|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 2:09 pm
There were some things Paris did because they were necessary, and other things he did because he liked to.
Cleaning was necessary. His father had barely ever done it when they’d lived at home, too lazy or too depressed or too ignorant about the process of household chores, leaving Paris to wash their dirty clothes and scrub down the bathroom and pick up the empty beer cans and chip bags from the living-room floor. He did much the same now that he was living with Chris, though the bathroom was larger and took more time, and the beer cans were replaced with soda.
But it was a process and a familiar one, and Paris enjoyed it for that.
Other things, like cooking and baking, he didn’t have to do if he didn’t want to. Especially now, when Chris could easily afford to take them out to eat instead. Even still, the compulsion stayed with him. It was reassuring to have something remain the same when everything else was changing, even if the person he now cooked and cleaned for was a different figure in his life—from his weary father to his overindulged boyfriend.
Some mornings he kept it simple with a breakfast of fruit and cereal. Other mornings he went a little further, with waffles or pancakes or French toast, crepes or omelets or an intriguing recipe he might have found while looking online. And then there were mornings when he needed the distraction and the kitchen looked like a war-zone at the end of the day, with the result that they ended up with more home-made snacks than usual.
Today was one of those days.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 9:09 pm
Chris wasn't sure he wanted to go downstairs until the last possible moment. He could hear Paris working away in the kitchen, making who knew what. The music from the speakers drifted up and through the bathroom door as he got ready for the day. He'd already finished showering and shaving, and was in the process of rubbing on his usual application of aftershave when a new, but slowly becoming familiar feeling of unease filled his gut.
He wished Paris wouldn't do such unnecessary things, but he already knew what he'd walk in on as he descended the stairs from the loft. Sighing softly, he finished his morning routine, using a blow dryer to quickly blast the rest of his shaggy, in-need-of-a-trim hair to a more tolerable dryness.
Sure enough, as he made his way down the stairs, the kitchen was already filled with ingredients for whatever project Paris had going, with Annabel sitting around his feet, but just out of the way, waiting for scraps to go her way. "You're busy this morning," he pointed out, wearily glancing around the room as he adjusted the clasp on the watch he wore on his left wrist.
Yeah, he liked seeing Paris happy, but what was it that made him so happy...? Cooking? Or was it because he was cooking for him? It seemed rather egotistical of him to even be worried about something like that, but the more and more he saw Paris do for him, the more he wondered just how much Paris expected back from him?
Right now... he didn't think he would be able to give him what he wanted.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 9:30 pm
“Busy” might be something of an understatement. There was a small plate sitting on the counter, supporting a toasted English muffin with sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiched between the slices, next to a small bowl of fruit salad and a mug of freshly brewed coffee. Paris had put this together not long after preparing a pasta salad that was currently cooling in the refrigerator. Presently, he stood at the counter spacing out spoonfuls of homemade cookie dough onto a cookie sheet.
It was only nine in the morning.
He glanced up as Chris descended the stairs, smiling a smile that was half genuine and half exaggerated, because while he was certainly delighted to see his boyfriend, it was still difficult to be truly happy sometimes. He felt alright today so far. He just had the irresistible urge to keep himself busy.
“Morning!” he chirped by way of greeting. He went back to his bowl of batter and the cookie sheet, but made a motion with his head toward the food already set out on the counter and announced, quite unnecessarily, “I made you breakfast.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 9:46 pm
That was unsurprising...
"I can see that," he responded rather lamely, taking a step around Anna, who had decided to beg for food from him when Paris wasn't giving her anything. He reached down to give her a scratch behind her ears, then squat down to run his hands through her coat, apparently needing the comfort of his dog right then. Paris was... great... but there was just something Chris didn't think he'd be able to give him in return for all his work and taking care of him...
Taking care of him...? Since when had he fallen into the routine of needing someone to take care of him? He was nineteen years old, went to college, was a knight, took care of his dog... yet his boyfriend insisted on making him every meal, doing all the chores, paying part of the utilities... It was getting to be too much.
"You didn't have to do this," he said from his place next to Annabel, pushing her muzzle away from his face before she could lick him. Paris knew he didn't have to do it, though... Chris knew he knew that. They'd already had this conversation months ago. Paris did it because he wanted to... Why? Because he didn't think Chris was capable of taking care of himself? Because he couldn't cook something without burning it or undercooking it?
