@𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 ♡ '𝒆𝒅
𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐄 , or perhaps to spite , he finds himself stood stooped over off-white stovetop still radiating warmth leftover against his skin , spatula scrape against metal to plastic plateware , greens & reds mingled in yellow , the smell of oil & cheese in the air . work a little more PRECISE than one’s used too , too large fingers grasping too small knives , utensils , ingredients , more accustomed to mere egg scrambled with a lob of milk & salt & pepper , but 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 , 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 —— all that .
plated pair of amateur OMELETTES . eggs , tomatoes , peppers , onions , cheese —— elaborate enough to qualify , if he does say so himself . still , it’s with hunched shoulders & eyes trained on what’s served instead of to whom when he sits across from his youngest smallest brother & sets the fork & dish of smaller portion ( though , still sizeable ; better SAFE than sorry when it comes to feeding any of his siblings ) in front of him . a beat , & he seats himself across , already prodding the food ( it smells good , at least ) & watching the steam rise before taking a bite without a word .
he pretends it definitely doesn’t burn his throat on the way down .
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