A/N: Hello Beans! Huge apologies for the skipped update last week. I wasn't feeling very well the entire week and this week, I was actually called in for a Quarantine Order and sent to a facility and stuff because I'd apparently come into close contact with a Covid case and gosh, it's just been a rough, confusing week but I'm alright now. 

This chapter isn't actually finished as much as I'd like it to be but because I'll be updating again on Wednesday evening, I decided it'd be alright to give you guys a t r e a t and then more three days later. I hope you don't mind. 

In the next couple of chapters, SeeSaw spend a lot of intimate time together (because, reasons you will see when reading this chapter) before we get into some juicy juicy action of fiery, kitchen goodness. 

Enjoy.

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[Leroy]

"Leroy?"

"Yeah."

"What do you say to dates in your chicken soup?"

His smiles were the scent of chamomile flowers in the air. They filled the inside of the car.

I should have known he'd figure it out in ten seconds flat. I did, actually. I did know. But it surprised me, still. How much do people remember after seven years? Not a lot. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, glancing, on instinct, at the sad masterpiece of a cookbook. It was never published.

"You still keep that around?"

"I may seem like a heartless block of ice but I'm not unappreciative, Leroy," I heard him say with a tone that was lighter than usual. Not catching the look on his face. The faint smell of old glue and paper, remnants of chlorine and a midsummer evening; as he turned the pages. The crinkling. "The only copy of your book in the universe, handwritten, handbound by the writer himself! The chicken scrawl isn't Times New Roman but, well, legible after some deciphering. I used to be much more of an expert at de-coding your penmanship. So? I'm asking if you'd include dates in your ingredient list when making chicken soup. Half the page was smudged after... a-after, well, after it fell into the pool."

The length of his eyelashes up close, slightly wet.

To dream in the middle of a drive was dangerous. Couldn't tell if it was because of his presence or the fact that I'd just got out of bed less than an hour ago but I couldn't concentrate for fuck.

I mentally registered the switch in my mind and had to turn it off. Get the eyelashes out of my head and the road back in. The GPS kept me in check. We were nearing a district I'd drop by every now and then. Rexi's clinic was somewhere at the end of the third avenue.

"Can't really remember the last time I made chicken soup." I signaled left, making a turn. Off-handed. Hoping he wouldn't go any further. "Why?"

I wasn't ready. And glancing over, I saw him staring intently at the book in his hands. As though willing the smudged words to return.

He sighed. "Quite frankly, I don't... really know. The soup, it tasted... well I must be overthinking again. It's just, that night at Andre's. I was going to tell you about this over the phone that evening but, well, things weren't very convenient. For both you and I."

That, coming from the person who decided to give me a call while he was in the bath. Undressed.

"The mystery guy?"

He sounded surprised. "You heard about him too, then." Tidying the stray papers that had come loose from the book before sealing it in a Ziplock and stowing it neatly into his leather briefcase. He spent the next minute summarizing a story I'd already known—just, without the little snowflakes of joy on a winter morning.

Then, the air was sharp. Like January had arrived three months too early.

"So you like it?" I managed.

"Hm?"

"The five-course."

"Four," he corrected. "There was no dessert, unfortunately. I was quite looking forward to it. Violet's cake did not disappoint, naturally, but... I suppose I was expecting something... I cannot tell you what. I've been thinking about it for some time—what it was, exactly, I'd been expecting from a complete stranger but... but yes, I did enjoy myself immensely. Like I said, it's been some time since I felt quite like how I felt that night. About the food, I mean."

I'd count that as a win.

For some reason though, it took me a while to process the whole idea of him enjoying the food I made. For him.

I was quiet while I thought, switching between the dream and the drive but he did not seem to mind. We headed down a street that was longer than usual, greens all the way until we arrived at a red and I slowed to a stop.

"Me or him?"

"Sorry?" He turned. I met his gaze.

"Sixteen-year-old Leroy Cox and this guy. Who's better?"

It was a dare. I wasn't really thinking when I asked; somewhere between curiosity and amusement. He searched my gaze, then crossed his arms and shifted his legs with a smile.

His legs looked good.

"Leroy. Do you know why, hypothetically speaking, human beings are more likely to request for a childhood favourite made by their grandmother as a last meal than some Michelin-star eight-course dining experience?"

I spent longer than usual to think. The light turned green, and I was back to switching between him and the road.

"The memory, I guess. They want to relive it."

