Work Text:
I'm sitting on the counter watching her cut the broccoli. I didn't expect her to be so good in the kitchen. I should stop doing that, underestimating her. She's so talented it sometimes makes me sick (in a good way I guess.) She's humming as she cuts it up into small pieces. It's a tune I haven't heard before. She could be making it up for all I know. I know she knows I'm watching her. I also know she enjoys the attention. And look I'd offer to help her but I'm useless at cooking or anything to do with food that isn't eating it. So sue me for just sitting on the counter swinging my feet like some little kid. Also I've asked in the past and she always turns me down, almost too quickly to not take it personally. She's saying something, but I forgot to listen. I'm too caught up in the stray hairs around her forehead and her fast paced chopping.
"Hmm?" I mumble not really paying attention to her or myself.
She stops chopping, "You're not listening are you?" She rests her hands on the counter and turns her body towards me. I scramble for words, embarrassed by being caught staring and not listening to a word she says. She takes pity on me and laughs. It's light and my body instantly relaxes, relief replacing the panic that had started infusing itself into my blood.
"You know I don't mind when you stare, but if you would maybe engage in conversation?" She asks, her tone gentle and a slight blush dusts her cheeks.
"Sorry, I just… I got distracted." I know I'm bright red from embarrassment but she just smiles and turns back to the broccoli.
"You know I also find you lovely to look at, but I'm able to maintain conversation."
"Of course you are. You're good at everything." She only laughs in response.
When the broccoli has been adequately chopped she points to the oil and a cabinet. I jump down from the counter and grab the pans out of the cabinet and spread the oil thinly over the surface. She comes up behind me and wraps one of her arms around my waist, pulling me close to her, while the other arm dumps the broccoli onto the pan and shoves it into the preheated oven.
Then she rests her head on my shoulder and places a small kiss on my neck. And man, when I say I really shouldn't be so flustered from just a little flirting and a little peck but… I am. She does that too me though, makes me feel all my emotions times a hundred. Sometimes it's almost too much, I'm too happy when she's here, too sad when she's gone, too on fire when she touches me. And yet the words I want to say so desperately have never left my lips.
I love you
I love you
I love you
Maybe if I scream it loud enough in my head she'll hear me. Maybe if I kiss her hard enough she'll figure it out. Or maybe I should just grow up. And tell her myself. But when one of her hands roams up under my shirt and her lips stray from mine to my neck and the other hand tangles itself in my hair, untying the braid and messing it up, I can't tell her. I just can't let myself tell her. Because what if… what if… what if she won't say it back?