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If someone were to walk in your kitchen at this moment, they wouldn’t have been able to guess what was going on.
You grabbed the nearest napkin, flurrying through the floorboards as you wiped the spilled ingredients on the counter. Grabbing the tray of casseroles that were begging to be baked.
Today was supposed to be the day you introduce your friends to him. Well, not really introduce. Since everyone who knows you, knows that the both of you have been stuck to the hip ever since that day you met him.
They just don’t know you’ve been dating.
For a whole month. You think to yourself.
John MacTavish.
Who, right now, is currently staring at the timer like it's ticking down time for an explosive to detonate, and maybe to make sure your apartment doesn’t burn down.
Does he look enlightened??
“No- no… no. Where’s the fuckin— cheese!” You hit your nose against his back, tray almost sliding to the side, he’s dressed in his favorite shirt too, now a little stained in something you weren’t sure of. Leaning against the counter and stirring something in his hand.
“Johnny!”
He doesn’t look over to you, like his sole mission was to watch the timer you told him to keep track of a few minutes ago. “Hen? Think it’s bout to detonate.”
What?
“It should get out of the oven soon then—Aren’t you watching the bloody thing??”
He huffs out loud, “Ah think it’s broken.” looking at you from his glass, the spoon hitting the side of his cheeks as he sips like nothing’s wrong.
…
“MacTavish. If you don’t move, I’ll bake you into one of these.” You hiss through your teeth, gesturing to the pan you’ve been holding this past conversation.
He scoots over all so innocently, smiling as he settles next to the fridge, nearly knocking the magnets with his shoulder and also shifting one of the to-do lists plastered on the thing. “D’ye need help with the-“
“No.” You slam the pan down against the counter, opening the packet of cheese he just carefully handed over for you.
He leans next to you apologetically, a hum baritones from him as he watches you break the slices into tiny pieces.
The oven dings and he lights up like it’s christmas because he’s finally got something else to do besides being a nuisance on your side, “Ah’ll get that.” He hums and squeezes your waist before moving away from you.
The sweet scent fills the room when he opens the oven. Shooing the fumes away with his hand like a fly bothered him.
Wait. Sweet?
“Johnny.”
He grabs the mittens attached to the handle, watching the baked goods rise proudly from the glass like a kid seeing a shaken snow globe for the first time, “Yea, love?” and he watches the thing deflate as he pulls them out of the oven with his hands.
He stares down at the tray as they sigh like defeated marshmallows. Blinking once. Twice.
You look over to see him holding the tray.
The tray of soufflés that should still be inside the oven.
…
You blink, a smile plastered on your face, suppressing something akin to annoyance.
“You’re supposed to let them sit for a while.”
He looks at you, his eyes a little wide and panicked. Fingers curled into the tray like he’s holding something he just killed. He did. He just killed your prized soufflés.
He’s sure to pay sooner or later.
He frowns when you look away, setting the tray back in the oven like it was the right thing to do.
“Hen?”
Then he walks over to you, you who’s crouched down the oven, setting the pan of casseroles inside.
He sits down next to you, watching them set inside and then at you. You could see the small pout you adored in your periphery. Mirroring your own lopsided ponytail, he tries to wipe a smear of something on your cheek—probably cream cheese, but your only instinct now jerks your head towards him the second his hand tries to reach for something.
He blinks and retracts like a cat, before reaching out again, removing the stain on your cheek “M’ sorry, I’m so sorry love.” He kisses the skin where it was at. Murmuring apologies when he tries to pull you into another one. “I should’ve waited for yer call.”
You mhm in agreement, moving away from the flurry of kisses as you try to get up. “S’ fine- it’s fine, Johnny.”
Pressing your lips together, you gently take the tray of deflated soufflés in your hands. “Just help me clean up the kitchen.”
“Aye, I can do that.” He finally smiles to follow you, before stopping to remember you’ve told him to clean the place, not follow you around.
The small frown returns in his face.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so adorable.
You won't tell him that, of course.
…
The kitchen smelled of garlic and toasted cheese, maybe a little burnt in the end from the distractions the both of you decided to have in the minutes you had to wait for the casseroles to bake. But it all was worth it in the end wasn’t it? There was something you could imagine doing for years to come. Even if it was a little chaotic with him.
He walks up next to you, wiping his hands on a towel. Neither of you mention anything, just staring into what now were the plated dishes around the counter. The sad tray of chocolate hidden behind whipped cream.
“D’ye think it gives them personality? Ye ken, the sad deflated lil’ puppies?” He says it a little too enthusiastically, making you shoot him a warning glare.
“Would’ve had much more personality if they weren’t so sad.”
The chuckle he erupts rumbles through his chest—something loud and fulfilling in the small quiet kitchen, he loops an arm around your shoulder, smiling meekly. “Right, that was my bad lovie.” And he kisses the top of your head with a loud smack, which earns him a rightful elbow to his side.
“Ah’m sure they’d be too distracted to comment on why they look like they’ve seen war itself.”
“Oh you better hope, MacTavish.”
He squeezes both your shoulders when you turn around to face him, only for you to step on his toes in retaliation. “You should be glad I haven’t ratted you out on your mom.” Jabbing a playful finger towards his chest.
His eyes match the wide ones you had when he opened the oven a little too early, “Ah think peace is an option here.” He smiles desperately.
You shook your head, “I’m sure your sisters would also be glad to hear from their big brother.”
He now stood upright.
You know they’d never let him live it down.
He’s staring at you, and you just grin wickedly. The second you try to reach for your phone is when he’s grabbing you by the waist. Spinning you off the ground and away from the very thing that’s going to blow up his notifications the second he hears from them.
You shriek from his grasp, but he’s much faster than you. Grabbing the phone away from your reach. “Johnny—!” Both of your laughter spills all over the apartment and he’s actively trying not to drop you at the same time you squirm and kick dramatically in his hold. Swearing that you’d let his mother know of what happened.
The door bell rings four— No. Five times, before he finally lets you open it.
Now, standing outside are your three friends, wearing matching expressions of confusion and curiosity, (definitely not from the shrieking they just heard five minutes ago).
They came expecting to meet you and your new boyfriend. But what they didn’t expect was that he was also your very own partner in crime.