I'm in rarepair hell for these two. It's a college-type AU. I know very little about cooking and even less about culinary programs/cooking school. Please forgive. This is also on AO3 and tumblr under hashire. I don't know how to link on here.
Nicolo has started to stay after class to work on refining his skills (mostly because his apartment kitchen is far too small to do anything productive). His instructor only asks him to promise that he'll lock the door behind him when he leaves. He often does it while he's cooking to keep himself from forgetting.
He checks the recipe for the fifth time, stirring the soup as he does. The door opens. He looks up to find a young woman walking in. She doesn't seem to notice him, staring intently at the pot in front of him.
"That smells good," she says, eyes still trained on the pot, moving closer and closer. She presses her hands against the counter and leans forward to look inside.
"Who are you?" he snaps, more flustered than he probably should be. It isn't as though no one has ever complimented his cooking. He just didn't expect anyone to actually walk in: he must have forgotten to lock the door.
"Oh, sorry," she says to the pot. Then she looks up at him for the first time. He's entranced by her large brown eyes and the soft bangs that frame them. "I'm Sasha." She sticks out her hand. For a moment, it hangs in the air. He ends up dropping the spoon he was holding, splashing soup on his apron and flushing in embarrassment (definitely embarrassment, not anything else).
"Nicolo," he manages.
"Nice to meet you," she says with a brilliant smile. "So…can I try some of that?" He stares at her, processing everything too slowly. Sasha gestures at the soup when he doesn't respond. He realizes it's bubbling far too much and snatches up the spoon to stir. It catches on the bottom. He hopes he hasn't screwed everything up.
"Uh, yeah," he says, his voice going up a pitch and mortifying him. "But it's not ready."
"I can wait!" she says brightly, and Nicolo stares again. She shifts her weight, appearing nervous, and her smile turns sheepish. "If, um, you don't mind."
"I - I don't," he says, stirring and stirring. "Just…don't get in the way."
"Sure," she says, expression becoming more relaxed. He expects her to stay where she is and knows he's going to keep messing up with her breathing down his neck, but she takes a step back and walks over to the opposite corner of the room. She looks over the posters there with interest, continuing to wander around the room.
Nicolo spends so much time watching her that he almost burns the soup. By sheer luck, it turns out fine. He ladles the soup into two bowls - he's made enough for a few days and plans to take the rest of it home (the ingredients are his) - and sets them on the counter a little too hard. He doesn't know what to say, but Sasha hears the noise and makes a beeline to the station.
"Careful," he says, "it's hot." It's a dumb comment, and he knows it; still, she looks ready to tip the contents of the bowl into her mouth. She hums and spoons some into her mouth after blowing on it.
Her eyes widen. He assumes she must have burned herself and starts to reach for a glass to fill with water when she swallows and says, "This is amazing!"
He stops. He hadn't expected that. It was a basic recipe: no frills, simple, something even a beginner could do. Sasha shuts her eyes, looking blissful with each ensuing spoonful. She's scraping the bowl and looks ready to lick it clean before Nicolo has tried his serving. She notices his stare and laughs a little.
"I don't mean to be rude, but…can I have more?" Her eyes sparkle as she looks at him, warm and full of hope.
"Sure," he says without thinking. "Have as much as you want." Sasha beams at him and grabs the ladle. He busies himself with eating his just-above-lukewarm soup. It's not his best work; he can't figure out why she seems to be enjoying it so much. She finishes her second bowl before he's halfway through his first.
"Thank you," she says.
Nicolo stammers through a response, speaking without thinking again and telling her between 'ums' and 'ers' that she's welcome to come back to try his cooking anytime.
"Really?" she says. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," he responds, wondering immediately if he should have said anything. Sasha laughs – a musical noise – and claps her hands together.
"When are you going to be here again?" She sets her palms on the counter and leans toward him, eager. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, entranced by her excitement.
"Uh – Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings," he blurts out finally, stuffing a spoonful of soup in his mouth before he says anything more (anything stupid).
"Great!" Her phone buzzes and she looks down at it. "Oops. It's later than I thought. My roommate is worried." She tucks the phone back in her pocket without responding to the message. She gives him one last smile, walks past him, and calls over her shoulder. "I'll see you later, Nicolo!"
He tries to say something, but the spoon is still in his mouth. The door clicks shut. His heart beats faster. What has he gotten himself into?
