[RL with Devit] [Backdated to immediately after the virus]

[tiedbyfate]

The kitchen smelled like burnt batter and there was a slight haze of smoke in the air. Thankfully (?), none of the smoke detectors in the decrepit building worked, so they weren't assaulted by any loud buzzing noises, but Devit had been coughing since the last lopsided attempt had come out of the oven

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[tiedbyfate]

"I really hate niceness viruses," Shito growled. This wasn't the first one he'd been afflicted by, either. The community had a sense of humour.

"Come on, help me clean up this kitchen before someone makes me pay for it or something." He wouldn't put it past Bekko to charge Shito for a cleaning service.

[halfthetroubl]

"Ugh..." With one last shudder, Devit began collecting the remaining dirty dishes and carried them to the sink, stopping beside Shito as he rinsed them out. He made a face at the chocolate batter that refused to remove itself from the inside of a bowl no matter how many times he ran the water over it, ultimately forcing him to stick his hand in there and touch it. "I'm never cooking again."

[tiedbyfate]

"Me neither," Shito said firmly. "I always figured cooking was for servants and that sort of people."

He grimaced as he scrubbed out a pot.

Then he glanced sidelong at Devit. "It never happened, right?"

[halfthetroubl]

Sneering, Devit poured water out of the bowl and set it aside. "What never happened?"

[tiedbyfate]

Shito didn't answer, his head bowed as he scrubbed at the pan harder than was strictly necessary. He remembered telling Devit that he loved him. At the time, he'd thought he was telling the truth.

Now it felt like a betrayal.

I'm sorry, mother...I haven't forgotten about you.

[halfthetroubl]

As Devit began working on some dirty silverware, he glanced sidelong at Shito, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to realize anything was wrong. He remembered what they'd said earlier, too, and how good it had made him feel; the thought of it embarrassed him now. How fucking stupid was that...

He glanced away, rinsing and re-rinsing the silverware as his cheeks grew warm.

Was he supposed to pretend that never happened, too? It was probably better that way...