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Dan Heng swore that he had followed the recipe he found online down to the letter.
Tofu? Drained and sliced. Rice? Washed and in the cooker. Dried shiitake mushrooms? Soaked and rehydrated. The doubanjiang, Sichuan peppercorns, and minced ginger were also all carefully portioned out and placed into their own little dishes, so that Dan Heng could not mess up and accidentally add too much spice. While cooking the tofu with all the spices and mixing together the cornstarch slurry to thicken the sauce, Dan Heng had even forced himself to not get distracted, staring down at the pan with such intensity that Caelus had joked that he looked more like a serial killer with a personal vendetta against vegetarian mapo tofu than an earnest man trying to cook dinner for his fiancé.
Fiancé.
The word still made Dan Heng feel a bit weak in the knees and light in the chest. Who would have thought that calling in a favor with Caelus would have led to Dan Heng meeting the love of his life?
Dan Heng wasn’t usually a sweet tooth. But thinking about his relationship with Blade…
“See! See!”
Dan Heng blinked and looked up, all images of Blade’s muscular form in an apron and Blade lovingly spooning freshly cooked meals into his waiting mouth vanishing from his mind’s eye.
Instead, an accusatory finger courtesy of Caelus pointed directly at him. “That’s exactly what got you in this mess in the first place!” cried Caelus.
After ensuring the ruined pan was filled with enough hot water and leaving it to soak on the countertop, Dan Heng glared over to where Caelus was decidedly not helping by lounging on the couch and eating chips loudly. “What do you mean?”
“You kept daydreaming about Bladie,” Caelus replied, crumbs spewing from his mouth, “and that’s how you didn’t realize that all the liquid from the mapo tofu evaporated.”
All right, that was…understandable. Dan Heng did have a tendency to get in his head, especially when it came to his fiancé — again, his fiancé! Not his boyfriend, but his fiancé. He had the platinum band around his ring finger to prove it — but he had taken the necessary steps to prevent that. Or, he thought he had.
“I invited you both over to make sure that nothing went wrong,” Dan Heng said through gritted teeth, staring forlornly at where the ruined tofu dish was sitting in the compost bin. He hoped that the green onions, parsley, and mint that Blade was growing on his balcony would not be affected too badly by the spices in the food. He had done his research, and he didn’t think the oils or spices in the mapo tofu would disrupt the plants’ moisture balance too much. The only thing making Dan Heng feel a bit less guilty about wasting perfectly good ingredients was the fact that, even if people couldn’t eat it, the plants could.
For all the reading Dan Heng did and recipes he had looked up, though, it seemed that the universe really did not want him to cook.
Dan Heng should have learned that anything he tried to cook with his own two hands would always be his enemy. That was how it had gone down during his first meeting with Blade, after all: Blade had tried to teach Dan Heng how to make a simple stir-fry, which had then ended up with a lump of food not even Caelus would dare eat. Thankfully, though Dan Heng hadn’t learned how to cook, he had earned himself a date: Blade had taken Dan Heng out to dinner at a nice restaurant just a few blocks away. The rest, as they say, was history.
Dan Heng hadn’t need to cook the morning after, or every morning after that, really. But he had spent a lot of time in the kitchen, watching Blade work and absorbing the information as best as he could.
Though, perhaps, Dan Heng had been paying more attention to the way the muscles in Blade’s back and arms moved rather than how he effortlessly combined ingredients to make mouthwatering meals, because his cooking skills had not improved whatsoever in the almost three years he and Blade had been together.
“You are never getting your security deposit back,” March groaned, waving away the smoke permeating the air with the magazine she had brought over to read.
Get the Perfect Mani-Pedi in Seconds! the cover of the magazine boasted, featuring a smiling girl showing off her own immaculate manicure. Dan Heng hoped that her face wouldn’t get ruined by the heat of the smoke.
From the moment Dan Heng had opened the door to Blade’s and his shared apartment to Caelus holding a family-sized bag of dill pickle flavored chips and March carrying her bag of magazines, makeup, and Korean face masks, Dan Heng probably should have called some of his other friends to help him — he knew that Sunday was rather meticulous and probably would have been more useful in the kitchen, but Sunday apparently had other plans — but, well. He had, perhaps, been feeling a bit sentimental and wanted to spend time with some of his oldest friends.
Though, sentimentality really wouldn’t put food on the table, and Dan Heng had wanted the dishes he planned to cook for Blade’s small birthday dinner to be perfect.
“Blade comes home in three hours,” Dan Heng said, slapping his palm against his forehead. “What am I going to do?”
“Do what any other spoiled house spouse does,” Caelus replied, opening his mouth wide to pour the last few crumbs of his chips into his waiting mouth. “Just order delivery.”
