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He never thought to be one deserving of love, or even the simplest joys of life, so her sight in front of him, so eager to work at the dump he was trying to rebuild, to make things right by his brother's name... Something shifted right there, and part of him felt like fireworks and confetti. He couldn't understand it quite yet.
Once he found someone from his past that felt quiet and eventless, some would say familiar, and people around him declared it was healthy and good, so he went along with it. The most he kissed that girl, the most he wondered how she would taste, part of him felt guilty for it so he compensated. He found himself at a party, he fucking hated parties and it made him remember about the — now — bittersweet stories his brother and cousin used to tell. He found himself neglecting his love, that he didn't know where to put it yet, so it was entirely on the beautiful work they shared. Or so he thought.
Sometimes, she was mean, and he knew he deserved it. She was never one to tiptoe around his terrible temper, biting back fiercely with her brown deer eyes so beautifully ignited by the anger he caused, and it made him feel terribly alive. The quietness wouldn't be one to fit his life, but it was worth the try.
The most he tried to make things right the most he felt lost, stuck, and not worthy again. His mind wrote catastrophic endings to every action he sustained, and pushing people away felt like a great option again. Until he got trapped, and he couldn't flee from his thoughts in the arms of a faceless girl, the one that didn't bring him to be someone he's proud of. His mind devoured him, things were said that he didn't meant but at some point it was over, and that girl wasn't there. She wasn't there either, because he fucked up again, like he has been doing over and over again.
It would be easier to deal with her absence if the warmth and gleam of light on his life wasn't directly tied to her, if she didn't remind him of the hope his brother carried to him, if all of his panic attacks weren't soothed by a glimpse of her smile, stored in his mind with the brightest warm colors and lighting, like a single smile would bathe the world in sunlight. His cooking was about her, the imagery, the elements, even his constant need of approval, everything tied to her. When he knew softness it was her, when he learned where he was wrong she was the first to tell him. Suddenly everything was a constellation of her voice, her ways, the way she moved, the way she handled him. Even her quietness was different, wasn't tasteless, in fact, it felt right. For the first time, something felt right.
She is brilliant, and just like that she became the heart of the kitchen. She gave life to everything, she inspired love to the craft, she made people believe in better outcomes. And he lost her again, to his own hands, he lost her, because she's brilliant, and she's light, and people easily gravitate to what's beautiful. He knows he did, when he stared at her longer than he should, when he made up reasons to touch, when they were them in his kitchen brainstorming together, and any of her words sounded like law to abide to. Maybe it was grief, maybe pent up feelings he never let himself feel, maybe his fear of rejection made him lose the one thing that made him believe that cooking could feel good, lighter, and actually about taking care of people, not this constant race against his own expectations.
He was at home feeling shitty for once, right after the Ever funeral where he met his biggest nightmare, when he received her text. So he ran, and he ran to find her, so familiar like a mirror of his own misery, which pained him more than anything.
"Hey." He was never good with words.
"Hey." She didn't felt like talking much, part of it was his fault, even when he was clearly trying.
"You asked me to..." He started, not sure what his words would sound like, or where they would lead.
"It felt like... you were the only one who'd understand." Her voice was low, and carried a weakness he never knew it could, yet so strong of a woman that ruled his life.
"Right..." His eyebrows furrowed to her gaze that avoided his.
"This is stupid." Her voice faltered even when secure. "I shouldn't have..."
"No, it wasn't. It never is." His voice was soft to her. The blue irises meeting the brown, always so intense, so piercing and it felt like she knew his soul more than he did.
They leaned against a car there and a few minutes quiet had things going back to their place, it didn't feel so scary to be vulnerable.
"It was an article... the one on my fridge." Her voice was emotionless, like she went to a place only she knew where, her eyes were lost. He found a mirror on her again.
"Which one? If... you don't mind me asking."
"The one about The Beef." She said, swallowing what could've been another meltdown. And then it dawned on him, how much he, on his urgency to prove himself, almost broke the one that kept him standing.
"I see..." He didn't know what to say.
"How did you manage?" She asked and he frowned. "The feelings, I mean."
"I didn't, maybe that's why things are the way they are." He admitted, and she sort of knew, maybe from telling him to sort his shit so many times.
"Right." She answered and it made him feel worse. He didn't know what to do, not even what to say. He wasn't sure why she asked him over now, she probably regretted by this point.
So he reached for her and hugged her, pulling her close to nest her in his arms because that's the thing he wanted the most when he was in the same place, grounding, someone to hold him while things felt like they were fizzing out of his control. She was stiff at first, but she nuzzled his shoulder and inhaled his scent that missed the note of tobacco that she came to enjoy. She could've pulled away by now, but she didn't, letting him rock her gently into the hug, his hand soothing her back.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, and she shook her head against his shoulder.
"It's fine." She said because she thought he was referring to the hug, her hands mindlessly caressing his back.
"I want it to be... as anxiety free as possible now." He murmured and she frowned.
"Bullshit." She called, pulling away from the hug only enough to look at him, and he sighed.
"Let me try first? Before you call me on my bullshit?" He bantered holding her by her waist with a smirk on his lips. She bit down a smile, not wanting to give in.
"I really mean it, Syd." His voice barely above a whisper as his thumbs gently caressed her hipbones. She didn't believe him, but she wasn't going to ruin the quietness, so she said nothing.
"You found a new place." He noted to change the subject, clearing his throat in hopes that the awkwardness would fade away. She nodded, her eyes following the apartment building much like his.
"There's a party going on." She frowned, as if she just remembered how she left it while panicking, to now find herself inside his arms that soothed her after causing whatever that was. He said nothing, he knew why she left the party, and if she didn't maybe he wouldn't be here, hugging her. "I kinda wanted you to come." She admitted quietly, even with how pissed she's been with him.
He frowned again as he dealt with emotions he never felt before, a combination with excitement and guilt, a hint of nervousness tinting his ears and neck in a soft shade of pink. His eyes wouldn't dare travel back to hers, he knew he would loose himself like he always did.
"You did?" He asked with his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah, but I'm glad you didn't come 'cause I know you suck at parties." She bantered and made him chuckle because she was right. Suddenly things were warm and made sense, and their quietness was filled with meaning and didn't make him want to run away.
"You good?" He asked finally, biting down the urge to know her taste.
"I'll manage." She nodded.
"I'm here." He reassured, his brows furrowing as his eyes searched for hers.
"I know." She whispered back even if she didn't felt like she believed it completely.
He swallowed dryly, his eyes always so longing when it comes to her. He hesitated again, but his forehead touched hers, and then his nose caressed hers. And then their lips touched, brushing together cautiously, and it felt like something he never had, something he didn't realized he needed so desperately. His arms pulled her flush against him, her fingers threaded his hair when their heads tilted to deepen the kiss. She felt renewed from the inside out, warm, and the angst she carried dissipated for a good while when his tongue explored her mouth and his hand found her braids to guide her.
She breaks the kiss to breathe with lingering pecks, her forehead nuzzling his when their breaths mingled together.
"I'm here." The only thing he managed to say, probably to ground himself from what felt like floating.
"I know." She whispered back with a light chuckle, her hand gently threading and fondling with his hair.
Things fell to the right places when he leaned to her touch, humming contentedly as he felt like he belonged for the first time.