six: potato with vinegar flavor II

Considering I’ve just been called a giraffe by another human being, it’s not a surprise that I spent the rest of the trip back to my apartment sulking, the man beside me looking at my pouting face every once in a while.

“Geez, how long are you going to keep at it?” He suddenly asks and I furiously swung my arm around, the plastic bag hitting his stomach slightly.

“It’s your fault!” I barked. He glared. I regretted barking at him.

“What are you, five years old? Stop whining.” He flat out dismissed my complaints. I mentally noted that I should never ever worry about this guy when he, himself, doesn’t seem to give a damn about my feelings.

… Hmmm? What feelings am I talking about here?

I tried not to think too much again as we settled the things we bought back in my kitchen. We were going to cook potato with vinegar flavour today. Kris silently prepared the cooking utensils needed as I began washing some of the ingredients for any dirt.

There was this air of silence between us, backs facing the other’s as we did our individual work. Has it ever gotten this quiet before? Well, apparently it hasn’t. This was the first time we did our work quietly – it was beginning to creep me out.

I turned my head slightly to peek at what he was doing. As expected, he didn’t seem to care about the situation as much as I did. He placed that (godforsaken) knife down followed by the cutting board and some other things. I glanced at his back; which, from a totally heteroual and amateur cook point of view, was very admiring to look at.

I looked back at the sink, a spring onion in my hands. The water from the faucet was cold but the heat from my body was enough to make it seem otherwise. What the hell’s going on with me? I bit my bottom lip as I tried to work on cleaning the ingredients.

“Are you done yet?” Kris’s voice came up and I flinched, rattling sounds from the things around the sink that I had hit in my little spasm echoed in the kitchen. Kris growled again, “What the hell are you doing?”

“N-Nothing.” I stammered. Get it together! “I’m almost done.”

“Well, hurry up.” Kris said, turning around to return to the counter. “It’s not good to waste water, you know.”

I know that, genius. I frowned before finishing the washing. I brought the ingredients back to the table, surprised to see Kris extending out an arm, my blue apron in his hand.

“Hn.” He said, an indifferent look on his face.

“My apron?” I looked at it (and him) stupidly. Since when did this guy give me my apron to wear?

“What? What about it?”

“…” I tried not to blush. For what reason do I have to blush anyway? I took the apron and wore it. Kris was already wearing his and was crossing his arms, waiting for me to finish. “Okay. What now?”

Kris suddenly gives me a smirk, which makes me a bit uncomfortable. He rummages in his bag and picks up a piece of paper. “For your pea-sized brain.”

“What?” I narrowed my eyes, swiping the paper from his hand. Before I could say something else to him, my heart skipped a beat. I was holding, in my hands, a recipe – with detailed instructions! I couldn’t help but feel a bubble of excitement in my chest. He… prepared this for me?

“We’ll use that for now but I want you to be able to make it again the next time I ask you to without the paper.” Kris said and I gazed back at him with wide eyes. He was starting to sound like a teacher – it was too good to be true.

“K-Kris,” I croaked. “Are you drunk?”

He made a face. “Excuse me?”

“No, it’s just that…” I turned the paper over so that it faced him. “You would never make this! Well, at least, not to me!”

Kris narrowed his eyes and made to reach for the paper, “So I guess that means you do know how to make potato with vinegar flavour. Then I’ll be taking that ba—“

“NO!” I gasped, hugging the paper like it was my heart. “I need this!”

Kris chuckled, obviously teasing me. “Really? Well, c’mon. Where’s the gratitude?”

I widened my eyes and looked at him with shock. G-Gratitude.

I lowered my head and mumbled a very incoherent, “Thank you.” He leaned forward, a hand cupping his ear just to hear. He clicked his tongue and motioned for me to repeat it. I looked like I was going to hurl but I had to get this over with or he’ll never stop. Then again, if I do this, he’ll never stop making fun of me afterwards. I lose either way.

“Thank you, Kris.” I said, with a hint of undesirable feeling in it. He looked like he was king of the land.

“You’re welcome.” He said, “Now get to work.”

For once, I didn’t mind that crude order now that I had in my hands an actual recipe. I got to work feeling a little better. The first thing I had to do was to peel the potatoes and wash them. I’m pretty confident working with a peeling knife instead of an actual cutting knife. I doubt I could make a mistake peeling a potato before (come to think of it, should I even be saying that when I practically failed at boiling water last time?).

As I worked silently, I couldn’t help but notice the stare of my cooking teacher. I tried not to make it obvious that I felt uncomfortable about it because no doubt he’d make fun of me. Besides, guys my age shouldn’t be feeling self-conscious and nervous around other guys. That’s just wrong.

.... Right?

Why am I questioning myself? I thought to myself as I peeled at a quicker pace, all the while trying to ignore Kris’s silent staring. Why does he have to stare at me? It’s unnerving...

I hesitantly glanced to his side and made a split second eye contact with him. His face didn’t twitch at all but his eyes immediately focused on mine – which made the next worse thing, happen.

“Ah!” I gasped, cutting myself with the peeling knife. I dropped the utensil down, along with the unfinished potato as I stepped back to avoid contaminating the other ingredients with my blood.

“Are you an idiot?” Was the first question he asked as he approached me after hearing my little cry. I pulled my hand away from his.

“I’m fine! Sorry!” I said in a rush because I didn’t really want him to come near me. “I’ll wash this up and bandage it so...”

“Wait, let me see—“

“It’s nothing, it’s just a puny scra—“

Before I even realized it, I was face to face with him – our close proximity was enough to make me breathless. Kris’s eyes were wide, and it wasn’t because of a dish I had disastrously made. Then, was it because of me? Was he also surprised at how close we were?

I hesitantly pressed my lips together, not really understanding why I did so. I moved back slightly but my back hit the counter and I made a little grunting noise.

Kris was the first to break eye contact as he headed for my hand. “Let me see.”

“No—“ I whined and when his