Archive of Our Own

The heavy sounds of late summer formed by heavy droplets and cracks of thunder carried through the peninsula, stripping branches of leaves prematurely before they even had a chance to yellow. Lighting illuminating the room, diffusing through the thin white linen curtains. Wrapped under a comforter lay the intertwined bodies of Castanet’s chef and farmer. The bed was made for one person but they made it work, taking up every centimetre of space and still having to settle for having some part of their legs or arms touching all night. Not yet pulling away to sleep, the two lied on their sides, legs intertwined, the chef’s back pressed to the farmer’s chest. Chase had a long night working at the bar and the slow circular movement rubbed onto his chest were only increasing his drowsiness. He rested his own hand on the farmer’s, feeling it move underneath, humming in content at the rough texture from his callused fingers gliding over his skin, occasionally circling over his nipple. He felt like a river stone sanded smooth from years of repetitive motion, sinking deeper into the farmer’s touch.

Warm lips pressed to his neck and shoulders, leaving little kisses that made his stomach twist and his heart flutter. The familiar feeling of teeth nipping at his skin made his cheeks burn up and a little whine leave his mouth. The hand on his hip gave him a squeeze  before sliding down to rub his stomach and make their way under the waistband of his pants to caress his pubic hair. 

His body grew even limper under all the touches and every reaction felt involuntary. Chase was exactly where he wanted to be, taken from damp earth and moulded by Kasey’s body to lock into the empty spaces.  He wiggled even closer, feeling that strong chest pressed against his back, rising and falling with every breath.

“So needy,” Kasey’s playful voice teased, giving the tired man a squeeze with his whole body.

Chase scoffed in response but was unable to refute the remark. It was true, he was feeling needy but he wasn’t about to confirm it. Kasey already knew and seemed more than willing to indulge him. He snaked his legs around him even tighter, only proving the farmer’s point, and rubbed up against his crotch with his ass. The man froze momentarily before giving his chest a squeeze and continuing the petting. Chase only settled down when he felt that familiar presence pressing up against his ass, smiling softly to himself. He couldn’t see Kasey’s face but he could clearly imagine the eye roll, and yet the man continued to shower him with silent affection.

Chase never did let the erection die down, conveniently repositioning himself every so often until eventually Kasey pulled him in closer by the waist, holding him still. “You’re so rude, you know that? And all because you find the feeling comforting”, he scoffed.

The warm breath and low voice in his ear sent a shiver through each vertebra. Letting out a self satisfied yawn he stretched and shifted, turning around in his arms so they lay chest to chest. 

“Mhm, I do.” The chef kissed at his jaw, unable to keep himself from grinning, feeling Kasey pressed up against his leg. He pressed another kiss at the corner of his mouth and then on the lips, letting out a sigh as those fingers now tangled themselves in his hair. Chase licked at that pouty bottom lip, biting and sucking, gasping as he felt himself pulled up on top of him, settling into this new position with ease. Pulling away from the kiss momentarily he nestled his knee between Kasey’s legs, tangling a hand in his hair and nuzzling his face into his callused hands, kissing his palm. Another flash of lightning lit up the room allowing him to get a glimpse of the farmer’s features, eyes closed, lips parted breathing shakily.

“I love how bitchy you are. Who would have thought that under that facade was such a needy tease.”

“Mm it’s news for me too,” he murmured, “It’s hard to resist a cute face, especially on a Man who’s full with my cooking.” Satisfied with the sight in front of him he pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “I want to cook for you every day, Kasey.”

Chase didn’t seem to notice the farmer freeze. The young chef wasn’t one to be overly affectionate with his words, at least not in the ways that was expected, and that last desire expressed a declaration of love that did not manage to slip past Kasey. “I think I could get used to that.”

“Good.” Chase reached a hand down to caress the side of his bloated stomach. “You need to eat well to keep up the energy for your farm work,”

“I thought you were tired…”

“I am.” He yawned, almost as if to prove a point.

Kasey wrapped his other arm around the man’s slender waist and slid his hand back into his pants, giving his ass a firm squeeze, groping and caressing with his thumb. 

“You’re a piece of work,” he mumbled, and gasped when the chef ground his hips against him, leaning his head back into his hands, back arched.

Chase hummed in appreciation and kissed at the now exposed neck where his shirt collar usually lay. The skin felt warm to the touch as if the sun were still shining down on him, bathing his body in a radiant light. Nipping lightly at the farmer’s Adam’s apple, he was pleased to feel the vibrations emanating from his larynx. 

“And yet here you are.” He sucked with a bit more force, feeling Kasey’s grip on his ass tighten. “You could be back at home and actually have enough room to sleep…” he continued, murmuring between kisses, trailing back up to kiss along the underside of his jaw. 

Kasey mumbled something about a cold draft, rocking his hips against Chase’s, running his hands all over his back, taking in every curve and dip of that man’s body. 