Dan Heng looked over at March, who smiled apologetically at him.
“He’s right,” March said, finally giving up on getting rid of the smoke. It was mostly gone, anyway, since the fire alarm hadn’t even gone off, and there were no scorch marks on the ceiling whatsoever. Dan Heng’s security deposit would be fine! March just liked to be dramatic.
Looking at the faces of his two closest friends and thinking about the snarky grin and tender kiss Blade had given him before leaving for work that day, Dan Heng considered the merits of making another run to the grocery store — and the very real possibility that he could mess up their dinner again — before sighing and picking up his phone.
The dishes had only been on the table for a few minutes when the jingle of keys in the lock and the whoosh of the door opening reached Dan Heng’s ears.
Trust Blade to be early to his own birthday dinner.
Working quickly, Dan Heng straightened out the place settings and double checked the placement of the silverware. Sure, they were only using chopsticks and soup spoons for the meal, but it didn’t hurt to be extra prepared.
“A-Heng, I’m home,” Blade’s voice drifted through the hallway before stopping at the entrance to the kitchen. There, Blade’s footsteps paused, and Dan Heng turned just his face around to see him standing in the open entranceway with one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. “Did you just order takeout?”
Not that Dan Heng particularly wanted to trick Blade, but it was still a bit embarrassing just how fast Blade was able to see through him.
“How did you know?” Dan Heng asked, turning back to the face the dinner table and trying and failing to fight the pout forming on his face.
Blade came up behind Dan Heng and pulled him into a loose embrace, his arms circling Dan Heng’s waist while his chin rested on Dan Heng’s shoulder. Dan Heng unconsciously leaned back into Blade’s embrace, but he didn’t relax fully.
“The shape of the food is too uniform,” Blade began, “I can see the Tupperware containers in the sink, and there’s still the faint smell of burnt food in the air.”
It was a good thing that Dan Heng was gainfully employed and not making a living out of grand larceny; it seemed that his skills for hiding the evidence were severely lacking, and he would have probably landed himself in trouble had he chosen to become a career criminal.
“You tried, at least.” Blade pressed a gentle kiss against Dan Heng’s cheek in an attempt to get Dan Heng to untense his shoulders. It wasn’t going to work, at least, not quite yet, but Dan Heng had a massive weak spot for physical affection from Blade. “The fire alarm didn’t go off this time, did it?”
“No,” Dan Heng replied, crossing his arms. And it was the truth. (Mainly because March and he had both leapt into action and started swatting the smoke away, but. Still.)
“Then that’s better than when you tried to bake a cake last year,” Blade chuckled, turning Dan Heng around so that they could face each other. “That’s an improvement, is it not?”
Dan Heng shifted his gaze to the side, unwilling to meet Blade’s eyes. “It’d be better if I could actually make something edible.”
Blade’s fingers gently nudged underneath Dan Heng’s chin to force him to look up.
“Hey, A-Heng,” Blade murmured, the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement, “you did this for me, didn’t you? For my birthday?”
“Of course,” Dan Heng replied, finally giving in and letting his shoulders fall as he settled his hands atop Blade’s shoulders. “Happy early birthday.”
“Thanks for ordering all my favorites.” Blade rubbed soothing circles on Dan Heng’s hips. “But let me be the cook between the two of us, okay? Just like I promised I’d be?”
Dan Heng buried his face in Blade’s chest.
Dan Heng closed the door behind him and slipped his shoes off, setting them neatly on the top of the shoe rack. When Blade had moved in two years ago, he had forced Dan Heng to get a shoe rack to keep everything more organized, and though Dan Heng hadn’t seen the need for it before — Dan Heng had three pairs of shoes, tops — it was nice to see his ankle boots placed next to Blade’s heavy-duty work sneakers.
The day had been a long one. Himeko had reached out, asking Dan Heng to accompany her as she tried different coffee shops and explored bookstores around the city. Dan Heng had been more than happy to, though he hadn’t quite expected to be out of the apartment for so long. Who knew that Himeko had so many places on her to-visit list? Should a human being even be drinking that much caffeine in one day?
“Blade?” Dan Heng called out. “I’m home!”
When he received no reply, Dan Heng walked into the kitchen — following the smells of something delicious, which was par for the course — and stopped in his tracks.
Their dining room table was crowded with all of his most favorite dishes, and there, kneeling on the ground right in front of the doorway, was Blade.
With an open velvet box in his hand.
“Will you let me cook for you every morning and night for the rest of our lives?” Blade asked, a teasing grin plastered over his face.
Dan Heng was flabbergasted. His heart was threatening to pound itself clean out of his chest. Although Dan Heng was typically a man of few words, he knew he had to say something, anything.
