[ stir-fry is never something she's going to complain about, so when he mentions that's the dish he's working on she nods, moving to wash them when he advises to work on the vegetables. ]
Where'd you learn to cook? [ she's capable of multiple dishes that are a step or two outside of the basics or a couple of very fancy ones logan had helped guide her on and absolutely nothing in-between, and she wonders where his skillset veers more towards. ]
[with max taking some of the vegetables to wash, cassian gets to work on finding a knife to cut them as they're done. it's a companionable sort of silence, and something in him could relax like he hasn't in years, maybe ever. only —
her question derails that right where it stands. for a moment, he freezes.
not long enough to be noticeable (he has a knife in hand, ready to chop), but he does have to swallow before answering.]
I learned to help my mother, when she started to get sicker. There was a lot she stopped being able to do on her own as well, especially after my father died.
[it's not, actually, a lie — it just isn't the whole truth.]
[ starting with the broccoli, max washes it carefully as he explains, her expression growing solemn when he brings up how his mother had been ill and his father had died. whether it's the whole truth or not, there's clearly enough in it for him to be emotional about it, and it's hard to lose anyone you were that close to.
for a second she's reminded of daniel cooking in her apartment when he first came to visit her, and she ducks her head, busying herself with washing the carrots next. ]
I'm sorry. [ it feels like a dumb thing to respond with, but she's not sure what else there is to say. ]
[pointedly, cassian doesn't look max's way at all, instead keeping his eyes only on the broccoli as he takes it from her, as he takes the knife and begins to methodically chop, his face expressionless. enough time passes to where there might be a question of whether he'll provide an acknowledgement at all, but eventually he lifts one shoulder in a shrug, says,]
It was a long time ago.
[his voice is tighter than he wants it to be, in spite of his best efforts to prevent it.
(there's only so much he can do, especially when there's a related wound much fresher here than he'd like to acknowledge.)]
[ she's quiet as she continues with the carrots, glancing briefly as the time after what she's said stretches and she wonders if he's going to say anything at all. he doesn't have to, of course, and she's not expecting him to, but he eventually does. the tone of his voice makes her want to set the vegetables down and reach for his hand, but she holds back, not sure if that would make things better or worse.
finishing with the carrots, she sets them aside, starting on washing the squash. ]
[the silence that she doesn't end gives him time, gives him space, to rebuild what he needs to, bit by bit. as he continues to chop, the repetitive monotony of that helps, too; when he has a task, a job, it's easier to not focus on what he can't change.
with the broccoli done, he moves on to the carrots, making quick work of them before setting them aside. he's ready, more than ready, for the squash by the time she's done washing it.]
Half the time, [he tells her, a firm (and pointed) shift in his voice toward something lighter.] I was right.
[ having finished with the vegetables, max washes her own hands and finds a towel to dry them off with, pushing an errant strand of her hair off her forehead before she turns back to him, raising an eyebrow. ]
[he takes the last of what she hands off, slicing them just like the rest.]
About this being faster. [balancing the knife and the vegetables on top of the cutting board, he walks over to the pot on the stove. after scraping the vegetables in, he glances at max over his shoulder.] About there being time left before it's ready.
[he stirs the contents in the pot for a time, and once he's satisfied with the consistency, at least for now, he flips the burner on the stove down to a simmer and turns away, taking a few steps closer.]
Maybe I should have your assistance more often.
[(to the question of is he trying to flirt instead of go back to anything that had just been mentioned, the answer is yes)]
[ max smiles, ducking her head to hide it, at least a little bit. ]
Guess you were. [ based on how he’s acting and moving in closer to her space. she responds by bracing her hands against the counter, turning fully towards him, her legs braced slightly apart. ]
I’m not opposed. What do you want to do with all your spare time?
[she hides her smile a little, but not entirely; there's just enough that's visible in his line of sight for something warm to spread in his chest, for something calm to settle in him. he wouldn't say that it feels easy — it's hard to say that anything does, with the echoes of what's been brought to the surface still lingering — but maybe he can get closer to that, the closer he gets to her.
when he leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to her lips, he could almost forget all about it.
he doesn't stay long, pulling back after just a few seconds to watch her again — hoping, maybe, he'll get to see another smile.]
[ the kiss is gentle and all too brief, but max returns it warmly, letting her lips part slightly so she can still taste him after he pulls away. her smile comes freely this time, bright as she steps a little closer to him. ]
I don't know. I think I may need more convincing. [ reaching for his hand, she uses it to tug him towards her. ] Maybe you should try again.
[there it is. he'd swear that smile has power to actually light up her face, and it's hard to take his eyes off of it as he stands in place.
it's only when she tugs at his hand that his feet remember how to move, until the tips of their shoes are practically touching.]
