Chapter Text
Quinn moaned after the first bite into the sandwich. He quickly caught any crumbs that fell out and chuckled.
"This is good. This is good."
He had been a little taken aback by how green the fritters were even after frying, but they tasted wonderful. Mirage, pouring two cups of his favorite hot tea, beamed from the praise.
"I'm glad you enjoy it. It's… been a while since I've cooked."
"You need—" Quinn took another two large bites, "You need to start again."
Mirage sat down and grabbed one of the sandwiches. He gestured to the small cup of sauce he had mixed together. "Try it with the tehina."
"Gladly."
Yup, it was good with the sauce too. Quinn nodded in approval at the sandwich. "What's this recipe called?"
"Ta'ameya. It's supposed to be for breakfast, but, um…" It was eleven o'clock in the evening.
"I wouldn't mind eating this again for breakfast, if I'm still here in the morning."
Silence was a natural part of their conversations now, for when words could not describe how they felt. They both considered the possibility during the pause that followed. Lately, Quinn had been braver about staying the night in Mirage's room, though Mirage always woke him early in the morning to evacuate him before Nashala woke. Now, on the nights Quinn slept in the rectory instead, he spooned his pillow.
"Nashala would want to sleep in tonight," Mirage confirmed, "since she's exhausted herself today. We could have breakfast together."
Quinn huffed out an excited laugh at the idea of being with Mirage tonight. "Should we save some of these for her?"
"No, there is no need. She doesn't eat my food."
That was curious. "You don't cook for Nashala?"
"No, she does not need to sustain herself with human food. When she wishes to experience taste, she may request a meal from a qualified chef."
Quinn gulped down the tea. "Why doesn't she ask you?"
Mirage flushed at the suggestion. "This is, eh… this would be below the standards of an ambassador."
"What does she usually eat?"
"Poultry bones stuffed with meat and the finest Japanese charcoal. And she is quite picky about how they are prepared."
A small chuckle from Quinn. Mirage truly perfected the art of keeping Nashala happy. "Have you tried?"
The proud smile Mirage wore earlier faded slowly as he chose his answer. He grabbed another sandwich and simply looked at it.
Quietly, almost sadly, "I've only ever cooked for my family."
Quinn swallowed. They rarely spoke about their pasts with one another. That was the first time that word had been spoken between the two. Did he cook for a wife? Children? How long had it been since he cooked for them? When did he stop? Why? Mirage bit into his sandwich and chewed. It looked like his mind was elsewhere and he was eating without tasting now.
Then, the realization struck Quinn. "Am I family?"
Mirage swallowed his sandwich. He couldn't answer. Quinn did not want him to. That was a question with only difficult answers. Neither of them could imagine a life together, a priest and a Djinnbearer, as family. After the ritual, they would go back to the Djinn or the Vatican and carry on with their duties, and this night would melt into a pleasant memory. But Mirage couldn't say no, either.
"I want you to stay the night."
That was who they were to each other, then. Mirage's hand shook as he reached for his cup. Quinn reached further to place his on Mirage's, where he rubbed his thumb over the skin. One of the first secrets Quinn learned about Mirage was that, under his hypnotically pristine gloves, his hands were calloused from a past life. As he felt Mirage, Quinn's tension escaped him through small, breathy laughs.
"Thank you."
Mirage lifted Quinn's hand to his face and stamped a kiss firmly at the base of his thumb. This felt comfortable, safe, like a home. He felt only slightly guilty about omitting the true reason Nashala never asked him to cook, that she felt how heavy his memories weighed in his mind. She understood better than to ask because she knew he would treat it like an order, to go and relive the painful memories of his previous life. Unlike he and Quinn, he and Nashala were not equals.
The thought of Nashala again made Mirage chuckle a little. If Nashala knew that Mirage had been letting Quinn "stay the night" with him and cooking meals for him, neither would hear the end of it from her.
The last of the sandwiches had quickly been finished afterwards. Maybe it was because the two were excited to feel each other next to them, rumbling with snores as they slept. While The Doorman had also offered Mirage a dishwasher after he had requested a working stove, Mirage preferred washing the dishes by hand like he did all those years ago, before magic welcomed itself into his life. As he scrubbed the plates clean, Quinn surprised him by taking hold of his waist and kissing the back of his neck, just below the ear.
"I want to help," Quinn murmured against his nape before pressing another kiss there.
Mirage bantered back, "You're supposed to be washing yourself."
Quinn hummed, like he was thinking, then, "I'm waiting for you to join me."
Oh, that was brave. "Are you planning on washing the dishes like this?" Mirage wiggled around in Quinn's grasp playfully. Quinn chuckled and let go, reaching for the key-patterned dishcloth to their right. Watching him dry the dishes, Mirage's heart ached a little. It became just a little easier thinking of the two as a family then.