Chase hummed, giving his friend’s hip a squeeze, kissing at his neck, drawing out a moan from Kasey with each graze of his teeth, rubbing against his thigh with more force. Those muscular thighs, usually hidden away by his apron and a loose fitting pair of jeans or black slacks. Kasey was surprised when he first bared witness to them, unable to stop staring despite Chase’s cock —the intended star of the moment— just above. Watching him lift shipments to the restaurant, those heavenly thighs began to make sense.

“Where has all this energy come from? You were just about to pass out when I came to see you.. You kept nodding off during our meal.”

“I’ve just reached that part past exhaustion…and,” he tilted the farmer’s face down so he could kiss his lips again, “with your hands all over me...” Chase humped Kasey’s thigh, showing off his own growing erection, making sure to drag out another low moan from him, "how am I supposed to sleep."

“Fuck- that’s your own fault.” Kasey mumbled into his mouth, enjoying the intrusion from his tongue drawing the breath out of him, fragile like roving and spun into thread. “You've had no problems before. But something couldn't keep still.” He gave him a spank and a grope only egging on the chef.

Chase pulled away from the kiss, sat back on his heels and placed Kacey’s hands on his waist as he rode the farmer’s thigh, his own hands firmly on his chest to keep him steady and allow for better leverage. It didn’t hurt that it also gave him something to do with his hands as he squeezed the farmer’s pectoral muscles. When Kasey first came into town, Chase certainly had his doubts that this guy would fix the farm up as the mayor kept exclaiming, never mind the town. To his surprise, the farm began to flourish, the town became more lively, and several seasons later he discovered that the farmer was now quite lean under his clothes, no longer the scrawny city boy that had arrived a couple of seasons ago. He developed a healthy glow which contrasted sharply with Chase’s own complexion which only knew the warmth of the kitchen.

Kasey held onto his hips firmly, squeezing and caressing, taking in the subtle curves of the chef’s body and the shapely thighs he adored. He traced his fingers along his rectus femoris, feeling it flex underneath his touch as Chase moved his hips in circular motions. His knee, still between the farmer’s legs, continued to apply pressure to his groin. 

Keeping one hand on the chef’s thighs and bringing the other up to his own face, Kasey curled his hand, biting at his index finger as he whimpered and moaned between shallow breaths. The noises got lost within the rain and thunder outside, giving him the confidence to be a little louder than he usually dared at Chase’s house. One of the nice things about living on a farm was the lack of nearby neighbors, allowing them to try more adventurous things, and yet, the need to be quiet was something that turned Kasey oh so incredibly on. Letting out a shaky breath he looked up at Chase, his circular motions having turned into rocking motions, back arched, head tilted back. The fabric from Chase’s pants had rolled up so that they appeared to be briefs rather than trunks, practically inviting Kasey to push them back further and cup his ass. He gave him another spank, causing the chef to tense and curse under his breath, waited for another, but it never came.

 Instead, Chase found himself destabilized and pulled forward as the farmer pushed himself up on an elbow, his other hand wrapping around his waist. Chase groaned as he found himself on his back, hands pinned above his head, and a pair of lips kissing at his jaw. He didn’t bother putting up a fight, only shifted a bit for the sake of comfort and eased back into the mattress letting himself be pampered. Despite everything he had put the farmer through this night his kisses were tender. Kasey nuzzled his nose into his skin, still not letting go of his grasp on his wrists, his erection a comforting presence against Chase’s own, serving as an uncomfortable reminder of the human shell he occupied. Or was it a pleasurable reminder? The line between pleasure and discomfort could be so thin at times if it was even there at all. He had no plans to do anything about it, only to feel it pressed against his body and the precious noises it would bring from his lover. 

His lover? Were they lovers? Neither of them had asked, they simply fell into a routine. Their relationship was certainly one of sexual nature, but romantic? He wasn’t sure, it certainly felt romantic at times, although couldn’t a lover refer to a strictly sexual relationship? The word sounded too intimate for just that. What about boyfriends? There was something juvenile about the word, and yet it was sweet, tender, romantic even. Romantic in the way that ones chest tightens at the thought of them, tongue turning soft unable to articulate fluidly, heart fluttering painfully at the mere sight or thought of them. Romantic in the way that every and any thought would easily lead back to them.

Semantics was exhausting. Why risk spoiling a good thing if speaking it into existence could cause it to flitter away. They were friends, that much was sure. Chase had said so, Kasey had said so. Friends was an intimate word, a warm word, a dependable word.

At first their run-ins were sparse, unpredictable. There was no reason to stop for a chat. Chase still remembered the late morning he heard a knock at his door pulling him out of his music practice. Standing outside was the farmer, a basket of vegetables in his hands, fringe slicked with sweat and pressed onto his forehead. Chase wasn’t sure what to think, standing there, flute in hand, empty expression on his face as he waited for an explanation.