“You already cook for me every day,” Dan Heng replied dumbly, staring down at the earnestness in Blade’s eyes and the gleaming ring in his hands.
“Always so eloquent with your words.” Blade stood up and held the ring box closer to Dan Heng. Despite how much confidence he exuded, Blade was still clearly feeling nervous. “I already cook for you every day, yes, but do you want me to keep cooking for you every day?”
Okay. Think, Dan Heng, think. Blade deserves a better response to his proposal than this. You have a degree in Literature, for heaven’s sake!
If only Dan Heng had known about the proposal ahead of time. The two of them had discussed the future before, had agreed that they wanted to get married before, but this… This caught him completely off guard. Otherwise, he would have prepared something, would have drafted exactly what he wanted to say in his journal beforehand.
“I want to marry you for more reasons than your cooking,” Dan Heng said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “I want to marry you because I love you.”
With a gulp, Dan Heng held out his left hand out for Blade to put the ring on his finger. “So, yes, my answer is yes. I want you to keep cooking for me every day, because that means you will let me stay with you every day.”
“I’ll let you stay with me every day,” Blade whispered against Dan Heng’s lips, “except when I’m in the kitchen. You should keep out of my way, then.”
Blade slid the ring on Dan Heng’s finger and silenced his offended scoff with a kiss.
“Have you been sabotaging me every time you teach me how to cook?” Dan Heng muttered, half-joking, half-serious. “Just so I don’t bother you while you’re cooking?”
Blade’s huff of laughter ruffled the top of Dan Heng’s hair.
“That’s not a no,” Dan Heng said.
“I wasn’t even home for today’s cooking session,” Blade said, clearly amused, as he pulled back and wiped a stray smudge of sauce off Dan Heng’s cheek. “I don’t think I need to sabotage you one bit.”
Dan Heng pulled himself out of Blade’s embrace, embarrassed. “Let’s just eat dinner.”
"I could go for something sweet right now." Blade pinched at Dan Heng’s hip, his warm breath ghosting against the shell of Dan Heng's ear. “Won’t you let me eat dessert first?”
Although Dan Heng put up a token protest, he still, in the end, allowed himself to be pulled out of the dining room and into the bedroom.
Blade was the birthday boy, after all, and a little dessert before dinner never spoiled anyone’s appetite.
The food on the table was surely getting cold, but it didn’t really matter. Everything could easily be reheated — and even if the food went bad in the time it took for the two of them to get their fill of one another, Dan Heng would gladly eat all the burnt meals and coldest leftovers in the world in exchange for the chance to have Blade with him for the rest of his life.
Even Blade’s strong poker face could not disguise the twitch of his brows and the slight green tinge to his skin.
Blade brought another forkful of what Dan Heng called a pancake to his lips. “This is shit,” Blade said, swallowing.
“Then don’t eat it,” Dan Heng said, crossing his arms.
It was the morning after the two of them had celebrated Blade’s birthday, and Dan Heng’s back was sore and his arms were aching. Yes, he had enjoyed his time the previous night… but now, he was in no mood for Blade to make fun of him. The pancakes weren’t even bad, anyway; just a little burnt on the outside and runny on the inside. The taste was passable, and any strange flavors were easily masked by peanut butter or syrup.
Blade looked at Dan Heng with what could only be a challenging stare and slowly brought another forkful of the so-called “shit” pancakes to his mouth.
What kind of game was Blade playing? If the food was so awful, why was he still eating it?
”Are you a dog?” Dan Heng reached out to grab the fork from Blade’s hand, but Blade yanked it out of his reach. Dan Heng felt like he was dealing with one of his friend’s pets when they had something in their mouths that they really should not be eating. “Don’t eat that if it’s bad!”
“But you made it,” Blade said simply.
Dan Heng willed himself to not let Blade have the satisfaction of seeing him blush.
Blade smirked. “And if it kills me, maybe you’ll finally learn how to cook.”
Forget Dan Heng’s cooking — if Dan Heng had his way, Blade would be dead from his glares alone.
(Later that day, when Blade tried and failed to hide the stomach ache plaguing him, Dan Heng did not bother saying, “I told you so.” The way Dan Heng carefully and thoughtfully wiped Blade’s forehead with a damp towel and directed a straw into his mouth so he could drink electrolytes, all while he groaned and sweat on their bed, said it all, anyway.
”You’re awfully attentive,” Blade croaked. “Feeling guilty?”
”I don’t want to be forced to cook for myself or go back to eating only takeout,” Dan Heng replied, deadpan, as he brought a spoonful of stomach ache medicine up to Blade’s lips.)