"That is correct. But why is that the case? Well, for one—the chef, very naturally, should be of high sentimental value to the guest. And the meal, the dish, itself, should as well hold some form of sentimental value to said person. But that is from the perspective of the person being served. The one enjoying the meal. What, exactly, did the chef do that would—warrant—such superior importance of every dish that they make?"

Now, it was warm. Lukewarm. Whatever activity supposedly up there in my head was mild; reduced to a watered-down version of thought. This wasn't me dealing with a cross-section MVA with active batteries and three women stuck in the back of their car about to be burned alive. That was yesterday.

What else does the person need to do

except be that person?

"Make a left here." He said. I did. The GPS re-calculated.

I thought of settling with that answer. Of it simply being about the identity of the person that made things matter but for some reason I was sure he could find a way to prove that wrong.

"Quite frankly, this is not a question I know the answer to." His fingers came up to adjust the knot of his tie. Distracting. "It is an ambiguous little mystery that I as a critic, till this very day, continuing to think about. Apart from a certain sixteen-year-old culinary genius. Though that is, um, a secret I like to keep to myself. It sounds perfectly dubious and odd for a twenty-one-year-old to be constantly thinking about a high school sophomore.

"Not to mention, perfectly disrespectful to the man that he is now," he finished. Quiet.

It took me a while to realize that he'd answered my question indirectly, albeit, beyond the options I'd provided him with. It wasn't the me from seven years ago; not the one who blew him away that evening at Andre's; it was the me here, beside him. Who'd supposedly never stepped into a kitchen or picked up a knife for a very, very long time.

*

"Had enough of fancy restaurants?" I said to him as we crossed the road, arriving outside a quaint little diner with a patio out in the back. Pets were allowed.

He cleared his throat, averting his gaze after glancing up and meeting mine. "Well. So um, admittedly I'd made a mistake the previous time by inviting you to dine at something quite out of your comfort zone, so. I wasn't going to make the same mistake. This place is quite the hidden gem, really. Coincidentally, they happen to be pet-friendly."

His hand reached for the top of Chicken's head. Tentative. A tiny, gentle pat turned Chicken away from the entrance, where the smell of something baked and sweet wafted out front. A waitress received us at the door.

"Good afternoon. I called to reserve a table for two but um, we're an hour late and I'm not sure if you'd be able to arrange something for us? We also have an additional guest, so," he gestured to Chicken beside me. "The patio would be lovely."

The diner was decently filled, mostly because the indoor seating was limited to less than six tables and it seemed like a cool place for locals to dine and hang out for an afternoon. The patio on the other hand, felt spacious for a small establishment. Only a couple of diners out front. At the very end, two women. Laughing.

One in a wheelchair.

Rexi had spotted me first; the time I took to recognize them was when my gaze lingered and she caught it in a beat, looking past Annie's shoulder and straight down the patio, past the open windows, right at me.

It explained Chicken's piqued interest beforehand. I'd assumed it was the smell of food.

"Leroy?" I heard him say and turned a moment too late. He'd followed my gaze and caught on. "A-ah. What a coincidence."

"Yeah."

"Well um, would you... that is, I will not question your decision to request for a change in location. Should you wish to do so," he turned to me to say in a lowered voice. Gaze still and unmoving. Perfectly serious.

It reminded me of the times I'd found him most attractive—when he was miles ahead of everyone else and treated every little shift in mood like it was something that deserved all his attention. He was thoughtful and sensitive when it came to certain things, which often slipped under the radar once people heard him speak his mind like ice. Add to that the maturity and air that he'd developed over the years, I found myself staring.

Still as cute as ever. "Do you want to say hi?"

He nearly jumped, blinking rapidly in surprise. "You're asking me? W-well, I mean, I. Sure. Why not? If you're alright with it, that is. Um."

I nodded in the direction of their table, starting over first with Chicken. In seconds, he was right beside Annie, nudging her elbow with his snout. Rexi was the kind of person to give others all the space they needed; she pretended not to have spotted me the first time.

"Leroy? And..." she stood, smiling. "Hi," her gaze went to him at once, over my shoulder. He was practically hiding behind it. "I'm Rexi. Annie's fiancé."

"O-oh! I, hello, I, um," he extended a hand across the table while I undid Chicken's leash. "Hello. Very nice to meet you at this pleasant diner. My name is Vanilla. Some people refer to me as Julian, which is my middle name."