“It’s my first harvest,” he said, “I was hoping you could teach me what to do with it-I forgot to ask you didn’t I?” The farmer began to blush, looking off to the side to avoid the young chef’s unshifting eye contact.

“I believe you ship it for a profit.” Chase wasn’t sure why he was being asked for this sort of help, he was usually the one placing orders, not sending them.

The farmer laughed, part nerves, part humour? He wasn’t sure. “Yeah, I really did forget to ask you. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight onto his other foot. “I figured that part out, this is what’s left. I was hoping you could help me to cook these…you’re a chef, right? I just don’t know where to begin.”

He looked the farmer up and down curiously before nodding and waving him in, standing to a side of the doorway and setting his flute aside. “Please, shoes off.” He took the basket from his hands and left him to struggle with his shoes. Setting it down on the kitchen table, he took each vegetable out one by one, inspecting each carefully. A cabbage, some potatoes, turnips, and onions. “For your first harvest, not bad. Looks promising…not that I know anything about agriculture.”

Kasey grinned, walking over to the table. “Thanks, it went better than I had hoped for, although I still have a lot to learn.” He looked around taking in the little details from his home. His kitchen was surprisingly small but well equipped from the looks of it. Extra storage provided him space for his extra appliances and a few cookbooks. Everything was orderly and in its place. A large square table took up most of the room, and his bed stood tucked away in a corner by a window. “ I didn’t know you played the flute… sorry for interrupting your practice.”

“Oh. Yes.” He shrugged. “If it were too much of a bother I would have turned you down. So what were you hoping to learn? And, what do you like to eat?”

Kasey revealed himself to be completely useless in the kitchen, mostly subsiding off cold sandwiches made up of whatever assortment of ingredients he would scrounge up from his fridge. Most things he ate warm had been preprepared in some form or boiled into a sad mush. One thing was for sure, the man wasn’t picky. Chase was sure he could plate up the scraps leftover at the bottom of his sink and the farmer would be grateful. He didn’t have high hopes when he asked about the tools he had, and rightfully so, because his kitchen turned out to be even poorer equipped than his skillset. Chase stared at him for a while, trying to gauge if this had all been a mistake and if he’d be better off taking back the favor. Was this all a ruse to take advantage of his culinary prowess masquerading as friendly interest? He’d heard about his hard work and generosity, always eager to help around and gift the fruits —vegetables? — of his labours. If anything, Kasey seemed at a much greater risk of being taken advantage of, and so he decided to give it a try, at least for the time being. 

“You’ve got a pot, so we’ll start with a simple stew. We’ll use what you’ve got today but you could also apply it to most other things you might grow…carrots, peppers…”he trailed off and looked over at his spice cabinet wondering what else to add. Salt and pepper was probably okay for now. The man didn’t even own a frying pan. Keeping it simple was for the best, besides, when in the hands of someone competent, salt and pepper could result in a much more flavourful dish than all the spices in the world in the hands of someone like Maya.

He went over the basic tools, outlining the different uses of each knife, teaching him how to hold it, and how to properly curl the fingers of the guiding hand for safety, stability, and precision. 

“Precision is more important than speed.” He held out his hand, pointing out some old scars from where he had sliced, nicked, and burned himself “You need your fingers for your farmwork. Keep them.”

Kasey laughed nervously, looking down at his own hands. He had already started to develop calluses from his work out in the field, and recently discovered just how sharp some of these plants could be. Chase talked about his hands as if they were as much of a tool as his knives or his pans. He hadn’t given it much thought before but in this moment he felt the surging spread of inspiration.

“Turnips are round. You’re better off creating a flat surface rather than having it slip out from under your knife and making a flat surface out of your fingers.” He demonstrated for Kasey, the long flat blade of the nakiri gliding through the turnip and leaving a flat plane to rest on the worktop. The young farmer watched intently seeing how the edge was pushed down and forward, the blade keeping contact with the guiding hand. The once round turnip was turned into a mound of perfectly shaped cubes. 

Then it was his turn. The handle felt awkward in his hands and the movements felt foreign and cumbersome. Taking his time and following the chef’s pointers he ended up with a misshapen, disjointed pile of turnip pieces. 

Chase nodded, but when he saw the sheepish grin on Kasey’s face he added, “Just keep practicing.”

While the turnip stew was simmering he took out another pot, to teach the farmer about rice, a sure way to make any meal filling. Disgust spread across his face when Kasey told him about the precooked rice in a bag. Deplorable. He made a mental note to get him a rice cooker.

