Interlaced

Prompt: Holding hands.
Pairing: Estarossa/Moth
Word Count: 721
Rating: T
Warnings: Blood, some swearing.
Note: Hello, and welcome to the first day of the 30 Day OTP Challenge! I decided to take this up because I have a lot of small scenarios that don't necessarily fit into Bad Moon Rising or any of the works related to it, and to practice writing different things. These shouldn't be particularly long, as they're more slice-of-life drabbles than anything else. I hope you enjoy!

"Son of a bitch!"

Estarossa perks up at the sound of Moth's irritation, and he raises himself from where he'd been reclining on the couch to peer into the kitchen. Something bubbling on the stove smells heavenly; he lets himself bask in it for a moment, in the knowledge that he is truly loved and that his woman is cooking dinner for him despite his protests, and then he steps into the small space, finding Moth standing over the sink with the water running. Her back is to him, but she still knows he's there — always does, no matter how quiet he tries to be — and she turns her head to grimace playfully in his direction.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

Estarossa shrugs. "I don't mind. What did you do?"

A loud squeak as she turns the faucet off, then she faces him and holds out her hand. Blood beads on the tip of her finger from a cut. "I nicked myself chopping an onion."

"Hm." He grips her wrist carefully and pulls her hand closer to get a better look. The wound is thin, shallow. When he's satisfied that he won't have to take her to get stitches, he gestures towards the cabinets. "Get the first aid kit."

"Rossa —"

"Please."

She studies him, searching his face curiously. When he meets her gaze, she twists as best as she can to grab the box and hand it to him. He opens it, never letting go of her wrist, and rummages around until he finds a bottle of antibacterial cream and a small bandage. The fact that she's letting him do this surprises him. Usually she refuses his help unless she absolutely needs it (there had been an incident once where, determined to prove that she was self-reliant, she'd climbed onto the counter to reach something on one of the highest shelves; he'd steadied her when she slipped, laughing when she pouted at him), so this is . . . Nice. Comforting.

As he tends to her finger, he finds himself thinking of how strange their relationship has always been. They'd met under circumstances that were off-putting, to say the least, with her working in a bar that his disinherited brother owned. God, he'd been so surprised when his attempts to be suave had earned him bemusement instead of a number, and then angry when Meliodas walked out of the kitchen to talk to her about stock. Still, he'd gone back, much to Zeldris's frustration, again and again until she finally slid him her number with playful exasperation and told him to stop frightening her customers.

What had happened next? The park, right, where Moth had been chased by an irate goose and they'd bought coffee from an overpriced stand near the lake. It felt like things had gone by so quickly while also dragging on; days and weeks of slow build-up and a natural ease that led to a morning spent waking in her apartment, the scent of coffee and eggs wafting to the bedroom through the open door. She'd been wearing his shirt as she cooked, that and a pair of little black panties made of lace, and he'd been struck by the realization that he loved her, had for months. Estarossa hadn't told her then, instead choosing to bury his face in the mess of her hair and tease her about stealing his clothing, but something in his voice must have given away his thoughts because two days later she gave him a copy of her key.

Now, he tears a stripe of medical tape with his teeth to secure the bandage, pressing his lips to her finger when he's done. She smiles at him in that crooked way that makes his heart warm, lacing their fingers together and lifting his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. His mouth quirks in response, but he doesn't start laughing until the fire alarm lets out a shrill shriek as the pot on the stove boils over. Moth curses, pulling away to slam it into the sink while he pulls the alarm from the wall, disconnecting the battery to quiet it. He's still chuckling when he pulls her to his chest, listening to her grumble as her fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt.

"Take-out again?"

"Yeah."