"Well, what does Leroy call you?" Rexi's eyes were the kind that looked as though they could see through everything in a single glance. People. Places. Situations. I saw him hesitate.

"He, um. Vanilla... I suppose."

"Then Vanilla it is," she smiled, gesturing to the seat beside her. "Please join us."

It did not take very long for Annie to start embarrassing her son. "Leroy Cox you didn't say he was going to be this cute!" She faced him with open arms and his first reaction was to blush before bending down for a hug. I sat in the open seat beside her. "Darling, you look amazing," she said to him before turning to me in a whisper. "Oh my god he's so out of your league."

I showed the finger, but hugged her all the same.

"Baby," I felt her pause mid-hug. "You're very warm."

She had a hand on my forehead before I registered the sudden drop in her tone. She only did that when she was worried about me; which was almost never because I was almost always the annoying little lion she knew. "I think you're running a fever."

I stared at her and then reached up to the back of my neck. Honestly, it was hard to tell. "You sure?"

Annie rolled her eyes, softening all the same. "Can't believe you're asking your mother if she's sure."

Across the table, Rexi stood and leaned closer to rest the back of her hand on my forehead. She nodded. I glanced at him. His eyes were waves.

He'd only just settled down in the seat across me, beside Rexi, and hadn't even put his briefcase aside. "I-is that why you slept in? Good god Leroy, you should have—no, I... I should have noticed I'm so sorry." I heard the guilt in his voice and was about to tell him that it was nothing like that when I felt them.

His fingers.

Ripples. Like the cool surface of a lake on a summer evening, gentle and soft like water running down the side of a heated rock. It was pleasant. A nice, soothing touch that made it so hard not to crave for more.

Our first physical contact, in a long, long time. Not our first dinner. Not over at my place. Not at the museum. Not in the car. Not since that almost... the almost when he was sliding the keycard down the front of my shirt—

"You haven't had a bite since last night either, have you? W-what about after your shift?" He sounded fazed. Mildly frantic. A slight shift in composure.

I wasn't really listening. I was craving more of that touch the moment it was gone. He retracted his hand, raising it to ask for a glass of water. I watched him. Weird.

I was enjoying this. Just a little. It wasn't unpleasant, the kind of attention I was getting all of a sudden. From him.

Annie was back to rolling her eyes. "You're twenty-three for goodness sake, can't you even take care of yourself?"

She waved another waitress over and asked for the menu. Meanwhile, Rexi slid two aspirin pills across the table. "They have some really good soup here. Finish that, take the aspirin, and get some rest at our place. You're probably lacking sleep."

"We drove here," I told them. "And Vanilla hasn't had his license converted yet."

"Actually, um," he raised a hand to speak as though this was class and didn't want to speak out of turn. "If Leroy would like to, um, my place is about twenty minutes away and quite frankly, I'd be extremely reluctant to leave him in your care and well, possibly, likely, disrupt your lovely afternoon when I should very well be responsible for," he gestured vaguely at my head, as though the fever was all him, "so, um, I was just wondering if, perhaps, either of you know how to drive?"

They were quiet. Annie was the first to speak. "Oh honey, Leroy would love that—" I shut her up with a look.

"You sure?" I turned to him. He nodded urgently.

We ended up in the backseat after a short meal; Chicken in the middle, Annie in the passenger's, and Rexi behind the wheel. I was feeling pretty fucked up after the aspirin pills for some reason and could hardly keep my eyes open on the ride.

Can't believe I'm saying this, but my dog was in the way of me having a nice shoulder to lean on. Or a lap, even. One could dream.

Rexi called for an Uber back to the clinic after parking the car in the basement of some fancy apartment building in the middle of the Knightsbridge. We parted ways at the lobby, only after a good series of apologies from the model-student-who-liked-raising-his-hand-to-talk-in-class. Annie wouldn't stop hugging him.

By the time we got to his apartment on the twenty-something floor, I was ready to crash. Chicken was surprisingly obedient for a completely new environment. I could tell he was curious from the way his tail was acting up but I gave him one look and he backed away from the expensive-looking couch in the living.

"Do you, um, need a hand or, should I, um? Here."

He extended a hand, as though to shake mine. I tried hard not to laugh, wondering if it was legal to fake a fainting spell or some shit related to fevers. Both his hand and shoulder looked very inviting. Would be nice to lean on.

"How far from here to the bed?" I snorted. "Fifty miles?"