They ate dinner together, sharing what had led them each to the peninsula. Having finished his culinary school and tired of the city, Chase sought out to work under and continue learning from Yolanda. She was resistant at first but after seeing him cook she decided to take him under her wing on the condition that he try and help her teach her granddaughter to cook. He accepted without too long of a second thought, soon discovering that little addendum was to be the most complicated and frustrating part of his new apprenticeship. Getting up he pulled out a cookbook from the shelf. The spine creased and its title worn down beyond recognition. A number of papers stuck out from the pages, some stained with oil. Setting it down in front of Kasey he smiled proudly, staring down at the book with a tender fondness. Yolanda’s name was printed across the bottom of A Beginner’s Guide to the Kitchen.

“This was my first teacher.”

Kasey stared down at the book and then up at Chase, gingerly opening the book, fearing to even breathe on it. The inside cover was signed and housed an old paper with a number of handwritten conversion tables in large child’s handwriting.

“That's really sweet.” Kasey offered, unable to put to words the awe he felt. Chase took a seat beside him looking over the farmer’s shoulder as he flipped through his life’s story. He had spent hours in the kitchen growing up, recreating each recipe as instructed, never deviating from the steps until it looked exactly like the picture on the page. Over time he learned to make alterations, also taught to him by the book. Each new variant he wrote on a piece of paper and wedged it next to the original. At night before bed he’d go over the recipes in his head, recounting the list of ingredients and steps. It was just a cook book, but it was also his whole entity bound within a worn cloth cover.

“And what about you? Why’d you come here to farm.”

Kasey felt embarrassed at the question, a blush rising to his cheeks. Compared to Chase his reasons felt haphazard, a mere happening of life. Quickly learning how much harder farming was than he had ever imagined, he didn’t have much time to simply sit and think. Any down time he got was spent trying to make connections with the townspeople and studying up on agriculture.. 

“I…” he trailed off. “I felt there was nothing left for me in the city. Wanted a new start. I had a few houseplants I liked taking care of, figured this was something I could do.”

The chef raised his brows at him in a way the young farmer couldn’t tell the meaning behind. He decided not to read into it too much.

“Farming is quite a far cry from growing houseplants.”

“Yeah, it is.” Kasey laughed and shook his head. “But I’ve been learning a lot. I’ve never felt like I was all that good at anything. Didn’t really explore all that much so I’m trying to make up for that now.”

The chef’s facial expression softened and he smiled at him. “I see. Well, I wish you the best.”

Chase packaged the rest of the food to send home with Kasey. When questioned about himself he simply waved away the concern. “You grew the vegetables. I’m not the one that’s in danger of malnutrition. I can cook.”

Yet another embarrassed laugh from the man. It was kind of endearing in a pathetic sort of way.

“If you keep bringing the ingredients, I can keep teaching you. If you want me to try anything you make, I can also give you pointers from there.”

Over time they began to meet outside of their regular cooking sessions. It started with Chase inviting him over for lunch partially to have him try out a dish he had been experimenting with, although really it was because he just wanted to share a meal with him. The farmer showed up at his door with a bag full of oranges. They were small, not quite meaty enough for juicing, although the tree was still relatively young. He took them graciously.

These meals became a regular occurrence as did Kasey’s gifts, always happy to share what he had grown. Despite what he had said during their first proper meeting, he had proved to have quite the knack for farming. Walking past his farm Chase admired how the summer heat would envelope Kasey’s body, his hands deep in the dirt, making his hair shine a golden brown. Some days he would forgo the shirt, sweat glistening and his once frail frame beginning to develop some muscle. The crops were looking as healthy as he did. 

It was over these meals that Chase came to learn more about the young farmer.

“How come you couldn’t cook before?”

“Never had anyone willing to teach me, nor any push to. In fact I was incentivised not to.” Another sheepish laugh which faded into a sigh as he took another bite of his food and chewed thoughtfully. “Product of my mother’s misogyny, you know how it goes. And then some of my own no doubt.”

Chase did know how it went. And the nonsense dictated that the kitchen was a woman’s place….unless that kitchen happened to be a professional kitchen. Too much stainless steel was apparently not becoming of a woman.

The farmer looked up at him cautiously when he spoke the next part. “And my boyfriend at the time. He did all the cooking. I thought it was out of affection, turns out he wanted to keep me dependent on him.” There was a shift to the chef’s demeanor, Kasey couldn’t quite place what. If it was vitriol or disgust he didn’t show it.

“Is that why you wanted to learn?”

“Tired of feeling so useless… and it helps me appreciate my own work more. Shows me a reason why I’m doing what I’m doing. I mean, I felt like vegetables were just vegetables, you know? But in your hands, they turn into something so much more precious-”

The complement touched him, His cheeks glowed a faint red as he watched the farmer’s mood pick up as he described both their work.

“-So please, come on over whenever you can and get first pick. Free of charge.”

Chase knew the man was generous, everybody in town did. Kasey could give and give and give without ever expecting anything in return, but even this felt awfully grand.

“Isn’t that bad for business?”

