Erase Herゾごホ

秘密 - the secret

"Sho!" I shouted while nervously stirring the contents of my pan with a wooden spoon, a smokey smell erupting from the stovetop, making me wince at the sights. "I'm pretty sure I'm doing this wrong!"

"It's not that hard, just don't burn it." He called from the other room, footsteps following his words as I heard him rush into the kitchen. "As long as it's somewhat edible, you're doing fine." I glanced over my shoulder with a halfhearted smirk at the man with a distressed look on his face. His messy dark hair balled into a low hanging bun, the sleeves of his black sweater rolled up to his elbows, and his five o'clock shadow shading the pale of his cheeks. I felt my face get hot, for certain dirtier images that plagued my thoughts, watching his darkened pupils drift past me to a pan that was surely bound to catch fire at some point soon. "Do you intend to burn our place down?" He asked, making my gaze flick back to the smoking stovetop, squealing at the discovery as I quickly turned off the heat and desperately fanned away the clouds of grey.

"Damn it babe! This is why you should've just cooked." I sighed, tossing the pan in the sink, "Throw me in front of a computer and I'll recode it in ten minutes, put me in the kitchen and I'll probably start a house fire and or kill your entire family with my cooking." I shook my head, turning back to face him. His eyes were slightly widened, a tint of pink on his pale skin, as his his lips hinted a smirk. "What?"

"Babe?" He questioned, repeating the name I had thrown on him without so much as a warning. I didn't need a mirror to tell me the shade of red my cheeks brightened to as I slapped an open palm against my jaw. We had never really called each other by any kind of pet names before. It's something silly to get worked up over, especially when you've done as much as Shota and I have, you'd think I'd be more embarrassed by more vulgar things. And it's not like I've never been called that before, 'sweetheart' and 'baby', now those are things I was used to hearing before I ever got my hands on Shota. But hearing the word slip from Shota's mouth, even if he didn't directly say it to me, made my legs a bit weaker than I'd imagined.

"Did I say that? I meant Sho! Or I guess Shota, I just have a knack for sticking unwanted nicknames on you, don't I?" I rambled, leaning against the stovetop behind me with a nervous laugh. Shota simply smiled, closing the distance between us, letting his hands reach out and wrap around my waist.

"Any name from you, is a name I don't mind." He hummed warmly, making a grin appear on my own lips. He was so close, the heat from his body made me squirm, the scent of his cologne twirled in with his evening cigarette, the feeling of his touch resting on my hips. Everything about him just made me twitch in anticipation, in longing. "Take out for dinner then?" I blinked, snorting at his words and slamming my head into his chest with a frustrated groan.

"Yes please."

"What do you feel like?" He asked, peeling himself away from me and making me feel a tiny bit emptier. He walked over to the fridge where the many menus from all of our favorite places were stuck to, picking a few off and glancing over their choices. I rose a finger, my mouth parting to speak, but being cut off by Shota's stern tone. "No Soba." He mumbled off in my direction, making me pout and cross my arms like a child. Shota flashed me a snarky look, exhaling gently with a smile, "Brat."

"Old man." I teased, sticking out my tongue. Shota shook his head, looking over a yellowish paper.

"I heard Kikkō is pretty good."

"From who? Mic?"

"Do you really believe I'd trust his opinion?"

"I don't believe I trust yours after you told me you didn't like blueberry-pineapple ice cream."