He huffed, retrieving his hand in a moment of embarrassment. "I knew I shouldn't have asked." He led the way to his room, introducing the features of his studio apartment along the way. One living and kitchen, combined, one bathroom, one master.

"Here." He showed me into a room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a crazy view of the city. "You may have the bed for the entirety of today or, well, until you feel better, whichever takes longer. I will sleep on the couch, if you decide to stay the night."

I was half-listening. The bed was big as fuck.

"This is yours?"

"Yes."

"It's a king."

"Ah, yes indeed." He blinked, crossing the room and stopping at the top corner of his bed to re-arrange the covers. "Rather redundant, I agree, but it came with the apartment. I believe half the building's furnished units come with a bed of this size. Complete unnecessary spending. There. All ready. Go on." He gestured.

I gave him a look. Very slowly. My gaze wasn't being the most responsive thing around.

"I mean," I sat on the edge of the bed. "It can fit two."

"Yes of course. Or even three. Or four. I'd say even five, perhaps, if they were all—"

"I meant you," I had to point. "And me."

If snowstorms could pause. And then combust into tiny sparks. The next thing I knew he was stammering; ears red and unable to look me in the eye—the complete opposite of that sexy motherfucker inviting me to spend the night in a hotel room. At this point, my mind was slowing to a stop and processing every word coming out of my mouth was just not possible.

"I-I-I you cannot possibly expect... what if you develop a cold or or a cough and by close proximity, I'd therefore be, well, exposed to..." General gestures. Again.

"Right." I forgot. Fever. "As long as you aren't cold outside." I crashed. The bed smelled nice.

It smelled like him. Chamomile flowers in the air.

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[Vanilla]

I had to undress him.

Leroy's fever had raised his body temperature to a grand, fiery, steaming heat and I could not imagine the levels of discomfort he must have gone through the entire morning till this point. He was the kind to brush it off as though it was a mere, mild headache.

I got to work as soon as he hit the pillow and stopped moving almost at once. It did not take a genius to realize just how much his body craved some good, well-deserved rest. Sure enough, he might have gotten used to the ungodly hours of a firefighter's shifts but with... well... with so much on his mind lately, I was partly certain that I had something to do with his current state.

Hence, the responsibility thing. And also the fact that he was... important. Regardless. I wasn't just going to leave him aside and be unreasonably unhappy about him oversleeping and whatnot.

The first step was to do something about his clothes. Granted, he'd taken his shoes off before collapsing on my bed but everything else was a mess and in order to lower the temperature of his body, I was at the very least going to have to give him a sponge bath.

After sticking a ThermoScan into his ear and marveling at the sheer heat he was experiencing, I filled a bowl with lukewarm drinking water and, using a small wash towel folded several times, sponged his face and neck. Then came the difficult part.

He had on a dress shirt, which made things ever so slightly easier. Any other garment would have meant removing it from the top (the neckhole) and possibly cause him much discomfort in his sleep.

So here I was, undoing someone else's buttons for the very first time in my life, nervous, yes, but also slightly anxious about him catching a cold. I'd somehow worked out a way to roll him over to remove the dress shirt and, upon rolling him back to his original position, tried very hard not to look at his abdominal muscles while I sponged the upper half of his body and quickly replaced the covers.

The pants was a whole other thing of embarrassment. No one really understands the pain of removing a belt that isn't on your own waist. That, a-and um, the general, well, proximity to, the, um, lower half of the um, everything below waist-level. Yes.

It all had to be done in a matter of seconds and then the undressed, illegal being, hastily hidden under the covers for safety and warmth. By the bed, I'd placed a glass of water and more aspirin; just in case he woke, before heading to the grocery store down the street for dinner prep.   

[TBC]

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A/N: So I'll see you guys on Wednesday evening for a continuation! ;v; Ah, and for those who watched my 30-minute YouTube video, thank you! I can't imagine how anyone could listen to me for that long but you are amazing and I am grateful and also appalled LOL. 

I'm sorry I haven't been answering messages on my message board or my inbox OR Instagram (good god I have been a mess these two weeks please forgive me) but I will do so soon and I hope you won't have forgotten me by then ;-;. Thank you for being patient and bearing with me.

The next YouTube video will be about my greatest writing strength: character pairs. My Fire and Ice, my Light and Dark, my Sunshine and Rain, my Astronaut and Moon. It will take you through how to craft good character dynamics that are engaging and intimate, but also realistic. 

Cheers,

Cupppppeeee