Two days later, Nicolo finds himself in the empty classroom. He's not sure why he told Sasha he was there so frequently. He does take days off when he's sitting on more than a week's worth of food in his freezer and fridge (which is his current situation, and he somehow finds that unfortunate).
He's preparing some chicken that he thinks he might throw away when the door opens. He must have forgotten to lock it again.
"Oh, that smells so good again!" she says in greeting, appearing at the counter before he can look up.
"It's…just chicken and vegetables," he says. It's almost embarrassingly basic, but the ingredients are cheap and he won't feel too bad wasting them (he thinks).
"Doesn't matter," Sasha says, matter-of-fact enough that he's convinced she's right.
She does the same thing she did last time - wandering around the room - and then sitting down to text someone (he finds himself fervently hoping that it's her roommate). He finds himself staring multiple times. Luckily, the dish is simple enough that he doesn't mess anything up.
He plates a large serving for her. She's at the counter before he says anything. She enjoys it as much as the last dish. He accepts the compliments silently because he doesn't think it's deserving of her praise.
"You can have the rest if you want," he blurts out once she finishes. She's in the middle of licking her fingers - apparently she has no table manners and he internally denied it when he thinks it's cute - and stops to study him. He flushes under her gaze, embarrassed about what he said (and that's all).
"Are you sure?" Sasha grabs a napkin to wipe the remaining residue off her hands.
"I have enough food frozen at home for another week," he admits, looking away.
"If that's the case," she says, moving next to him to rinse off her place, "then I can't refuse."
She's warm next to him, heat radiating from her skin.
"I can take care of that," Nicolo says, regretting it immediately because the offer means she'd move away.
"Nah, I got it. You're the one cooking so I'll take care of the dishes." She takes his before he can object. "Oh…but I don't have anything to carry the food in."
"I have some extra containers," he says. He hopes she doesn't read too much into that - he just had some things lying around and figured maybe he'd need them if he changed his mind - and relaxes when she looks up and smiles.
"Thanks," she says. "I'll bring them back the next time I see you."
Nicolo puts the food away without a word, Sasha watching him do so. His cheeks redden again and he hopes again that she doesn't notice. If she does, she doesn't comment on it, thanking him again for the food and bidding him goodbye after receiving another text.
It continues like this for the next few weeks. Nicolo isn't sure how he keeps forgetting to lock the door while he works. It just keeps happening. He starts to split the food with her, saying he's taking more than enough for himself when she tries to refuse, citing the fact that he freezes things for later. She stops arguing after the second time. It must have been the risotto, or maybe the empanadas. She inhaled both of them so quickly that he worried she'd choke. Somehow, she doesn't.
They settle into something like a routine, talking mostly about the cooking and not much else. He knows little about her at this point, other than her love of food. He really, really wants to know more. He tries to pluck up the courage to ask her questions but can never get them past the lump that forms in his throat.
He's fine with it. Honestly.
Nicolo arrives to the building earlier than usual one day, off work and needing to visit an instructor. He plans to stop in the library to catch up on some reading for class when he sees her across the cafeteria.
Sasha sits at one of the tables near the back, a large tray almost overflowing with food sitting in front of her. Though she ate quite a bit of his cooking, he never would have imagined her eating that much. It's endearing, somehow, and he smiles as he starts to walk over. He already ate, but maybe she could use some company.
The table is partially obscured by a pillar in the middle of the room, and, halfway there, he stops. There's a young man next to her, taller and broad-shouldered with short hair. He says something that makes Sasha laugh: something that must have been very funny. She throws her head back and clutches her stomach, and the man joins her. Nicolo notices that they're sitting very close, and their shoulders touch as they shake.
Oh.
He turns and flees before she notices him, earning weird looks and stares from the tables he passes by and almost knocks into.
Nicolo stares at the book in front of him, rereading the same paragraph three times before giving up. His stomach churns. It feels like he's swallowed a rock that now sits in the pit of it.
He's never allowed himself to think about it much. Sasha has appeared in the kitchen area every single time he's in there late since the first time she strayed in there, but it's only ever been to eat his food. She's never expressed interest in seeing him elsewhere, or even much interest in him. He ignores the thoughts of he looks forward to seeing her, or how her smile brightens the room even when the late afternoon sun fills it.
He doesn't even know her last name. He doesn't know how to contact her outside of their meetings in the room. He doesn't know anything about her other than how much she enjoys eating.