“You’re just one person, how much of a dent can it make? And besides, it’s nice to know that the best crops would be going to good use.” Kasey’a grin was certainly convincing and Chase put up no fight.

“You make a compelling argument,” he smiled, “but only if you join me for meals. It’s only fair you get a taste of your own work as well.”

“Deal, no need to twist my arm,” he joked back, reaching out to shake his hand.

Kasey stayed behind to help clean up, wiping down the table and counters while Chase washed the dishes, leaving most out to dry and hand drying those that didn’t fit on the rack. Hanging up his apron on its hook, he washed and dried his hands before turning around to face the young farmer who was checking him out.

“I’m also gay.” He said bluntly then smirked when the shorter man tripped over his own words. 

“Oh.. right, my boyfriend.” He scratched at the back of his head and gave him one of his signature grins, surprised Chase had brought it up again after it had long left his mind, even if he had purposefully slipped it in there to gauge where the man stood. “I wasn’t trying to sleep with you, I do genuinely like spending time with you…”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it if you were. Although it’s nice to know that’s not all you’re after.”

Some of the things Kasey had made were truly awful. One day he came in with some steamed aubergine cut into thick cubes and marinating in… he couldn't quite tell what. Sitting down he picked out a piece giving it a sniff. Vinegar and soy sauce, that much was sure. Putting the whole piece in his mouth he didn’t get far into chewing before he felt his pharynx contract. The rubbery flesh pressed over his teeth causing him to spit the purple vegetable back into his mouth. His face pulled back into a grimace. “That… tastes bad.”

Kasey’s eyes widened, looking down at the partially chewed vegetable in the chef’s hand as he dropped it back into the bowl with the rest of the aubergine. He didn’t think it was his finest work but he also didn’t find it gagworthy. “I wasn’t sure how to make a marinade. Did I overcook it?”

Chase shook his head and went to get a glass of water to wash away the lingering sensation, pouring one out for Kasey. Plucking out a piece of the aubergine he set it aside on a napkin for comparison and binned the rest. Today would be a lesson on knife cuts.

“No, it’s undercooked. You have gotten better at large dice. We can talk about sauces and marinades some other day.” Washing his hands he beckoned the farmer over.

“I can stomach most tastes, but texture… that’s a different story.”

He sent the farmer home with a fresh batch of steamed eggplants this time cut into thinner rectangles to maximise surface area allowing them to easily cook until silky smooth. He also added a couple of other dishes to complement the meal, a new rice cooker, and a jar of one of his signature sauce, something a little sweet, a little spicy.

As he was wiping down the counter he couldn’t help but wonder if he came off too harsh. That wasn’t his intention, but the dish really was terrible, he wouldn’t be able to hide it even if he wanted to, and he was better off knowing the truth. Kasey did seem extra attentive, asking plenty of questions. If he was put off then this may end up being their last session. But the young farmer kept coming back and over time his cooking and his produce continued to increase in quality.

Fire returned to the kitchen and Chase began to work at The Brass bar, staying up until the early morning. Their meetings at the bar also became a predictable occurrence, and Chase found himself preparing the farmer’s favourite tomato stew to be ready and on the counter by the time he walked through the door. He came when the bar was typically empty, allowing them to talk a little longer before they would each have to get back to their work. On Mondays he’d be there to walk him home and on rainy days he’d stay the night. 

Pouring two glasses of wine they would drink together, sitting at each end of the small loveseat with their legs meeting in the middle. One tiring night they abandoned the wineglasses, drinking straight from the bottle. It was an expensive bottle but Chase didn’t mind. It felt uncouth, it felt indulgent. Kasey’s lips wrap around the bottle, cheeks flushed, words getting looser. It felt private.

Chase too found himself more easy going, letting go of the need to second guess his every word or action. Was he too blunt? Was that a thought that was better left unsaid? Would his tone make his genuineness come off as sarcasm and his sarcasm come off as genuineness? It was all so exhausting. His cheeks hurt from smiling and his sides ached from laughing, snorting and giggling at the stories Kasey told about his chickens and some from his youth. “You did not!” He kicked his legs into the air, toppling back into the cushions arm of the loveseat,  pressing his hands  to his face as he let out a loud laugh. “Kasey that’s vile, why would you eat that!”

“I had to get rid of the evidence!”

“I might have to stop taking your vegetables.” He giggled and reached over for the bottle in Kasey’s hands. He took a drink and set it aside, crawling over to him and settling down on top of his chest. “I bet the ridges felt good,” he teased, “ but didn’t anybody teach you about the importance of a flared base.” 

Kasey wrapped an arm around his waist and stroked his hair, welcoming the chef’s affection. “Not at that time no, she kicked me out for taking it in the ass, she wasn’t about to teach me how to do it safely,” he joked, tugging lightly at a peach-orange strand of hair.

