Dream Crumb True

     “Please don’t say it.”

     “You know, Alistair,” Evara turned around from their spot in the kitchen, a wide smile on her face. There were bits of flour powdering her cheek, a straw smudge of hot chocolate kissing the inner corner of her lips, and a myriad of dough still stuck within her fingers. Still, her movements were as elegant as ever, and their usual enthusiasm was blind to the mess of the kitchen, “This is a dream crumb true.”

     Letting out a long groan, Alistair leaned back on his chair, aiming to look anywhere but his partner. Evara, in turn, let out a string of chuckles, a sound that could only be described as delighted.  

     Alistair was just as amused, though he’d be damned if he’d ever show it.

     Afternoons like these were quiet and slow, but just as comfortable. During the day, the couple had gone through half of the city, aiming to buy a specific kind of errand. Travel had been long, with lots of distractions, so as soon as they had made it home, they wanted to rest. Evara instantly wanted a home-cooked meal, but Alistair insisted they were out of ingredients, and neither of them would want to go back out.

     Leftovers were a good alternative, but Evara declared they’d bake something simple for dessert as a compromise. Counting the empty space in their cupboards, scavenging wherever they could find, she somehow managed to prepare a recipe:

     Chocolate chip cookies, made by Evara herself.

     After dinner, she had sat Alistair down on the nearest stool to the kitchen bar, proclaimed that they would take care of everything, and demanded he keep them company. Alaistair could never say no to her.

     It was as comfortable as the afternoon itself, to be witness to Evara’s cooking. The way that she worked, measuring ingredients into different cups, and mixing them into bowls. The way she would sneak a couple of chocolate chips past her lips, very poorly masking the fact she was snacking on the ingredients. Alistair would pretend he didn’t see anything, indulging her mischief for a little while longer. Because her expressions were everything: sweet, filled with excitement and awe, but so elegant when paired with her meticulous movements. Seeing Evara bake was a treat he wished he got more often.

     Except for the puns. He sat through too many of those.

     “If you keep going at it with those jokes, I might just have to stand up and go,” he grumbled. Empty promises, but she wasn’t supposed to know that.

     Threats like those didn’t phase Evara. In fact, they leaned forward towards Alistair, whisk and measuring cup in hand, and after a dramatic pause, proclaimed, “That’s a whisk I’m willing to take!”

     Alistair forced himself not to roll his eyes, as they might get stuck in that position. Evara, on the other hand, excitedly pointed at the mixing utensil– whisk, yes, yes. He got it.

     With a deep sigh, Alistair stood up from his spot, turning his back to Evara and making his way deeper into the living room.  The elf complained, but he ignored them, if only for a moment. Maybe then, the puns would start to reside.

     Ah, would some music drown those terrible jokes? Alistair crouched next to the little stand holding a radio, just shy of the kitchen’s entrance. He could almost feel Evara’s gaze and accompanying pout, and he chuckled to himself at the thought.

     Click, the radio whirred on with a bit of static.

     “— Odonta’s general of commerce, this latest Friday the fourth. Unprecedented, of course, in the city’s general economy, though reported nothing to be too concerned about, for the general population–”

     “Hey,” Evara whined at the device, not very amused by being caught at the tail end of some very stale talk show, “Is that really what you’re replacing me with? That sounds boring!”

     Though he was still playing the straight man, Alistair had to agree. He switched the frequency, to be greeted with an infomercial instead. Something about cooking, which was, if not more interesting, at least more relevant to their current situation.

     “I don’t care bout baking sheets,” Evara cried again, now pouting, “Just turn it off?”

     Alistair made one more try, shifting the frequency. This time, there was a song playing, something he didn’t recognize. Aware that his cold-shoulder bit was getting old, and finally ready to face Evara’s puns again, he went to turn the radio off–

     “No, wait, please!” Evara chirped, to the surprise of them both, “I– uh. I like this song. Turn the volume up?”

     “I– Alright,” Alistair mumbled, and despite himself, he obliged.

     The tune was animated, with an exciting band of wind and brass. Nothing that Alistair particularly enjoyed, but the more it progressed, with highs and lows resembling a bridge, the more Evara’s attention seemed fixated on it.

     Then, the music crescendoed, and a female chorus joined in, carrying the melody pretty well. Evara squeaked something, as if that was their favorite part, and rushed to leave the kitchen and join Alistair in the living room.

     “This is my favorite part!” She sighed, excited.

     “Is it now?” Alistair wasn’t sure what to do.

     “Yes, yes!” The elf was beaming, to a point where their enthusiasm was almost infectious. She reached out a hand to Alistair, who was so surprised, they took it without thinking. If Evara didn’t care about getting her skin messy with flour, why should he?” “Come on, let me show you!”

     “Show me?”

     “A dance!”

     And just like that, Evara started moving, pulling Alistair along like a child with a doll. It was very awkward at first, the man tumbling while trying to follow an unknown routine, but Evara’s smile never faded for a second. Trying to compose himself, Alistair managed to properly place his hand on their waist while Evara put theirs on his shoulder, and like a proper couple, they started to dance.

     The music shifted, cheery, but romantic in a way that described Evara pretty well: positive, but graceful, inclusive yet well-planned. Happy as she was beautiful, hands warm against Alistair’s touch, bringing him along as much as he was leading them. It was intoxicating, and Alistair found himself getting lost in it.

     By the time the song died down, the singers seeing it off with a final hum, Evara turned to bow for Alistair. Not expecting it, he accidentally tripped her– and managed to catch her before they both tumbled to the ground.

     Evara exploded in laughter, slowly dying down into giggles. Alistair stood in awe at her, just enjoying the moment, and seeing her come down from the high of a song.

     When it finally ended, they placed a quick peck on his lips. Alistair found himself wishing the song had been longer.

     “Thank you for doing that with me,” they said, voice sweeter than he had ever imagined.

     “You are welcome,” Alistair whispered.

     “Alright, where were we?” Evara composed herself, standing to head back into the kitchen, “If you find another song, keep the volume up, okay? Maybe with some music going on, I might finish tune-er rather than later!”

     Another explosion of giggles for a god-awful joke, but Alistair did not groan. He could barely complain, actually. He was coming down from a high as much as they had, though it hadn’t been the music that kept him soaring.

     Alistair knew that he would go to war to keep living nights like these. The smell of cookies, the sound of music, and the warmth of her embrace… to him, they were all paradise. They were all sweet, truly a dream come true.

     And a couple of bad jokes were not enough to wake him up.