They Soft

Orrin stared at the Weaver standing in front of him, the Dasher unable to comprehend exactly what Mihal was trying to tell him.

“You…” his four eyes were focused on the Weaver’s claws as they moved from word to word, weaving together a request and question at once. “You wish for me to cook with you tonight?” Mihal’s already nodding before he could finish speaking, ears perking up and whiskers bending in a content curve. Orrin blinked at their expression, their obvious eagerness in the idea before his gaze skittered away from Mihal, the Dasher clearing his throat with a short rough noise, ears pressing in towards his skull. “I… do not think that is a very wise idea, I am… not the best when it comes to such activities. My sincerest apologies.”

Orrin gets a pair of long, thin hands pressed towards his face, forcing him to look back to Mihal so they can sign a response for him.

‘That’s why I’m being teaching you.’ It always sounded so very simple when they said things, as if whatever concern Orrin brought up had an easy solution that he had yet to think of. ‘Nobody is being good at the start of anything, that’s what being taught’s all about.’ Their ears perk up a bit alongside their words and Orrin finds himself smiling at the familiarity of the expression.

“When you say it like that it almost sounds easy.”

‘Is it,’ their hands repeat the motion of the words, conveying insistence the only way they know how, leaning close to Orrin to nearly press the words into his skin. ‘Anybody can be learning how to be cooking! It’s all practicing and recipe following, I’ll be showing you!’

“I highly doubt Duelek wants me anywhere near his kitchen.” Perhaps he’s just making excuses now, but the prospect of getting the other Weaver angry at him over something like that is not one he wants to entertain.

‘Little you being knowing he’d love it.’ There’s a fond tilt to Mihal’s whiskers, a softness to eyes laid bare with their mask resting on the table. ‘Idiot loves getting people to be cooking with him, one of them family things we ain’t really got no more.’

“Oh, I see.” That was an… unexpected sentiment to be sure. “Is he going to be ok with us cooking tonight?”

“I’m fucking thrilled!” Duelek certainly knew how to project himself when he wanted to, even sounding as tired as he did to Orrin’s ears. “Ya can be handling it! Imma pass out.”

Mihal looked at Orrin, expectant, waiting for his answer.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Orrin thought, completely aware of the fact that if he truly did not want to then Mihal wouldn’t force him.

“It seems I will be helping you with dinner tonight.” Mihal’s eyes crinkle at the corners, their whiskers lifting in a content line. 

It is an easy decision to let them drag him into the kitchen, following where they tug at his arm until he was standing in the kitchen, feeling decisively out of place as Mihal moved around him with an ease that spoke of experience and comfort, familiar with the room and what they were doing.

It reminds Orrin that he’s never really had much of a chance to be in a kitchen during the life he had led before, and afterwards it had just seemed like a place he was not supposed to be as Duelek and Mihal both seemed so comfortable and in their element while they cooked. It had seemed like something that was theirs, something he was not allowed to be a part of.

Suddenly being allowed in was… he did not even have words for it.

Orrin hardly had time to even begin to figure out how to comprehend it when Mihal was standing in front of him again, gently tugging him from the middle of the room towards the counter and the ingredients spread out on it, a variety of vegetables with no meat to be seen.

‘Come on,’ they signed, looking up at him with a softness to their features. ‘I’ll being to show you like Duelek showed me. You’ll being cooking with us before you know it.’

They were always so certain, so steady and unwavering, he could not help but believe them.