The kitchen in our shared apartment was my battlefield, and tonight, I was losing to a damn onion. With my apron tied tight around my waist, I hacked at the stubborn vegetable, my eyes streaming more than they did during the sappiest romance flick. “Stupid, sadistic bulb,” I muttered, wiping my face with the back of my hand. The scent of sizzling garlic wafted through the air, a small victory amidst the chaos, but I couldn’t shake the irritation brewing in my chest. Akihiko and his ridiculous food demands—‘Make it spicy, Misaki, but not too spicy. Flavorful, but not overpowering.’ As if I were some Michelin-star chef and not just his overworked, underappreciated roommate.
“Goddamn it, Akihiko, why can’t you just order takeout like a normal person?” I grumbled under my breath, tossing the onion bits into the pot with more force than necessary. The broth bubbled angrily, as if echoing my mood.
As if summoned by my curses, the man himself sauntered into the kitchen, his presence as intrusive as a foghorn in a library. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk plastered across his stupidly handsome face. “Well, well, if it isn’t Misaki, the culinary disaster waiting to happen,” he drawled, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he eyed the bubbling pot with mock suspicion. “What’s on the menu tonight? Burnt offerings?”
I spun around, brandishing my wooden spoon like a samurai sword, my cheeks burning hotter than the stove. “Shut it, Akihiko, or you can starve for all I care. I’m not your personal maid, so zip that smart mouth before I do it for you.” My voice was sharp enough to cut glass, but the bastard just grinned wider, unfazed as ever.
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. “Look at you, all domestic and fiery. Didn’t know you had it in you, Misaki. It’s... kinda hot.” His gaze raked over me, lingering on the apron tied snugly around my hips, and I felt my skin prickle with a mix of irritation and something else—something I refused to name.
“Oh, please,” I scoffed, shoving a piece of carrot at him to shut him up. “Taste this and tell me it’s not perfect, you ungrateful leech.” But instead of taking the carrot, he caught my wrist, his fingers warm and firm against my skin, lingering far too long for comfort. My breath hitched, damn it, and I hated myself for it.
The tension crackled like the oil in the pan, sharp and electric. I yanked my hand back, glaring daggers at him. “Don’t be a creepy pervert in my kitchen, Akihiko. I will not hesitate to neuter you with this spoon.” My tone was venomous, but my heart was pounding traitorously fast.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that did things to me I didn’t want to admit. “Relax, princess. I’m just admiring the view.” Unfazed as ever, he decided to “help” by grabbing ingredients off the counter, deliberately brushing against me every chance he got. His arm grazed mine as he reached for the salt, his hip bumped mine as he slid past to grab a knife—every touch a calculated tease.
I gritted my teeth, trying to focus on chopping the rest of the veggies, but his damn cologne—something spicy and dark—mixed with his infuriating closeness was a distraction I couldn’t ignore. “Do you mind?” I snapped, elbowing him out of my space. “This is a kitchen, not a petting zoo.”
“Aw, come on, Misaki, I’m just trying to be useful,” he said, feigning innocence as he “accidentally” spilled flour on my apron. “Oops. My bad.” Before I could react, he reached out, offering to wipe it off, his fingers lingering dangerously close to places they absolutely shouldn’t. His touch was light, teasing, but it sent a jolt through me that I couldn’t suppress.
I swatted his hand away with a growl, my face flaming. “Keep your paws to yourself, you horny octopus. Touch me again, and I’ll ban you from this kitchen faster than you can say ‘takeout.’ I swear, Akihiko, I’m this close to dumping this stew on your head.”
He laughed, a full, throaty sound that only fueled my frustration. Just then, the pot boiled over, mirroring my own simmering rage. I cursed under my breath, scrambling to turn down the heat, while Akihiko leaned back against the counter, clearly enjoying the show. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?” he teased, his smirk widening as he watched me fumble with the stove.
“Adorable? I’ll show you adorable when I shove this ladle where the sun doesn’t shine,” I shot back, slamming the lid on the pot with more force than necessary. Finally, he backed off, lounging at the kitchen table with that smug grin still plastered on his face. He watched me like I was the main course instead of the stew simmering on the stove, his gaze lazy but piercing, like he could see right through my carefully constructed walls.
I plated the food with a huff, the clatter of dishes punctuating my irritation. Slamming his bowl down in front of him, I crossed my arms and glared. “There. Eat your damn dinner and don’t you dare complain about my ‘disaster’ now, pretty boy. One word, and I’m done cooking for you for life.”
He picked up his spoon, his eyes never leaving mine, that smirk softening into something almost... appreciative. “Oh, Misaki, I wouldn’t dream of it. But you know, if the food tastes half as good as you look right now, I might just have to keep you in the kitchen forever.”
I rolled my eyes, turning away to hide the heat creeping up my neck. “Eat before I change my mind and poison it,” I muttered, but his low chuckle followed me as I busied myself with cleaning up, the tension between us still simmering hotter than anything on the stove.
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