Maybe I should.
[with his other hand, he reaches for her face, tipping her chin up before leaning in to kiss her again. and now, he takes his time; he's still cognizant of what's cooking on the stove, and he doesn't intend to let it get ruined, but it can be a slower kiss, a deeper one, that can allow them to just... exist in this for a time.]
[ there's a warmth that blooms inside her chest when she sees him smile back at her, and then he moves in to kiss her again, tilting her face up to his, and her hand comes up to cup the side of his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. her head tilts so she can taste him better, her tongue seeking entrance to his mouth as her hand turns to press their palms together, linking their fingers. ]
[more than exist in this, he could get lost in this — and maybe he does. time is barely a concept that has any meaning to him anymore as he parts his lips open under hers to let her in, as he tugs on their now-joined hands to press her body closer to his in search of her warmth, like he can't help but be drawn to it. like he can't help but sink into —
lungs burning, cassian is forced to come up for air, and in the space that he pulls back, reality returns. there's a scent of what's coming from the stove — nothing burned, so it's nothing dire, but it's going to need his attention soon. and:]
Later, [he promises, and the smile on his mouth shows it's a promise he intends to keep.] I think I'm going to need a lot more time for my idea. [as if he can't help it, though, he leans in for another kiss, murmuring against her lips:] At least for it to be done right.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Where'd you learn to cook? [ she's capable of multiple dishes that are a step or two outside of the basics or a couple of very fancy ones logan had helped guide her on and absolutely nothing in-between, and she wonders where his skillset veers more towards. ]
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her question derails that right where it stands. for a moment, he freezes.
not long enough to be noticeable (he has a knife in hand, ready to chop), but he does have to swallow before answering.]
I learned to help my mother, when she started to get sicker. There was a lot she stopped being able to do on her own as well, especially after my father died.
[it's not, actually, a lie — it just isn't the whole truth.]
no subject
for a second she's reminded of daniel cooking in her apartment when he first came to visit her, and she ducks her head, busying herself with washing the carrots next. ]
I'm sorry. [ it feels like a dumb thing to respond with, but she's not sure what else there is to say. ]
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It was a long time ago.
[his voice is tighter than he wants it to be, in spite of his best efforts to prevent it.
(there's only so much he can do, especially when there's a related wound much fresher here than he'd like to acknowledge.)]
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finishing with the carrots, she sets them aside, starting on washing the squash. ]
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with the broccoli done, he moves on to the carrots, making quick work of them before setting them aside. he's ready, more than ready, for the squash by the time she's done washing it.]
Half the time, [he tells her, a firm (and pointed) shift in his voice toward something lighter.] I was right.
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Oh yeah? About what?
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About this being faster. [balancing the knife and the vegetables on top of the cutting board, he walks over to the pot on the stove. after scraping the vegetables in, he glances at max over his shoulder.] About there being time left before it's ready.
[he stirs the contents in the pot for a time, and once he's satisfied with the consistency, at least for now, he flips the burner on the stove down to a simmer and turns away, taking a few steps closer.]
Maybe I should have your assistance more often.
[(to the question of is he trying to flirt instead of go back to anything that had just been mentioned, the answer is yes)]
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Guess you were. [ based on how he’s acting and moving in closer to her space. she responds by bracing her hands against the counter, turning fully towards him, her legs braced slightly apart. ]
I’m not opposed. What do you want to do with all your spare time?
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when he leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to her lips, he could almost forget all about it.
he doesn't stay long, pulling back after just a few seconds to watch her again — hoping, maybe, he'll get to see another smile.]
That's one idea I have.
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I don't know. I think I may need more convincing. [ reaching for his hand, she uses it to tug him towards her. ] Maybe you should try again.
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it's only when she tugs at his hand that his feet remember how to move, until the tips of their shoes are practically touching.]
Maybe I should.
[with his other hand, he reaches for her face, tipping her chin up before leaning in to kiss her again. and now, he takes his time; he's still cognizant of what's cooking on the stove, and he doesn't intend to let it get ruined, but it can be a slower kiss, a deeper one, that can allow them to just... exist in this for a time.]
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lungs burning, cassian is forced to come up for air, and in the space that he pulls back, reality returns. there's a scent of what's coming from the stove — nothing burned, so it's nothing dire, but it's going to need his attention soon. and:]
Later, [he promises, and the smile on his mouth shows it's a promise he intends to keep.] I think I'm going to need a lot more time for my idea. [as if he can't help it, though, he leans in for another kiss, murmuring against her lips:] At least for it to be done right.