Nicolo is late to his meeting with his instructor. He burns himself in class and leaves right after it ends. He has enough food in the freezer in his apartment to last for a month. He doesn't need to stay and cook more.
He continues to do things this way until he runs out of leftovers and has to consider his options. He can get takeout (his budget doesn't really allow for that) or cook at home (but he has no counter space and the oven takes up half the room). When he can't convince himself that either is a good option, he gives up and decides it's time to stay after class again.
Nicolo hates the disappointment that grows as time passes that evening with no sign of Sasha. He'd avoided doing this practicing for over a week. She'd probably figured that he'd decided to stop doing it and had no way of asking him where he was.
He stops lying to himself about leaving the door unlocked accidentally. Of course he's leaving it open for her. He leaves it open that night again.
His shoulders slump more and more as the evening goes on and the food cooks. He's so focused on it that he jumps almost a foot in the air when she door bangs open.
"Nicolo!" Sasha cries. "You're back!" His spirits lift until he sees the person following behind her. It's that man. "Oh, this is Connie."
Connie studies him from across the room, expression unreadable. They look at each other until Sasha elbows him in the ribs. He makes an oof noise and glares at her. She glares back. "Nice to meet you," he mutters, not quite meeting Nicolo's eyes.
Nicolo rolls his shoulders back to draw them out of the slump, even though he doesn't feel better. This was a mistake. He should have locked the doors and hidden from sight.
"Nice to meet you," he manages, going back to what he's doing to avoid staring at Sasha. He feels her excitement from across the room. He shouldn't burn the food just because he feels bad.
"I have to get going," Connie says. "I'll see you later." Nicolo looks up to see him talking to Sasha and ignoring him. He wants to turn away, to keep himself from seeing their full goodbye, but he can't. Sasha nods and pulls him into a hug. He's tall enough that her nose hits his collarbone.
Nicolo is confused when they don't kiss. Connie leaves with one last look, somehow communicating without words that he'll be keeping an eye on Nicolo. Sasha shakes her head as he leaves.
"He's so overprotective. He's been insisting on following me here. Says I talk about you too much or something." She shrugs her shoulders and floats across the room. "So, where have you been? I've missed you."
His heart jumps but he forces it down. "I've been working," he lies without thinking about it. But what else can he say?
"Oh! Where do you work?"
"The restaurant down the street," he says to the pot. "I'm a line cook."
"I'll have to stop by sometime," she chirps. He looks up again. She's smiling. He doesn't know what to say. Her smile drops. "Are you OK? You look kind of down."
"Fine," he says too quickly. "I'm fine." She gives him a look that tells him that she doesn't believe him. He feels like he's going to vomit, but he hasn't eaten much that day, so instead of a meal coming back up, it's words. "I know you have a boyfriend, but - "
"What?!" she cries. He stops and stares.
"What?" he repeats, unsure what else to say.
"Are you talking about Connie? He's my best friend. We're bros." He can't read the expression that settles on her face. His face gets hot and he looks back at the food. It's on the edge of burning.
"I just…" he tries, exhaling hard. "I like you more than I've liked anyone else and I don't really know why but I'd like to take you out for coffee sometime."
She doesn't respond. The silence stretches between them.
That feeling in his stomach returns and the word vomit continues. "If - if you never want to talk to me again, I understand."
"No - no, that's not it. I just…" Nicolo finally looks up at her and finds her as red as he must be. His heart thumps in his chest. "No one has ever said something like that to me."
He swallows audibly. "It's…fine if you don't want to. Really." The food burns. She steps closer, probably to check it and mourn the loss. He stays stock still until he feels something on his cheek.
"I'd love to have coffee," Sasha says. He realizes that she kissed his cheek and reaches up to touch it. Her laughter is even more musical up close. "You should probably take that off the heat before the smoke alarm goes off."
She goes to open the windows to air out the room while he scrapes at the pan. She's humming to herself. He can't figure out why she seems so happy when it smells so terrible in here. When she returns to his side, she touches his hand. He stops what he's doing to look at her.
"Tomorrow?" she asks.
"Sure," he says, conveniently forgetting about his work schedule. Her cheeks are a lovely pink and she's backlit by the setting sun: beautiful.
After she leaves, he realizes he'll have to call it sick in the morning. It's worth it.