Wax

Sixteen

A/N: Hello Beans! Huge apologies for the skipped update last week. I wasn't feeling very well the entire week and this week, I was actually called in for a Quarantine Order and sent to a facility and stuff because I'd apparently come into close contact with a Covid case and gosh, it's just been a rough, confusing week but I'm alright now. 

This chapter isn't actually finished as much as I'd like it to be but because I'll be updating again on Wednesday evening, I decided it'd be alright to give you guys a t r e a t and then more three days later. I hope you don't mind. 

In the next couple of chapters, SeeSaw spend a lot of intimate time together (because, reasons you will see when reading this chapter) before we get into some juicy juicy action of fiery, kitchen goodness. 

Enjoy.

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[Leroy]

"Leroy?"

"Yeah."

"What do you say to dates in your chicken soup?"

His smiles were the scent of chamomile flowers in the air. They filled the inside of the car.

I should have known he'd figure it out in ten seconds flat. I did, actually. I did know. But it surprised me, still. How much do people remember after seven years? Not a lot. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, glancing, on instinct, at the sad masterpiece of a cookbook. It was never published.

"You still keep that around?"

"I may seem like a heartless block of ice but I'm not unappreciative, Leroy," I heard him say with a tone that was lighter than usual. Not catching the look on his face. The faint smell of old glue and paper, remnants of chlorine and a midsummer evening; as he turned the pages. The crinkling. "The only copy of your book in the universe, handwritten, handbound by the writer himself! The chicken scrawl isn't Times New Roman but, well, legible after some deciphering. I used to be much more of an expert at de-coding your penmanship. So? I'm asking if you'd include dates in your ingredient list when making chicken soup. Half the page was smudged after... a-after, well, after it fell into the pool."

The length of his eyelashes up close, slightly wet.

To dream in the middle of a drive was dangerous. Couldn't tell if it was because of his presence or the fact that I'd just got out of bed less than an hour ago but I couldn't concentrate for fuck.

I mentally registered the switch in my mind and had to turn it off. Get the eyelashes out of my head and the road back in. The GPS kept me in check. We were nearing a district I'd drop by every now and then. Rexi's clinic was somewhere at the end of the third avenue.

"Can't really remember the last time I made chicken soup." I signaled left, making a turn. Off-handed. Hoping he wouldn't go any further. "Why?"

I wasn't ready. And glancing over, I saw him staring intently at the book in his hands. As though willing the smudged words to return.

He sighed. "Quite frankly, I don't... really know. The soup, it tasted... well I must be overthinking again. It's just, that night at Andre's. I was going to tell you about this over the phone that evening but, well, things weren't very convenient. For both you and I."

That, coming from the person who decided to give me a call while he was in the bath. Undressed.

"The mystery guy?"