Right, like you’d ever pass up a chance like this… You’re quick and sharp; of course you picked up that I’m feeling a little guilty.
With a face half embarrassment, half annoyance, I asked:
"…Where do you want it?"
"If I say lips, will you do it?"
"I could. But if you really pick there, the next thing you know you’ll wake up in the ER. I’ll lose my nerve and throw a liver hook at you."
It would be so excruciating I figured even getting clobbered by a gorilla might hurt less. With my luck, this time a rib might actually crack.
If I were punching out of sheer, visceral disgust, I’d go for the solar plexus and pray for a cardiac event… But it’s not that I hate Caesar, so I wouldn’t hit hard enough to kill him.
I shot him a look like that, and he just lifted a shoulder.
"Forehead or bridge of the nose, please. I don’t want the date to end yet."
If you can’t keep your mouth shut…
I tugged him in by the shoulders and pressed a quick brush of a kiss to his forehead.
Even that turned my face beet red, but thankfully I didn’t lose it enough to throw a punch.
Thanks to that, Caesar made it into my house in one healthy piece.
"…Shoes off in here. Leave them at the entry and put on slippers."
I sat Caesar on the sofa, grabbed a change of clothes, and headed to the bathroom to wash up first. I’d just finished a long shift, I’d sweated on the job, and the wax in my hair felt grimy.
I hadn’t been in the bathroom long before I heard busy noises outside.
He did ask if he could open the fridge… Guess he’s planning to cook. So the pain was an act after all…
I gave the closed door a glare and shrugged off my shirt.
I was down to my underwear when a voice came from beyond the door.
"Heon."
Only then did I realize I hadn’t locked the bathroom. I’ve lived alone long enough that I never lock any doors but the front one.
"D-don’t come in!"
"I’m not. I have a question."
"…What is it."
"It’s late—delivery probably won’t make it. Should I cook? From what you have, I can do salsa tacos."
Right, we burned a lot of time bickering…
I answered in a much softer voice.
"I’ll come help, so give me a second."
"I’m fine doing it alone. Take your time."
Which probably meant, I’ll have it done before you get your hands wet. The man just does not listen…
Whatever. Have it your way.
I snorted, finished undressing, and got in the shower.
For the record, I locked the door belatedly.
About fifteen minutes later, I came out clean—and dinner was nearly finished.
The rich smell of oil hit me and my stomach growled as I headed for the kitchen.
"I said wait—why’d you do everything."
"It’s just chopping vegetables."
"This looks like shrimp."
"Frozen shrimp—blanched and then grilled a little. Hardly labor-intensive."
"…Most people call that ‘putting care into it.’"
He’d even warmed the tortillas. Looked like all that was left was mixing the prepared stuff.
I wanted to lend a hand like a cat’s paw… but there was nothing to do.
Feeling awkward, I hovered by the counter until Caesar glanced over mid-cook.
He pulled out a pair of cooking chopsticks, lifted a shrimp with easy skill, and held it to my mouth.
"Will you taste it?"
I reflexively took the shrimp at my lips and bit in.
It was thawed right through and evenly cooked, warm, with a light salt-and-pepper base that gave it a gentle savor.
Delicious.
As I enjoyed the fresh pop of the just-grilled shrimp, Caesar slipped in a question.
"How is it?"
"Tastes great."
Saying it made me grin for no reason. It had been ages since I’d stood around watching someone cook and snagged a bite or two.
I used to do exactly this with Teresa—hover and wheedle for a taste, or massage her tired shoulders. She went through it for me—an out-of-nowhere grandson to fuss over, in her later years.
Takes me back.
Nostalgia, threaded with a tug of longing, washed over me.
I leaned my head on Caesar’s shoulder without thinking, purely out of that old habit. Meaning, I sank too deep into memory and mistook the man beside me.
"Ah."
I snapped to and jerked my head up—but too late.
Round eyes stared back at me. For someone whose face didn’t change much, it was practically shock.
"…I, that was, a mistake…"
"…"
Caesar, frozen for a moment, turned his head quietly. Pretending not to notice, clearly. But when he turned, the nape of his neck—still flushed—came into view.
Red enough to blot out the faint handprint left behind.
"…"
You little— You tease people to death most days, and now you pick this moment to get shy…!
This feels weird!
I couldn’t stand the awkward silence. I snatched a glass and sparkling water and fled to the living room.
Thankfully, a few minutes later we were both back to normal.
Honestly, the second Caesar set the tacos on the coffee table, my appetite steamrolled my embarrassment.
