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After your romp in the sheets, you decide to cook breakfast for Casper.
In a desperate bid to keep him out of your kitchen, you start rattling off whatever cooking jargon you can remember from your many hours watching an angry British chef. By the end of your first paragraph about whether to use beef or chicken in a stir fry, he looks thoroughly confused while pretending not to be, and hovers over your shoulder while you set about making stir fried udon.
He has such a serious expression on your face while you explain what ingredients you’re picking and why. Such focus! And this time it won’t end with your security deposit gone!
“Udon is a type of-, ah, right, you’re already an expert on noodles. We’ll skip straight to aromatics then,” you set a pot in the sink to fill with water and grab the ginger and scallions from the fridge, “I’m slicing the ginger into thin strips so they release more of their flavour into the oil. I’m using only the white part of the scallions for the same reason, and the green part can also be reserved for better presentation.”
Casper watches you intently as you prepare the aromatics and set the pot of water to boil on the stove. You want to tease him over it, ask if he intends to cook you a Michelin star meal next time, but you really don’t want him to call your bluff.
You set the wok on the other burner to heat up, and set the tiny bowl with the ginger and scallion next to it. Next up, the broccoli and chicken breast. You were worried that Casper would be completely averse to vegetables after a lifetime of dehydrated whatever in instant noodles (not that you can talk, those things kept you alive for a long time too), but he only nods along while you explain what bits of the broccoli you’re cutting off and why. The broccoli goes into another bowl set next to the pot of now boiling water.
You put the udon in and turn your attention towards the chicken.
“Right now I’m cutting the chicken into bite sized chunks. Make sure not to cross contaminate- ah, Y’know what, I’ll teach you food safety later. Just wash your hands and everything the raw chicken touched, salmonella’s a bitch.”
“Who is sam’o’nella?” Casper asks pointedly. You ought to tease him over being jealous of bacteria, but your attention is rather divided already.
“I’ll explain later,” you would’ve waved him off, but alas, sam’o’nella, “Anyways, the oil is hot enough now. I’ll dump the green onion and garlic in and let them sauté for a moment, no longer than thirty seconds or they’ll burn, and then dump the chicken in.”
You proceeded to do exactly as you’d explained, after washing your hands of sam’o’nella of course, “the noodles can be removed now and the pot filled with the clean broccoli florets. Once the chicken is just about done, I’ll add the sauce, then the noodles and broccoli. If you’re not sure whether the chicken is done, just split a piece open.”
Wait, Casper has no way of knowing what colour the chicken is supposed to be. You’re really gonna have to teach him everything from the ground up, won’t you? You’ll have to go find your old home ec binder later. Right now, you need to make sure the chicken stays a uniform colour.
“It’s about time to add the sauce, probably some chilli oil too, but you have to move quick once the udon is added. Cleaning burnt bits of udon is never fun.”
Well, you certainly wouldn’t mind Casper cleaning. Perhaps in a ma-
You cough into your shoulder, busy tossing the stir fried udon to coat everything evenly. Better add the broccoli too so you don’t think about Casper being even hotter than he already is. And also at your beck and call like he already is. And you should probably focus on the food like you are definitely already doing.
The broccoli gets dumped in none too gently in an attempt to toss your musings away.
You fish the ginger out and divy the stir fried udon into two bowls. The green part of the scallion goes on top, and you dare say you’ve just made something that looks appetizing. Casper certainly seems to think so, as he stares at his first proper meal ever with awestruck eyes.
It would be so easy to tease him about how he’s basically drooling over you by proxy, but the words die in your throat as he raises his chopsticks to take a tentative bite. You suddenly find yourself very nervous, anxiously awaiting your beloved’s reaction.
A crestfallen expression graces Casper’s face, and you internally curse.
“Sunshine,” Casper begins, looking up like a lost puppy, “Why did you tell me my cooking was good?”