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There’s something I haven’t told you.
Ralsei pulled a bowl and a whisk from the cabinet and blew off the dust. Waving it away, he set them on the counter.
And I don’t know how to.
Sugar. Flour. He placed them alongside the bowl in a neat little row. The last of the ingredients set out, he took off his hat and unhooked an apron from the wall.
But I have to—I’ll probably die if I don’t.
No need for the recipe book. He knew it by heart.
When you first arrived here, I was in awe. You were perfect in everything you did—so kind.
And I think I fell in love with you then.
He frowned. No, that wouldn’t work. If he was ever going to say how he felt, it would have to be perfect.
Sighing, he rolled up his sleeves and began measuring the flour. 3 cups into the bowl, puffing up a cloud of white. It’s been a while since he’d stress-baked, using his special stress-baking bowl.
And yeah, it seemed weird to have separate bowls for anxious and recreational baking, but he thought it was better to separate his negativity from his regular sweets. Bad things happened that way.
Well, stress-baking always constituted bad things.
3 cups of sugar. Into the bowl.
It’s been a month. A full month since he’d realized his feelings, a month since he’d met them (and yes, he has kept painful track).
A month since he’d fallen in love with Kris.
Where was his salt? Oh, yeah, there it is.
At first, he felt content to wait. Play it safe. And he was doing a perfect job of making sure they didn’t know, being a friend like they wanted.
Sure, maybe he laughed a little too loud at their occasional jokes, and maybe sometimes he thought about them or would stare at them for a little too long.
Or a lot too long. And he hoped they couldn’t tell, but in the meantime, he just pretended like things were fine.
They were fine. Kris didn’t like him back, but things were fine.
Measure the cocoa powder.
And yet here he was, considering telling them. And messing it all up.
There’s something I haven’t told you.
How could he?
He needed a fresh container of baking soda. Another sigh, then into the cabinet.
His hands shook over the dough.
Somehow, he’d moved from making a cake to some tough, inedible form of bread (at least, after how much he angrily kneaded it). The cake was on the counter behind him, a half-finished mess.
It wasn’t usually like this.
He pushed at the dough again, then his arms fell, thumping on the counter. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Nothing was working.
When you first arrived here, I was scared. Scared you wouldn’t like me—scared you would leave.
“Scared,” he muttered aloud. “I’m always scared, aren’t I?”
There was no one around to hear his chatter, but he continued, returning to stretching the dough.
“You wouldn’t like me,” he continued, “because I’m not as brave as you are. I just do what you do—because I can’t do it myself.”
The dough was getting so hard to knead. He pushed furiously at it, arms aching. Increasing in speed.
“You deserve someone great. And I’m a mess.”
What little flour was left on the board puffed into a cloud, and he waved it away with a cough.
He laughed helplessly. “It’s like I’ve never made bread before.”
“Is that what that is?”
Ralsei jumped, and whipped around to see Kris, armor off, standing next to the failed mess of a cake.
“Kris!” he nearly shouted. Relief and shame mixed in him. “How long—when did you get here?”
They studied him. “Should have knocked first.”
It wasn’t an answer, but he couldn’t worry about that now—they were trying to eat the cake.
“That’s—” Ralsei tugged the tray away from Kris, depositing the whole thing in the trash can. “That’s not the cake. Bread. That was cake, not bread. I’m...”
“Hey, it’s fine.” They leaned against the counter, pressing their palms into the edge. “Are you okay?”
There was just—way too much going on. He took an excessively deep breath. “Why are you here?”
Something crossed their face. They turned their face to the cake in the trash. “I was thinking about you.”
The air rushed out of his lungs all at once, so fast he coughed. He doubled over (unnecessary) to try to hide the heat in his face. Their hand was on his back.
“Sorry—“ Hack. “Kris, I’m afraid I’m not really—ugh, all here, right now.”
“I can tell.”
The coughing was over. He kept his head down. “I’m sorry.”
“What do we need?”
He looked up. “What?”
