Ya, I am not dead. I still very much love these two and it's about damn time I wrote you guys another story!

Now, as I am about 7 years older since I fell in love with these two, to me it feels as if they've aged with me. Rather, starting writing about them with especially Emil as really still just such a boy feels like a weird way to jump back in. So this is set with Older!Emil, let's say in his early twenties. 16+7=23. We the same age bro.

Alright please enjoy! Let me know what you guys thought, I feel hella motivated to pick these two up again but a little love from readers can never hurt!

In the future, this may turn into a dump for all Older!Emil Oneshots

-.^

Emil's cooking has always been wonderful in both taste and vision, and Richter would often be reminded of how lucky he was to end up with a good cook in a world so limited in plenty of ways. These reminders usually fell on the nights Emil was not there and had not been able to precook a meal, thus forcing Richter to cook himself. Fortunately these times were rare. After a few of these nights ending up with Emil coming home to find Richter locked in the bathroom, the blonde almost always makes sure there's something edible.

He'd grown immensely in style and taste. With age he'd come to appreciate the more bitter tastes somewhat more. The meals were more refined, and the dove shaped carrots had been replaced by strips placed together like a bird's nest. His cooking had become less cutesy, but no less impressive.

Some things however, remained. He still wore an apron, and had actually saved up quite the collection. Where in the beginning Richter found it to be annoying, distracting ( And unnecessarily complicated and tedious to remove.), it had become more endearing. A little quirk so like Emil that it would now look unnatural should he cook without.

Emil had decided to let his hair grow out, and while it was not even close to being as long as Richter's, it had grown to the point of needing assistance to stay put during cooking. And so the front bangs were nowadays either pushed back with a hairband or pulled back with a clip, and occasionally tied back into a small and sorry excuse for a ponytail.

It was irrationally attractive.

Richter rarely put his hair up, and if he did it was loosely. He hated the tight pressure on his scalp. Only during very long periods of reading would he succumb, and more often than not was it because Emil started to play with his hair and ended up tying it for him.

But Emil, Emil could pull it off far better than he would ever have expected. Even with an apron on did he still manage to look more manly than he had years ago, but he supposed he owed that all to aging. Yet, it took a special kind of person to wear an apron, hairband or pin, a shirt with such a wide and loose head opening that Richter wasn't entirely sure if it was designed for men, and still have an air of testosterone around him. In a way, it's manlier even than Richter has ever seen himself.

Richter looked at Emil's frame; no longer small and frail, but tall and proud. Not too broad but definitely no longer the frame of a boy.

"Richter?"

"Hmm?" He absentmindedly answered.

"You're staring."

Emil turned, a smile on his face, knowing and almost cocky, yet still with that hint of uncertainty about whether he was too bold or rude. He absentmindedly rolled up his sleeves as he waited for Richter to reply.

Even there he'd grown into his body. With his sleeves rolled up he looked stronger, more confident. His skin was still soft, but nowadays covered by fine blond hairs. His arms were stronger and his muscles more defined, but it was never bulgy, never too unlike Emil.

"Is something wrong?" He looks worried, a look that always reminded Richter of a mother tending to her children.

Richter briefly wonders if he's having an early midlife crisis.

"No, I'm fine. Just distracted." He rubs his temples and frowns, mostly about his own thoughts.

"Well, then will you help me? Making the marinade took a little longer than I planned." He stretched his arm to force his rolled up sleeve to rile back, and wiped a few stray hairs from his face with the back of his hand.

Richter raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You want me to help?"

"Just with cutting up some vegetables." Emil wiped his hands on his apron,- a pink one, with ruffles and a ribbon. He never got a confession, but Richter was almost sure Emil got that one just to spite him.

"Sure."

"Thanks. I'll start on the onions and garlic, you start with the bell pepper." He pointed to a cutting board and the bright red pepper laying there.

By the time Richter was done cutting the bell pepper into small blocks Emil had already cut up the onions and garlic, as well as cut and measured out some herbs and spices.

These days Emil knew more about herbs than Richter did. His almost childish determination to like them more was a fond memory, and it seemed to have held stand.

He took up the spot behind Emil. Wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. He no longer fit snuggly in his arms. Richter's own chest was no longer as broad as almost Emil's entire body, and he no longer had to bend down plant his lips on the top of his blonde hairs. Emil now reached up to his lips, give or take. He could press a kiss against Emil's temples without effort,- and he did. He kissed him again, slightly lower, and again, just behind his ear. Emil giggled, but Richter heard the slight hitching of his breath right before his lips made contact.

He traced his lips lower again, taking a small step back to create some room. He placed soft kissed all the way down to where his back dipped between his shoulder blades (definitely not a shirt for men, he thought.), and back up, to the slight bulge of muscle between shoulder and neck. His hands moved, gripped Emil's hip and behind, before going for the tied knot on his back that would allow him to remove these damn ruffles.

But Emil turned around and swatted his hand away. Where once he would have been too embarrassed to stutter out more than a few confused syllables he now had a small grin on his face and a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Not when I'm cooking, you know the rule."

He tells him off, just like that. His face is heated up and there's still that shine to his eyes that shows the wonder and amazement of the feelings he's experiencing, but he does it. And then there's the lowering of his eyes to the ground and the intensifying blush on his cheeks as he adds "Maybe later?" and he quickly turns around to save the food.

Richter feels the urge to close his eyes. He breathes in deep and lets out a sigh, and Emil turns around with a worried look on his face.

"Is something wrong?"

Richter laughs, short and soft, but it's a laugh. Something he's let himself do more often in the last few years.

"No," he says and he steps closer. He cups Emil's face with both hands. "Everything's fine."

He's happy he still has to bend down he thinks, as he covers Emil's lips with his own.

In which I am Richter. We all are Richter.

To me they still seem in character, but perhaps you see this differently? let me know!
Please point out any spelling or grammar errors I may have missed.