Between tortillas toasted without oil, piled high with salsa, and the neatly mounded shrimp on top, they were sending up a toasty, bright aroma begging to be eaten.
Hunger hit all at once.
Right—low blood sugar… If I wait any longer I’m going to pass out.
He’d made enough for two adult men: eight tacos with extra tortillas on the side. With that much, I didn’t need to hold back.
I popped up from the sofa, snatched a taco, and chomped through half in one bite.
"…!"
The salsa’s fresh brightness and a kick of peperoncino came first, followed by a whisper of lemon and cilantro.
I thought it’d sting, but it’s cleaner than I expected… Ah, he mellowed the heat by lightly grilling the shallots…
I caught a savory sweetness from the onions, sautéed dry.
Killer…
Frowning in concentration as I savored it, I heard Caesar chuckle low.
He sat down deliberately right next to me on the wide four-seater and asked:
"Does it suit your taste?"
I nodded and popped the other half into my mouth.
While I stuffed my cheeks and chewed, he poured sparkling water into my glass.
Then he grabbed the remote and started flicking around the already-open streaming app. On the big wall-mounted TV I’d bought for sports, movie posters zipped by.
Switching to the Movies tab, he asked:
"What sounds good?"
I chewed fast and swallowed.
"I want to blow off stress. How about something really scary?"
"Thriller or horror?"
"Perfect. Oh, I heard that one’s scary."
"Known for a terrifying clown makeup. The acting’s great too."
As we scrolled, a poster with a pitch-black house in the background caught my eye.
"Isn’t that the one your cousin’s in?"
What was his cousin’s name again? Some Greek god…
Staring at the poster, I saw Caesar wave a hand.
"…The lighting’s way too dark in that. Even with the brightness cranked, you can’t tell what’s what."
"Even for someone like you with light irises? Lighter eyes are sensitive to light."
"Still couldn’t see well."
"Then my right eye won’t see a thing."
"Ahaha."
He moved two tiles over with the remote and picked a movie. On the info page, a dog centered on the enlarged poster.
"How about this? Zombie movie."
"There’s a dog on the cover—no one’s doing anything cruel to animals, right?"
"Minor spoiler… the dog survives at the end. The virus isn’t zoonotic in this; only humans get infected."
"Sold!"
He hit play, and the opening rolled with an eerie score.
Adjusting the volume, he asked:
"Do you like dogs? Ever think about having one?"
"I have, but then I remember it’ll die before me and it makes me sad. So I try not to adopt."
I said it and grabbed another taco.
I was mowing through food like a food processor when Caesar slid closer, tight to my side.
"Heon, you’ve got a call."
"Huh?"
Only then did I notice my phone stuffed in the sofa corner with the power bank. The screen read “Noah Lee.”
Ah, right! I forgot to get back to Noah.
I yanked the cable and hit accept.
"Hey—sorry, sorry. I meant to call and—"
Right then a scream blasted from the TV speakers. I gasped at the jump scare, and on the line Noah yelped:
—Captain! What happened! Should I call the cops?! I’ll come over?!
"N-no, no—it’s a movie."
—God, you scared me.
Through the speaker at my ear I heard Noah exhale hard.
Then he laughed, like, you’ve gotta be kidding me, and his voice went limp with a grumble.
—You didn’t answer when I asked about a run, so I figured you were sleeping. You’re watching a movie, huh.
"Sorry. I meant to reply and forgot. Something came up."
—It’s fine. I know you’re safe, so no need for excuses.
Ever the sociable guy, he slid right into small talk.
—Horror movie?
"Yeah."
—Got food?
"Yeah."
—Then… can I come over? I’ll bring beer.
"What?"
—I want to watch too!
…Now? To my place?
Weird enough that he hit up his captain on a golden day off—did he eat something funny today?
At that moment, Caesar picked up the remote and lowered the TV volume. Then he fixed those eyes on me, like he was studying how I took the call.
Suddenly I felt watched.
"Uh, so…"
—Can I? I’ll bring beer!
Caesar pressed his lips right up to the ear not on the phone.
"…Who is it?"
For a second I couldn’t tell if he was doing it to keep sound off the speaker—or out of spite.
He asked again.
"Someone I should be wary of?"
Absolutely the latter.
Looked like his mood had soured at the idea our date was getting interrupted.
One guy I’d left on read; the other, I’d just taken a call from someone else in the middle of our date.
In no time flat I was the guilty party to both.
Fuck… How the hell am I supposed to get through this…