Even still, he stood back up to eye the plate and cautiously lift the mug to sip at.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 9:57 pm
“Of course I didn’t have to,” Paris replied, giving Chris a look to demonstrate that that much was obvious, “but I wanted to. It’s not really a big deal.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t think Chris could take care of himself. He was sure he could if it came down to it. Chris had gotten by perfectly well before him, after all, and even though Momma Gallo had come by a lot to do the cleaning and the grocery shopping back then, it wasn’t as if she’d been around all the time. Paris was certain there’d been days when Chris had had to feed and pick up after himself. He simply didn’t think it was anything for his boyfriend to worry about now, especially since Paris liked doing it in the first place.
There was a part of him that rather liked having someone to take care of. He’d spent the last eight years looking after his father. Why shouldn’t he do the same for Chris when he had the chance?
“You’re going to the animal shelter today, aren’t you?” he wondered. This question was also unnecessary, as he generally had a pretty good idea what Chris’s schedule was like during and after the school year.
“I can pack a lunch for you,” he offered, setting his spoon back into the bowl of cookie batter and scrounging around for an oven mitt to protect his hand as he slid the cookie sheet into the oven.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 10:13 pm
Right... he wanted to... That was another answer he was used to hearing.
"Paris..." he started, although he stopped when he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He didn't want to do anything to hurt Paris's feelings, of course. That would just... be had... But he also couldn't help but feel that the more Paris 'took care of him', the more dependent Chris was becoming on him. He wasn't sure he liked that.
He started to let out a frustrated sigh upon Paris's offer to pack his lunch, but did his best to hold it back. "You don't have to," he said instead, wondering if this was how it was always going to be or if Paris was going to slow down eventually.
"You're always doing so much... why not just relax and... I don't know. Watch TV or something," he suggested with a shrug, not wanting to be a jerk and tell Paris to back off. That would just be mean and unnecessary. "And yes, I'm going to the shelter..." But he figured Paris already knew that, too.
"What are the cookies for?" Maybe they were for something other than just the two of them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 10:24 pm
If Paris had tried to claim he didn’t notice that Chris seemed a little uneasy or out-of-sorts he would be lying, but he did his best to ignore it because he had a pretty good idea he knew what it was about.
It wouldn’t be the first time Chris had had a problem with Paris and cooking and food. They’d argued over McDonald’s, after all.
“This is me relaxing,” Paris explained as he set the timer for the stove. He stopped just long enough to give Chris another look, and then turned around to open the refrigerator and glance around inside. “I just woke up and felt like making cookies today. I didn’t think you’d mind since chocolate chip’s your favorite anyway. I thought I might take some over to your mom, too, since she’s always baking stuff for me. Did you want peanut butter or ham and cheese for lunch? We still have some left over ham.”
He didn’t see what the big deal was. So he was making cookies, so what? Did he need a reason every time he decided to make cookies? Couldn’t he make them just because? Maybe he felt like treating his boyfriend sometimes, or maybe he just felt like baking some damned cookies on a whim, to give them something to snack on.
It bothered Paris that it bothered Chris. He didn’t understand what there was to feel bothered about in the first place.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 10:36 pm
Well, then he should probably know when to back off if he could see that he was uneasy. Or something.
"It's fine, Paris... You don't need to make me lunch. I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own," he grumbled, although he paused to take a quick bite of the sandwich Paris had already made for him, and then moved around the counter to try and get to the fridge with Paris in the way.
And of course he liked chocolate chip cookies, but that didn't mean he was expecting baked goods every day! Not that he'd been baking every day, but Chris could easily remember when Paris had done it every day.
"Move, please," he requested, holding his coffee mug in one hand as he tried to reach around Paris to get the mayo from the door. He would show him that he was perfectly capable of making his own food.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 10:47 pm
Paris turned to stare at Chris, appearing quite unimpressed by his behavior.
“You’re being irrational,” he told him, giving Chris’s hand a gentle smack. “Why don’t you sit and eat your breakfast? I’ll get your lunch ready. Just tell me what you want. The first batch of cookies’ll be done before you leave, so you can take a few with you. Or there’s chips, too, if you want, and I just made some pasta salad a little bit ago.”
Despite his resistance, Paris followed through with Chris’s request and backed away from the refrigerator, but only to make his way to the bread drawer and pull out a loaf that was already half gone.
He tried not to let his smile falter in an attempt to prove that he was getting better and pretend as if the current situation wasn’t bothering him at all, and he thought he actually did a pretty good job of keeping the moderately happy expression on his face. Not thrilled, surely, but comfortable and mostly content. He might have been, too, if Chris hadn’t felt the need to be argumentative.
“Is something wrong?” he hazarded to ask. “You don’t seem like you’re in a very good mood.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 11:00 pm
"Irrational??" Chris sputtered at him, frowning when his hand was smacked away. How was it irrational for him to want to make his own damn sandwich?? He could make his own lunch just fine! He was perfectly capable of making a sandwich!
