and spread his arms wide. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Uhm ..."

"It's not a life or death question, darling. I can't give you what you want if you don't tell me what you want."

"I hadn't even considered 'casual'," Edwin admits. He's not sure he could even do that. How is he meant to feel less?

"Great," Vincent says. "I take it that's not what you want then. I hadn't considered you'd want something serious, with how recent your whole 'you hurt me' speech is, but we can try it out. See if you can handle all of me, unfiltered."

A kernel of anxiety curdles in Edwin's stomach. Would — could Vincent be worse than he was at the start? "Are you sure you don't want casual?"

"No, no, don't play martyr, sweetheart. I can do serious. Better than you can do casual, I'm guessing."

"Okay." Vincent isn't wrong. Edwin isn't going to keep arguing against his own interests, even if he wishes it was more than a concession to Vincent, something he's willing to try. He will have to prove himself, convince Vincent he's worth it. "So we're ... going on a date?" He imagines being out in a restaurant with Vincent or some other place, the kind of date he'd go on with Ellen. Would Vincent be sweet? Tease him? Flirt openly and call him petnames and touch him? That's ... Maybe their dates should be what they already do anyway. Safe, just the two of them, no other people around.

"That's what I asked you, darling. I'll give you some time to decide what you want to do." A corner of Vincent's mouth ticks up. He licks his lips and Edwin follows the slide of his tongue. When he draws his gaze up, Vincent's crinkle knowingly. Edwin swallows.

"Shouldn't we do that together? Why should I decide?" he asks. What if he picks something Vincent dislikes? A date should be fun for both of them, or it's pointless. He and Ellen always picked their date activities together. Or does Vincent want a surprise? If that's what Vincent wants, he can try.

"Fine," Vincent acquiesces. "I'll think about it too, darling. Don't say I didn't warn you if I pick something you dislike."

"It should be something we both like. We should be equals." Gay dating can't be that different from straight dating. If anything, they're both men, so Edwin shouldn't be expected to 'be the man'.

"Alright, you're the expert, sweetheart, with your 30-year relationship. I can find something we both like. I already know you're willing to try new things." He winks and Edwin is not sure if Vincent is talking about the LGBT education or other things. He flushes. It doesn't matter. They're going on a date. He kissed Vincent and Vincent likes him and they're going on a date. He's willing to try a lot of new things if that is what he gets.