Work Text:
You paced around your apartment, the smell of the chicken roasting in the oven permeating the air. It was a fairly chilly night, and you hadn’t wanted to look like you wanted to impress Jean TOO much with your cooking skills, so you went the comfort food route - roasted chicken, butternut squash risotto, and grilled asparagus. It was simple, but comforting and safe at the same time.
The doorbell rang, and you leapt to answer it. You stopped at the front door, breathing deeply and trying to collect yourself. Why were you so nervous? This wasn’t a date or anything, was it? It was just getting to know an incredibly cute guy who had called you beautiful and sketched you. You checked your appearance quickly before opening the door. “Jean! Hi!”
He was wearing glasses, and a slouchy black beanie covered his messy hair. He definitely achieved that “distracted artist” look, and pulled it off incredibly well. Suddenly you were grateful that you hadn’t overdressed, deciding on a casual skirt/sweater combo. “Hey...Oh my god it smells fucking amazing in here, what are you cooking?” Jean practically moaned when he sniffed the air.
“Chicken and risotto...Oh shit, the risotto!” You ran to the kitchen, hoping that you hadn’t taken too long in answering the door. Thankfully, the risotto was fine - slightly mushy, but not enough to call it a lost cause. “Do you want wine?” you called. “There’s a bunch in the wine rack in the hallway, if you want to just pick whatever you like.”
Jean returned to the kitchen with a bottle of shiraz. “This all right?” he asked, holding it so you could see the label.
“Perfect, actually!” You pointed to the wine glasses, hanging upside-down underneath a cabinet, as you carved the roast chicken carefully. You remembered all of your lessons in presentation as you plated the chicken, asparagus, and risotto. Cocking your head, you looked at the two plates. Something was missing. You snapped your fingers and cut a bit of Italian parsley from your windowsill herb garden. Chopping it quickly, you sprinkled it on top of the plate.
“Here you go!” You set a plate down in front of Jean, who had taken a seat at your small pub-style table. He had already poured two glasses of wine, and set the bottle in the middle of the table. He stared at the plate, wide-eyed. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to ask what you liked or anything. I tried to be as simple as I could-”
“No, it’s not that. I just...I kind of don’t want to eat it. It looks too pretty.” You blushed at his compliment. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to take a picture of it so I can draw it later. I have a still life assignment due soon.” He took several pictures, all from different angles.
“Hey, come on, risotto is no good if it gets cold, you know.” You tried to hide your embarrassment at his praise. He chuckled as he set his phone down. You couldn’t eat, your nerves overtaking you. You wanted to make sure he liked it first, before you started to dig in yourself. He took a small bite of the risotto, and you tried not to stare awaiting his reaction. His eyes fluttered shut (it was then that you noticed just how long his eyelashes were), and he moaned a little. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.
“This…” He took another bite. “This is hands down, the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
You laughed. “Come on, Jean, it’s nothing special. Besides, wouldn’t your mom be super upset if she heard that?” you teased, finally comfortable with eating your own plate.
“Oh, my mom makes the best omelets around, but this is different. This is food a pretty girl made for me.” he winked at you, suddenly not the slightly awkward, fumbling guy you met in the cafeteria that day. You blushed and hurriedly cut a piece of chicken.
“So...Why cooking?” Jean asked.
Your eyes lit up. “I’ve always loved cooking. I used to make my dad videotape me hosting “cooking shows” in our kitchen.” you admitted.
“I need to see those videos. I bet they’re adorable.” he teased, reaching across the table and pinching your cheek lightly, making you blush again. “Did you need a stepstool to reach the stove?”
“Shut up! And yes.”
You finished off your food (you were pleased to see that Jean’s plate was completely clean), and poured yourselves another glass of wine. “So...Were you serious about sketching me tonight?” you asked, curious. You didn’t mind if he wasn’t, you had enjoyed his company. Your apartment, despite being a one bedroom studio, felt rather empty and lonely at times. You had considered getting a dog, but with how busy you were, it wasn’t really reasonable.
