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The door swings open – Delta looks up, surprised.
He almost didn't hear her footsteps.
Anya's eyes look from the counter to him, then back to the counter – studying what's laid out there.
"Ah." He starts to say. "I...was curious about a recipe from before that I saw, and I wanted to try to make it myself."
"A recipe from before...?" Anya's brows draw together.
She leans over to look at the open page of the book. "Wait, medovik?"
"Yes."
"...I never thought you would want to try baking on your own."
"It is..." He pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase it. "...Only fair. You tried dancing."
"I’d like to keep trying, if you wouldn’t mind. But right now, I...can help you, if you want." Anya shrugs off her jacket, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. "It's easier than doing it alone."
Delta gestures to the book. "If you wish."
"Alright." She says, washing her hands. "You'd need to wait at least 12 hours for the cake to set up properly."
“I see.”
Anya stands close, enough that her presence can be felt beside him.
She watches him pull out a pot where he puts in butter and sugar, before turning on the stove. "I know you’ve tried your hand at this before, when you helped me, but what sparked your interest this time?”
“Why did you stop?” He asks, instead of answering. “I believed it was helpful for you.”
“It still is. It’s also something tied to my family and that’s been...upended. I can’t make this without thinking about them. And that only leads me to what happened, and why, then...”
She exhales. “I can’t ask my father what he was thinking. And it wouldn’t change the result, either. But,” Anya motions for him to stir in two eggs before adding both the baking soda and honey, “that’s something for me to figure out, later. I’m still worried about what the Wraiths might do.”
“You have little to be concerned about. This place is secure – they wouldn’t be able to breach its defenses.”
“I know that. There’s more than one way to lure someone out, though, isn’t there?”
“...There is.” He watches the mixture in the pot almost double in size, turning a caramel color. "But we can theorize another time."
She takes it off the heat, her fingers brushing past his as she quickly stirs in the flour. “...Alright. Can you put some more flour on the countertop?”
Delta does, watching her roll out some of the batter.
"It's...different." She cuts the rolled-out batter into a circle, using a tart pan as a guide. "Making this now, I mean. Usually, we always made it for New Year's."
"Would you have preferred to try something else?"
"No, this is fine. It's different from what I'm used to, but that's not always a bad thing."
Between the two, they roll and cut out seven more layers of cake.
"I just hope there can be something of normalcy, sooner or later. Peace, mostly."
He sprinkles a bit more flour onto the countertop, and then slicks his hair back, unsure of what else to say in response.
Once the last cake layer is cut out, they begin to go into the oven - two at a time.
After she sets the timer for 4 minutes, Anya taps his shoulder, an amused look on her face.
"...You have flour on you."
"Where?"
"Here." She reaches up with her other hand.
Delta finds himself feeling starved for air, as Anya's fingers run through his hair, dusting out the flour.
Her touch is warm, unlike his own temperature. Surely, that difference is why he has to suppress a shiver.
Anya looks at him, noting the shallow breaths he takes. Reflected in her eyes, his own gleam bright green - reacting to his increased heart rate.
To his anticipation.
The amusement in her expression fades.
"I'm sorry." She says, disentangling her hand from his dark hair. "It was just...habit, seeing the flour."
"No need to...apologize." Delta murmurs, tamping down the urge to keep her hand there. "Thank you, Anya."
"Of course."
The frosting - a mixture featuring condensed milk, sour cream, and powdered sugar - is assembled quickly enough. As her fingers brush past his again, taking the spatula, it feels different, somehow.
She grabs his hand.
Her teal eyes are fixed on him. "Delta."
He blinks.
"...Delta. Are you alright?"
"...Yes."
Her disbelief is clear, yet she simply turns to frost the rest of the cake layers.
"Let me." He says.
This time, as she hands the spatula and bowl of frosting over, she takes care not to touch him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't ask if it would be alright."
"Alright to do what?" His voice is quiet.
She gestures to his hair.
"I told you, there is no need to."
"Hm." Anya shifts the bowl closer to him. "You say that, but you looked unsettled. So I should apologize."
"No." Delta says. "You should not."
Surely, she must notice something new in his voice, because Anya meets his gaze.