Chase snorted at the comment then looked up at him intensely, no sign of humor in his eyes, his pale skin hot and flushed from drinking. “So who taught you? Your older boyfriend?”

“I mean, yeah.” 

“I see. Makes sense. So he was good for some things.”

Kasey didn’t know what to make of that exchange once again opting to think nothing of it. He rubbed the chef’s stiff back until he became lithe and pliable under his touch, groaning in appreciation and resting his head on his chest.

“Farm work’s done you good, Kasey. Don’t stop.”

The following summer felt hotter and wetter than any before. The fabric of his jeans felt suffocating but the adoption of shorts would leave him clammy which was worse. Chase hated the summer. It was even worse in the kitchen, the heat from the stove blasting his face as beads of sweat ran down his temple like an army of ants, his white shirt clinging to his chest and arms like an overbearing relative. The plastic hairnet was a thick blunt needle slowly being pressed into his neck and scalp by a sadistic acupuncturist, tearing rather than piercing at his flesh. The shitty extractor fan did little but cause a racket, slicing through his tympanic membrane to inject the sound directly into his middle ear, causing it to swell as the noise seemed to increase in intensity, refusing to be shut out even at the risk of a rupture. A rupture didn’t sound half bad. The pain would have been negligible compared to what he was currently enduring, and would have come with the added bonus of the loss of certain tedious frequencies. Outside was marginally better. Despite the sun glaring directly down on him, the occasional breeze showed him some mercy, and he would take every opportunity he had to stand out there, legs apart and arms held away from his body.

What freak was ordering stir-fry on the hottest day so far when there were other —perfectly acceptable— cold dishes on the menu. A summer menu that he had spent time curating. And why did he keep stir fry on it? What a fucking idiot.

Owen’s loud voice cut through the air, showing up for a round of early drinks to cool off and making it everyone else’s problem. The nerve. And that wasn’t even mentioning Maya. She’d come in earlier, bubbly as always, as annoying as ever, talking and asking questions despite the inconsistent responses which were typically limited to a few syllables when granted. She moved around his meticulously placed knives making a mess of the cucumbers she butchered with them, and snacked on the slices of tomatoes he had prepped for salads.

“Go do your job and let me do mine!” He snapped, running his hands through his hair and getting it tangled in his hairnet. “Fuck-” pressing his lips together he ripped it off and threw it into the bin and went to wash his hands again. The cursed thing had been digging into the nape of his neck all afternoon anyways. Plating his food he rang the bell for Maya to pick up and started completing the next ticket. Finally a cold dish…but he still had to boil the soba. Again, what idiot came up with this menu. He went to prepare the ice bath for quick cooling afterwards. Looking down at the bowl with envy, he wished it were large enough to jump in. The plate of stir fry still sat on the counter waiting to go to its respective owner. Ringing the bell again he cursed at Maya under his breath and went to grab the other ingredients he needed, pouring the sauce from the fridge into its own ceramic bowl. Back to the stove, the soba was just about done. He needed the utensils. Where were the utensils? She moved them! She must have! Why did she always have to touch his-there they were! Strain the soba, put them in the ice bath- Why was the fucking stirfry still on the counter?! He did not labour away behind a hot stovetop only for the fucking stir fry to be served cold. Grabbing the plate he went out to serve it himself, spotting Maya chatting with some fucking patron, Luke this time, partially immersed with the game on the CRT TV. Oh the CRT TV with its grating tinny audio and its incessant high pitched whine and crackle even when off. The venture out wasn’t worth it so he set the plate down and slammed at the bell until Maya looked over, brows furrowed and a frown on her face.

“You don’t have to be so mean about it.”

“You have a job to do, you’re not just here to chat.” He spat out curtly and turned around on the balls of his feet to plate up the soba.

Turning off the stove he took a breather, quickly realizing how much work it had done masking the noises from the bar. As the night got later the cheers and chatter got louder. Thankfully the kitchen closed down earlier than the bar, and pouring drinks was not his responsibility. Kicking aside the doorstop he closed the door to the kitchen and opened the door to outside to let in the summer breeze. The sound of crickets cooled his ears and the round smell of humid air relaxed his nose. It was due to rain tonight. He just had to finish cleaning up and he would be greeted by Kasey’s charming smile after work to walk him home.