"I can do it myself, Paris!" he insisted, tossing a packet of cheese onto the counter as he reached back in to get some deli meat. He wasn't even looking at what he was grabbing and picked up both the turkey and roast beef. They soon joined the cheese and mayo on the counter.
"Nothing's wrong, Paris," he said through his teeth, feeling his temper rising but doing nothing to stop it. Especially when he saw Paris with the loaf of bread. "Did you eat??" he accused, giving Paris a quick once-over. If anything he should be the one taking care of his boyfriend. He was pretty sure Paris was losing weight, and he was getting a bit annoyed by the fake smile he was showing.
Sure, he could have fallen for the smile had he not been so annoyed, but he couldn't believe that Paris wasn't frustrated with him as well.
"Just let me make my ow--" he started, taking a step back to shut the fridge, too distracted to realize that his dog was waiting patiently behind him. He did his best not to fall on top of her, and nearly ripped the door to the refrigerator off as he went down, the full mug of coffee going everywhere, even before it smashed on the floor in pieces.
"s**t," he hissed, grasping at his palm and wrist with his uninjured, unburnt hand, although he quickly spun around to make sure Anna was okay. She'd yelped in surprise and pain and quickly ran to hide in the downstairs bathroom where her food and crate was. "Anna," he called after her, feeling as though he deserved the shards of porcelain in his hand for hurting her and being a jerk to Paris. Karma, right?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 11:16 pm
Paris had his mouth open to respond that, yes, he had in fact eaten some fruit and a cup of yogurt before beginning his day in the kitchen, but the dog yelping and Chris crashing to the floor in a flood of spilt coffee and shattered mug had his attention effectively diverted.
He left the bread on the counter and stepped toward Chris to crouch in front of him, eyeing him with a small, dejected frown. “Now will you let me do it?” he asked, reaching for Chris’s hand to inspect the damage. It didn’t look too bad. Nothing to worry about, at least, though it could use a good cleaning and a couple of band-aids.
“It sure seems like you’re in a bad mood,” he observed as he stood back to his feet to grab a damp washcloth from the sink. “Go take care of your hand, wash up and change your clothes, and cool your head. I’ll take care of the mess out here.”
Now the exaggerated smile was definitely gone, and the good day he’d been expecting to have was quickly going with it. He knew he was a lot to handle. He knew he could be moody and selfish and obsessive about things, but he didn’t understand why it was this of all things, cooking and baking and taking care of Chris, that set Chris off sometimes. It wasn’t like he’d never done it before. When they’d broken up and Chris had started working at the store, Paris had made sure he’d had snacks and coffee and whatever else he’d need to keep from going hungry while he was there.
Why was this too much? Why not the tantrums and the stupid arguments and the snide comments he threw around when he was in a bad mood?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 11:28 pm
Chris couldn't bring himself to look at his boyfriend as he hovered over him, showing little resistance when he took his hand to inspect. The sudden jolt had seemed to knock the building eruption out of him, effectively stopping whatever tantrum he was about to have. It just figured that scalding coffee was what kept him from doing or saying something beyond the point of being able to take it back.
He didn't like this... Whatever confusing thoughts he was having, whatever sudden desire for independence he was having... he shouldn't have to drag Paris down with him. He had enough to deal with.
Nodding lightly, Chris picked himself up from the floor, leaving the mess behind. "Sorry," he mumbled, ashamed of his behavior when Paris was obviously just doing all this because he lo-- ...
Maybe if he didn't acknowledged it, it wouldn't be true. After all, Paris had been drunk and he hadn't said it since... so why was he so upset about all the kind things Paris was doing for him now??
He was probably just a coward.
"Sorry, Anna," he said sadly, crouching down to be able to give her a quick hug as she peered out at him from the bathroom, before turning to head towards the stairs to the loft to get changed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 19, 2012 11:38 pm
Paris couldn’t decide if he was more confused or sad. He didn’t know what was going on with Chris. He wasn’t usually like this. Only sometimes, and then there was typically a pretty good explanation. But this just seemed… ridiculous and uncalled for and he just didn’t get it, because he wasn’t even doing anything bad!
Frowning, Paris watched Chris as he trudged off to the stairs, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do about this, or if he should even do anything at all. Should they talk about it? Or would that be too intrusive? What if Chris only got more annoyed with him? Not that he even knew why Chris was annoyed in the first place. Should he just let Chris work it out on his own?
He didn’t have a clue, so he shook his head and decided he’d figure it out later. For now, there was a kitchen to clean up.
After making sure the refrigerator was actually shut, Paris set about clearing the floor of broken mug and coffee, muttering to himself, “I guess it’s not a good idea to ask you what you want for dinner.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