"And why is that?" Her voice is quiet.
The question catches him off guard.
Why?
He couldn’t quite explain it.
The details of her catch his eye, just then - the glint of the light in her blonde hair, the freckles across her cheeks, the teal of her gaze.
Familiar by now, yet...no less special.
...Ah.
Affection was an entirely new, delicate territory.
And Anya...
Human views on soulmates differed. Anya had never before spoken about what it meant to her, specifically. It made sense, of course - there were far too many things of greater concern - but it made him feel much more uncertain than he would like.
"...If I disliked it, I would not have let you that close to begin with." He settles on saying, as he finishes decorating the cake, peeling off plastic gloves.
Carefully, she sets the bowl of crumbs - used to decorate - between them.
"Delta."
Her gaze is knowing,
"Anya."
But two can play at this game - and so he does not look away.
Eventually, she closes her eyes, turning away to put the cake in the refrigerator. "You don't have to-"
"Don't have to what?"
"Lie. You don't have to lie."
"And what," Delta starts to say, taking a step toward her, "makes you think it's a lie?"
She turns back to face him. "I-"
"I admit I am a bit unused to it, but that doesn't mean it's unwelcome, if it's you." He holds the end of her braid loosely, unsure of where else to touch.
Anya exhales. "If you're sure."
He interlaces their fingers.
Delta can sense the hesitation as her fingers wrap around his wrist before shifting to his arm, stepping close, and finally...
Her head rests on his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his torso in an embrace.
"...I'm not used to it, either. Not like I used to be, before all this." Anya's voice is muffled against his clothing. "I want to try, though."
"Hm." Delta turns his head towards her.
At the same time, Anya shifts to face him.
In hindsight, it's a selfish action, but an easy one - he presses a faint kiss to her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth - lingering for a moment.
She goes still.
"Delta." There's something weighted in that one word.
"I..." He says. "...Should not have. You and Omega are..."
"...Soulmates."
"...Yes."
When he tries to step back, Anya lets him, though their hands still touch. Delta cannot look away from her.
"Listen to me." She murmurs. "I've had some time to think about it, even with all that's happened. My mother used to say that these timers were a sign that the universe has bound you together. That it's meant to be."
Delta looks away. "And do you believe the same?"
"I believe...it is for a reason, but I don't know what that might be. If I'm being honest with myself, my mother might not be entirely right. This marker..."
She glances down at it. "...It’s important to me, but not quite like that."
"I see."
"Do you?" Anya pulls away, hand resting on his cheek. "Because I'd...like to kiss you, if you would let me."
They study one another.
"If you are certain."
Anya shifts her hand.
Her fingertips brush along his hairline.
"I am." She whispers. "Are you?"
Delta pulls her closer.
There's a rush of warmth as their lips meet. Hers taste sweet, like honey - surely from when she'd eaten some of the scraps of cake.
This time, as Anya intertwines her fingers in his hair, he doesn't hold back the urge to shiver.
She pulls away, tightening her grip on him, as if to steady them both. Their breaths mingle.
Her eyes open, full of affection, as she murmurs his name.
Delta takes only a moment to memorize that look on her face - soft as dawn, yet much rarer.
As the kiss deepens, his hands roam under her shirt, trailing up from her waist to her ribcage. She inhales sharply, her hand tugging at his hair ever so slightly.
It only added strength to what felt like an undertow of desire and affection, pulling him under.
Like a drowning man, Delta seeks air. Unlike one, though, only the air shared between them will work.
The same appears to be true for Anya, who tries to pull him impossibly close.
Eventually, his hand settles between her shoulders, feeling her heartbeat - even after the kiss ends, it remains there.
Anya rests her forehead on his sternum, sighing.
"Delta." She murmurs.
Despite how soft her voice is, Delta could swear that the sound of it reverberates all the way down to his bones.
He steps back, only as much as needed to lean down - pressing his lips to the point where her clavicle meets her shoulder.
When he pulls away, she kisses his temple - the heat from earlier replaced by deep care. It aches, like the first breath one takes after nearly drowning.
His fingers card through her hair. "Anya."
She holds him closer in response.