“Cake.” Kris pulled a bowl away from the edge of the sink and set it gently next to Ralsei’s bread. “What do we need?”
“Um—“ Oh. Oh! “Sugar, flour...”
It faded more to him talking to himself, grabbing the ingredients as he went. The kitchen was a mess, he noticed. What was he doing before?
Not focusing on baking, apparently.
He dumped the ingredients on the counter and shoved the bread-lump out of the way, then dusted his hands off. Right. Square one.
“Three cups of sugar and flour, first.” He held out a whisk to them, and they reached out—
Their hand folded around his instead.
They were warm. So was his face. Burning, actually. Was his oven still on? Were they still looking at him?
Kris lowered their joined hands, and the faintest flicker of a smile crossed their face. “Did you get my joke?”
“I—“ He scrunched his face, thinking. “What did you say?”
“Knead.” They were also holding his other hand. He was going to fall over. “‘What do we need, but knead, instead.”
Ralsei blinked, turning the words over.
“...Oh!” He erupted into a fit of giggles. “That was—I didn’t catch that!”
The whisk and their hands left his own. “Thought you’d like it.”
Ralsei watched them measure the sugar before his limbs unfroze, and he wobbled. Suddenly awkward, he turned and busied himself with cleaning the rest of his used dishes.
After a moment, Kris nudged his elbow. They held the bag of flour. “Is there more?”
Empty. Somehow, he only focused on their hand. ”I think so, I’ll grab some.”
Abandoning the sink, Ralsei swiveled to the cabinet next to him. He opened the top of a new bag of flour, and turned to hand it to Kris—
And bumped into them, sending flour everywhere.
“Oh—“ he gasped, reeling away. Their entire front was coated in flour. “Kris, I’m sorry!”
They looked at the mess, then at the bag he held, a strange look on their face.
Then, they grabbed a fistful of flour and tossed it over him.
He blinked through the cloud to see them grinning.
“Even,” they said.
There was a pause, but the moment caught up with him.
“That—“ He started laughing. “That was way more than you got!”
Kris shook their head, smile infectious. They reached into the bag again, then paused.
“Your turn,” they said, opening their arms wide, as if in apology.
The battle began.
Ralsei held up the bag like a shield. “Defend,” he replied. Kris nodded.
Then launched the fistful of flour at him.
It sailed over his head as he ducked, landing somewhere on the stove behind him. Kris only had a moment to look guilty before Ralsei fired back with his own handful.
He was fairly certain they were almost out of flour, but it didn’t matter because Kris started laughing.
And he was laughing, and his arms were weak, and it felt right.
Ralsei turned around, trying to get a clear shot at Kris, but his lungs took to coughing, and he stumbled backwards.
“Wait—“ The kitchen was a cloudy mess. It almost looked like smoke. Where was he facing?
He cleared the flour from his glasses, and Kris appeared in front of him, flour streaked on their face and through their hair. Ralsei backed into the counter, hands thrown up in mock defense.
Their arms swiped at him and he ducked, sliding to the ground.
“The battle is lost,” he said gravely, stifling a giggle. Kris knelt, leaning their elbow on the cabinet, effectively trapping him. “One last Act from the enemy—what will they do?”
They pulled his arm away from his face, their touch gentler than he expected. And... it got very quiet.
Kris’s face was inches away from his. The laugh faded from Ralsei’s throat.
I’m always scared, aren’t I?
“I have to tell you something,” he blurted.
Kris blinked. “Me too.”
Ralsei wasn’t sure what he expected, but their mouth against his certainly wasn’t it.
It was warm. Some noise escaped him that he would probably regret later, but for now he closed his eyes and melted.
Kris tucked their legs under his, their hands traveling down to press into the small of his back.
For a blissful moment, Ralsei let himself relax.
It ended as Kris pulled away, leaving barely an inch of space between them.
”Sorry,” they whispered. Then, louder, “Sorry, what did you have to tell me?”
“Doesn’t matter.” His hands found their hair.
“Okay.”
Then they both shut up.