He scrubbed at the last of the pans, hung up his apron, and gave the floor one final sweep before taking out the trash for the night. Washing his hands he splashed some cool water onto his face and ran his wet hands through his hair. Checking the time he furrowed his brows. Kasey was running late. He must have gotten caught up with something. Disappointing, but he could afford to wait for a bit. Grabbing a bottle of sweet wine from the cooler, he unscrewed the cork and leaned against the counter, drinking straight from the bottle. He closed his eyes, savouring the acidity and how it felt slowly sliding down his throat and pooling in his stomach, cold and heavy. He took slow, occasional sips, feeling his head starting to feel foggy. A half hour had passed and still no sight of Kasey. His throat tightened and tears threatened to spill from his eyes, grip tightening around the neck of the bottle. Of all the nights to be stood up that fucking farmer chose today! It briefly crossed his mind that he might be passed out on some field from exhaustion, maybe heat stroke. The farmer didn’t always remember to take care of himself as he did for others. Guilt overtook the anger he felt and his stomach only felt denser as it shrunk in on itself. Looking around for the cork he flipped it around and reinserted it, taking the bottle with him. Double checking that everything was off and in its place, he turned off all the lights, locked the door, and made the arduous walk back to his house.

He wasn't drunk yet, still able to walk without much of a problem. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his face puffy and shielded by the cover of darkness. He still had to shower, change, brush his teeth. Ideally eat, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Showering wasn’t just showering. It was undressing, it was turning on the tap, it was finding the right temperature, it was saturating his body and hair with water, it was lathering the soap…. Each task stacked on top of each other each with its own micro tasks embedded inside and so it extended in an endless list of lists.

A deep pang hit his stomach when he saw the lights from his home were on. Frozen in his spot he debated the dangers of stepping inside before forcefully pushing the wooden door open which let out a creak as it rubbed against the floor. The air inside was warm making his toes curl in annoyance. At the kitchen table sat Kasey, presumably having fallen asleep. He shot up at the sound of the door and gave Chase a weary smile and a warm greeting, voice fizzling out when he heard a shrill yell emanating from the chef.

“What are you doing- out of my kitchen! Get out of my kitchen! Get out of my kitchen!” His voice was hoarse and still he repeated the phrase over and over again as if in a trance, his stomach tying itself into knots and his throat closing up around the words he kept forcing out. Tears streamed down his cheeks making the skin feel warm and raw as he let out a wet cough. Setting aside his bottle and kicking off his sandals he pulled at his hair and tugged at his collar, trying to rip the sweat slicked shirt off him. Kasey took a step towards him with an expression Chase could only guess was disdain, maybe even disgust. His body tensed up further, skin shrink wrapping around his organs. His screams grew louder, his grip on his hair grew tighter, and the heel of his foot pressed down harder on his toes nurturing a dull throbbing pain. 

Kasey didn’t argue, stepping into his boots and walking outside, jumping at the slam of the door behind him and the thud as Chase’s body hit the door and slid down to the floor.

He curled up on the floor, sobs wracking his body as he breathed in quick shallow breaths, the dry air burning his trachea, coughing out the phlegm that had built up. Pressing his palms to his eyes to shut out the world he focused on the repetitive motion of his feet alternating pressing down on the other. His toenails scratched at the tender flesh, anticipating the sting that would come when he broke skin. He went over it again and again, abusing himself raw until all he was was a discarded roll of flesh on a tanner’s floor.

And then there was Silence. His breathing was still shallow but much less violent as he forced himself to take slow, regulated breaths. He felt his lungs expanding his chest, straining against his newly formed ribcage as his body pieced itself back together. Round, starchy, rice. The air smelled of rice. Forcing himself to unfurl, limbs heavy and resisting movement as his nerves still awaited being rewired, he looked up at the kitchen. The rice cooker stood proudly on the counter: the source of the stuffy air. 

Pushing himself off the floor he looked down to assess the damage, wincing as he ran his fingers over the red, puffy scratch markers on his legs and feet. He forced himself to look away and focus on undoing the buttons on his shirt, fingers shaking feeling their way around the foreign materials. Discarding the shirt onto the floor he unzipped his trousers, kicking them off his legs along with his pants so that his body could breathe freely at last.

The table was set with a vase of flowers he had never seen before at the center. At his spot was his favorite pair of lacquered chopsticks with the orange blossoms and the finely tapered ends. Across from him was a seat for Kasey.

Tears blurred his vision again and his throat tightened. Kasey had told him he would be cooking for him tonight when he got home and he forgot.

Morning greeted the town with golden rays which streamed in through the chef’s window. When his head did hit the pillow, after he had showered the day off him, he was practically already asleep. His sleep had been short but deep and the new day brought back all the guilt from the night before as his body rejected itself. His skin peeled off in layers, wanting to crawl off miserably. Muscles pulled away from his bones, each tendon and ligaments snapping one by one leaving the brittle frame to collapse back in on itself.

A firm shake of his shoulders forced his body back onto him, and then the tender caress of the back of the farmer’s fingers against his cheek mended the fissures.

“Chase, I lost you there, what’s on your mind?” He asked, voice low, soft, and soothing to the ears, travelling in slow fluid waves.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the farmer’s deep brown eyes now level with his own. Looking down he saw his lips, soft and pursed with concern. Chase couldn’t help but press a soft kiss to them. He sighed and rested his head back into the pillow, making a conscious effort to relax his body, starting with the toes, then calves, thighs… 

“Thinking about summer.”

