FREE⇡RIDE⇣HOME [Elevator Hitch || COTAG]

I only know love from poems and fiction

I take the beef stew over from my coworker. "You should take your suit off already. You're going to dirty it."

"Okay, okay, sorry mum," he walks away with his hands in the air, gesturing compliance. I wait for him, and take care of the food for the moment.

Did he not like what I said earlier?

He didn't even reply. He just stood next to me in silence, and didn't look like he was thinking of something to say.

There is no way, right?

There is no way he didn't like it. He told me he meant all of his gestures in a romantic way, after all. Wouldn't that mean he sees me as a romantic partner?

Unless he considered us to be friends with benefits, which I doubt.

The one time I decide to express my feelings, I have to screw up, of course. This always happens. It doesn't matter if it's rude or friendly, I always do something wrong along the way.

Why did I have to say it now, of all times? Flirting as one is making beef stew and the other is chopping onions is the most anti-climax trope that I've heard of, and my lady neighbour has told me plenty.

I could've waited for him to make the first move, but no, I had to be impatient.

For a short second, I actually regret allowing myself to move in with him, but quickly shake it off. This is one of many mistakes that I've made. It's indifferent.

My coworker comes back in a different outfit, and runs up to me first, noticing some redness around my eyes. He cups my face, and gently strokes my thick, swollen undereyes. "Hey, don't cry, we don't need more salt in the stew..." He kisses my forehead, not bothering to ask why I look the way I look. Weirdly enough, that's exactly what I want.

"I'll make you some tea, and take over." He fills a metal kettle, and places it next to the pot of stew, then reaches between me and the stovetop, to turn on the stove.

"Do you think love is entirely selfless, or do you think it has some selfishness to it?" He asks, out of nowhere.

The question catches me off guard. "I think it's both."

He asks further: "how come?"

"Well, it's selfless, because... you want to do everything for the person you love, but it's selfish in a way, too, because... you want that person to be fully yours. ...Right?"

"There is no right or wrong," he states, and takes the boiling kettle off the stovetop. "I like your notion, though. Tell me more." He pours some water into a mug, and prepares tea for me.

What am I supposed to tell him? Is he teasing me? "I can't say much... I only know love from poems and fiction, so..."

"Do you really?" He interrupts.

He pulls me away from the kitchen counter by my shoulders, and takes over the stew. He gestures to me to sit down, and points to my tea.

I really want to run away from here. "You're right," I confess, as I smile warmly, and fix my glasses. "I know love from work, too..."

My coworker never turns around to look at me when he talks to me. It could be that he's focussed on cooking, but the least he could do is at least glance in my direction...

I sip my tea, but not too much, because I want to keep some for dinner.

I stare at his rather large back and wide shoulders, all cramped within one tight, white shirt. Now that he's quiet for once, I get to examine his body better, to the sounds of the extractor hood whirring and the water in the pot bubbling, as I'm drinking my hot and fragrant cup of tea.

He's big.

I've always thought of myself as average, but this guy is more than a head taller than me. besides that, he's also twice as wide as me.

He always has well-groomed blond hair, and expensive clothes or accessories on him.

And those comically large hands. One of them can cover almost my entire chest by itself.

Girls must go crazy when they see him. I completely understand the amount of self-confidence that he has.

"Done~" he sings, as he turns off all the appliances. He takes two plates, and evenly spreads out the cooked goods, before serving one of the plates to me.

"Ooh! It looks great!" I only realise how watery my mouth is, once I open it to talk.

He gives me the cutlery, and sits down across from me.

I wait for my coworker to eat first, in case he wants to pray, and dig into the juicy, aromatic meal, afterwards.

"This is good stuff. I love it!" I exclaim.

A delicious dinner with the person I love in a big and warm home, is like a dream come true. I feel pathetic, because this is really common amongst normal families.

It makes me really happy, though.

I hope I can make him just as happy as he makes me.

"You're grinning!" My coworker acknowledges. "What's up?"

"Oh, no, I'm just..." my face instantly turns into a blushing mess, and I have to take a sip of my tea, to calm down. "It's nothing..."

I want to tell him how I feel, badly, but I just can't do it. Even if the answer is decidedly a yes, my intuition keeps telling me that I will mess up somehow, and worsen our relationship, instead of improving it.

After we've finished up, I suggest I'll wash the dishes.

"What, are you my wife, or something?" He asks, jokingly.

"I pretty much am, already. The only thing missing is a womb," I continue. My comment clearly excites him, because he immediately beelines to me and clutches my waist, digging all of the fingers on both of his hands into my skin, making me squeal and drop a plate.

"Oh, we don't need a womb for that. That'd make you a lady." He bites my neck like how a mummy cat would carry her kittens. With his teeth showing, he says: "I'd highly prefer for you to be my husband," still in an unserious tone.

✂