“If you still want me to. I even brought a frame, if it was something you wanted to keep.” He pulled a beautifully painted frame from his bag. “I finished it yesterday.”
You took the frame when he offered it to you, mouth agape. “You made this?” You shook your head. “You’re more talented than I thought, Mr. Kirstein.”
It was Jean’s turn to blush now, waving off the compliment. “Art’s just been my thing...Like you with cooking.” He looked around the room and spotted your little reading nook. Your apartment came with a windowsill bench, and you had put cushions and pillows on it to make a comfortable spot for reading. An antique lamp that you grandmother had given you sat on a table next to it. “Big reader?” he asked, standing up and looking over your bookshelves.
“A bit. It’s relaxing after school and work, you know?” Aside from your busy school schedule, you also worked part-time as a line cook in a restaurant downtown. Cooking was definitely a man’s world, and the stress of competition could only be removed by a few hours deep in a good book.
“Can I draw you reading?”
“Oh! Um, sure.” You admitted to yourself that you’d be grateful for something to do while he drew. You didn’t know if he would want to talk while he was drawing. “Should I...I don’t know, change the lighting or anything?”
“Just do whatever you normally do when you read. Do you usually listen to music?” He asked, seeing your extensive music collection. You nodded, and told him to put on whatever he wanted. Soon, classical piano music filled your apartment, and you smiled. Liszt. Good choice.
You settled in, sitting with your knees close to your chest, leaning against the wall. Jean shrugged off his jacket, and you couldn’t help but notice the defined muscles twitching in his arm. You swallowed the lump in your throat, and opened your book, determined to fall into a fantasy world and forget about just how attractive Jean Kirstein was.
You stole glances at him from time to time. Fortunately, every time you looked he was busy drawing. He bit his lip in concentration, and you mimicked the action, trying to avoid concentrating on him. Eventually, the book grabbed you enough to forget that he was even there.
You didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he softly said that he was finished, you practically screamed in surprise. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He rushed over and picked up the book that you had dropped. He held out a hand to help you up, and you took it, a spark of electricity coursing through you. He held your hand a little longer than was necessary, looking down at you with what seemed like affection. “Here,” he handed you his sketchbook. “I hope you like it.”
You looked down at the drawing, and gasped. Once again, he had made you beautiful, almost ethereal. The way he had drawn the shadows cast by the lamp made you look like an angel surrounded by light. Your eyes were tender as you read the book lovingly. He had even detailed the book, all rough edges and worn. You were sure your jaw was nearly on the ground. You looked up at Jean with wide eyes. He looked at the ground uncomfortably. “Do you...Do you like it?”
“Jean...This is absolutely incredible.” you answered honestly. “I more than like it, I absolutely love it. You made me look...God, I look beautiful in this!” You laughed.
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” he quipped. “It’s not just the drawing, you know.” He gently took the sketchbook back, carefully tearing the page out. He put it in the frame, and looked around your apartment. “How about over here, by the door?” he asked, holding the framed sketch up on the wall.
You shook your head. “No way. I want it somewhere where I can see it all the time. It’s going in my room.”
Jean blushed as you led him to your bedroom. You took down a framed photograph of you and your family that hung near your bed, and Jean placed his drawing carefully on the wall. “Perfect.” you said, admiring it. It was then that you noticed the time. “Oh my god, Jean, it’s almost two in the morning! You should have stopped earlier, you’re going to be so tired tomorrow. Do you have a morning class?”
“It’s no big deal. That’s what coffee is for. It was worth the lack of sleep.” You walked with him to the front door, and held his bag while he put his jacket back on. “I hope this isn’t a one time thing.” he chuckled nervously. “I mean...Any time you want to cook, I can totally be here for food.”
You giggled, and hugged him. He hesitated for a moment, but then wrapped his arms around you. You inhaled deeply, not wanting to forget his scent or the way he held you close. “Any time you want, Jean.”