Kasey nodded, carefully easing himself off him and resting on his side, head propped up on one hand, pulling the chef in closer by the waist and caressing his jaw. 

“But that’s not where that story ends now is it?”

Chase shook his head, a faint blush forming at the dulcet tones, staring up at the ceiling aware of the farmer's unwavering gaze on him.

“C’mon, tell me how it ends.”

“You were there,” He said back plainly.

“Doesn’t matter, I want to hear the ending.”

Chase sighed and glanced over at him glaring when he caught sight of that smirk, his heart fluttering in his chest.
“You knocked on my door the next morning.”

“Mhm”

“And you brought oranges.”

“Your favourite.”

“My favourite,” he agreed.

Kasey stroked his chest, waiting at him to continue.

Chase took in a deep breath. “And I was a mess.”

“You looked better than the night before.”

“Mmf. You let yourself in-”

“-I asked you if it was okay first,” He interjected.

“Yes, you did. We made orange juice and poured it out over ice. You asked if I was feeling better.”

“I was concerned about you.” Kasey whispered and Chase finally looked over at him, eyes wide and shining.

“I…I was worried you’d be disgusted. Angry.”

“No need to stress yourself out over that. If I ever was I would let you know. I was confused maybe, but not angry. You looked overwhelmed.”

Chase nodded in agreement and then let himself laugh at that. Overwhelmed felt almost like a gross understatement but it was the best word he had. “I started crying again and apologised for snapping at you and ruining dinner. I told you I forgot about our plans and how I thought you had stood me up after work. I told you about how hot and awful the day was and how loud and annoying everyone, everything was. And then how hot the house was because you had been cooking.”

Kasey rubbed slow, circular motions into his hip, listening intently as he replayed the morning after in a methodical way.

“You asked if I had eaten.”

“You’re funny that way,” Kasey murmured “You get so engrossed in your cooking but somehow end up forgetting to eat regularly. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Cooking and eating are two separate tasks. Besides, it’s not like I’m cooking for myself at work.”

“No, but I’m sure you could still squeeze in a quick dinner somewhere. You always tell me I need to take better care of myself,” he said.

Chase scoffed but didn’t argue. “I told you I hadn’t eaten. I lost my appetite when I realised what you were up to, and packed away the food.”

Kasey squeezed his hip and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m just glad you didn’t throw it away. I really did think the aubergine was better this time.”

“It was good.” He hummed happily at the kiss. “You’ve improved a lot.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Maybe, but you’re actually putting in the work. And running a farm on top of that.” He shook his head at how preposterous that sounded. “How you get it all done will forever be a mystery to me, Kasey.” Breathing was starting to come naturally again. “You asked if I still wanted to eat it for breakfast and we did. Like I said, it was good. You asked me if I had considered getting a fan. I had. I knew the style I wanted and everything, I just never could bring myself to order it or make the trip to the city. And a week later..” he signalled over at the white oscillating pedestal fan next to the bed that had been blowing air over the two of them all night. It was portable, allowing him to move it to wherever it was most useful and the white colorway allowed it to blend into the background. “It was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever done for me,” He whispered.

“It’s just a fan-”

“Don’t argue with me. It was.”

“Alright, I won’t.” The farmer laughed and pressed another kiss to his temple, cupping his face and rubbing the growing stubble with his thumb. 

“Kiss me.”

Kasey obliged, leaning over him to first kiss his nose, then his chin, then the left corner of his lips, only to brush lightly against his lips and kiss the other corner. Chase’s lips curved into a smile at the familiar rhythm, meeting Kasey’s lips in a kiss, softly parting his lips.

“I want to be your boyfriend.”

Pulling away to look him in the eyes, Kasey grinned, stroking his hair, heart racing, his tongue struggling to keep up with his thoughts.

“Y-yeah?” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Chase’s eyes bore into him, big, bright, and intense as ever. “I doubt that’s true-”

“Don’t argue with me.” Kasey flicked his nose and leaned down to kiss him again, smiling against his lips.

He kissed him back, pulling him in closer so that his lover’s full weight was on him, wanting the distance between their skin to cease to exist. Wanting every part that was Chase’s and every part that was Kasey’s to violently melt, bubble, and create an emulsion no longer recognised as human. He wanted to feel every bone in his body from femur to stapes, and all those between, to become familiar with their every groove. He wanted their nerves to braid together like tree roots growing around their corpses, taking what once was and becoming something new. He wanted nothing to change.

They would continue to share meals. They would continue to share stories. They would continue to share silence, to share time. And they would have continued sharing even if not as boyfriends.

“It’s strange. I can see myself having a seat at the kitchen table for you fifty years from now.”

“And what happens after that?”

“You’ll just have to renew the contract.”