Smoke Break /Georgenotfound/

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With a parted mouth, I was amazed by his ability to effortlessly come up with such things on the spot while I struggled to think of anything for a whole minute.

"Cheesecake?" He held the plate infront of me as if what he said was nothing, snapping my attention back to him.

"Yeah," I tried to grab the plate, but he switched it and gave me the other one.

"Here, this one looks better," he grinned, making a small smile appear on my face. Both were the same, but the one he took might've had a bit too much rum on top - it was slightly overcharred.

Having a habit of dissecting and inspecting my food before taking a bite, I took my time with my plate. I enjoy the first bite way better when I know what to expect.

And as I was deeply invested in the toppings, I noticed chopped, uniform pieces of something that were hard to identify because of the melted sugar covering them. But if I had to guess, I'd say those were chopped nuts.

George was already on the verge of putting the fork into his mouth when panic surged through me. Reacting almost immediately, I reached out and grabbed his wrist,  stopping him from taking a bite.

"Wait!" I dug my nails into his wrist.

"What?" His hand froze in the spot, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"What are the things on top?" I pointed at the toppings with my eyes.

George tried to bring the fork closer to his face to take a better look, but thinking he was going to taste it, I dug my nails even deeper into his skin.

"I don't know, crumbs?" He spoke, then only winced from pain, "You're gonna break my skin, stop it."

I let go of his wrist before grabbing my fork and nitpicking a reasonable amount of the things ontop. I tasted it like a real degustator, making sure to rub it against my palate thoroughly. It definitely tasted nutty, but the burnt sugar was throwing me off.

"I think it's pistachio," I tried to get the aftertaste by smacking my lips, but it didn't really help, "are you allergic to all nuts?"

"I get pistachio icecream all the time, I don't think I am," he tried to put the fork in his mouth again, but my lightning reflexes stopped him again, "cut your fucking nails, holy shit."

I gasped at his sudden reaction bit said nothing cause it was valid. I left halfmoons all over his skin.

"Scrape the toppings off just in case, I don't think I have any more epipens lying around," I could tell George was pissed after my words by the way he groaned.

"That's too much effort for a piece of cake," he was being all whiney and annoyed about it.

Sighing, I took a knife along with his plate and removed the top layer of the cheesecake. Then, I placed the scraped-off portion onto my own plate and gave him back his plate, which appeared neatly cleaned up.

"It wasn't that hard, was it?" It was funny how he was sitting there and patiently waiting.

I randomly started imagining him taking the pickles out of his burgers and putting them on mine or removing the olives from pizzas to put them on my plate, and started smiling at nothing.

I should get a life and maybe some help.

"I'm not that good with cutlery."

His words brought me back to reality. Also, that's a weird thing to admit.

"Why?"

And that's a weird thing to ask.

"I don't know, maybe it's because I'm lefthanded," he shrugged, finally taking a bite of the cake.