Is This Enough ||MxM || Lgbtq+ [ON Hiatus]

Chapter 6

Leonardo's P.O.V

My phone felt like a brick in my hand as I bashed it in frustration. I had been trying to contact someone, anyone, for hours, but there was no response. Not even my own mother had replied to my 'hi' message. The network company I was with was unreliable, but this was really pushing it. Desperate to get through to tech support and express my anger, I was ready to become the rudest customer that anyone in the service industry had ever seen.

I left my phone on the bed, the urge to hurl it at the wall becoming more and more overwhelming. I strode back and forth, my thoughts racing. It was the network, right? Nothing else? I couldn't let the various possibilities drive me mad. I halted my pacing, understanding that there was only one thing that could ease my anxiety.

I opened the door to a tranquil abode, not realizing it was evening. The pitch black illuminated the steps, creating a spooky ambience. At least, I was no longer terrified of the darkness. I stepped into the kitchen, I took out a pan and began to make an omelette.

I was meticulous in making sure all the ingredients were in the right proportions. I had a knack for cooking, almost as if I had earned a degree in the culinary arts, except I did not have to pay a single cent for it.

Inspecting the contents of the spice cabinet and noting its lack of seasonings, I stirred together beaten eggs, I sprinkled a bit of salt and pepper on top. I then heated up some butter in a skillet over a moderate flame.

Preparing to pour oil into the skillet, I heard a voice from behind me inquire, "What are you doing?"

I had a full body scary when I spun around and saw him standing right behind me, watching me as I was getting ready to pour oil into the skillet. Instinctively, I put the bottle back on the counter and turned off the hob. "What am I doing?" to which I answered my own question, "Stress cooking."

He retreated, pressing his back against the kitchen sink. Glancing towards the cluttered kitchen counter, he observed the broken eggs scattered around and asked, "You're stressing cooking omelettes?"

I held up the whisk that I had been using before, trying to defend myself. "Hey, don't judge. We all have our own methods of dealing with things. Mine is just involved something tasty."

He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender, a fond smile playing on his lips. "No judgement here. My mom's omelettes were the best. The aroma of eggs would linger in the house for days, and every time I left the kitchen, the scent would follow me. She always tried to write 'We love you' on top of mine with ketchup. And it didn't change when I came out. I know it's corny, but that's why I love breakfast." His face shifted to a more bittersweet expression. "Well. . . loved."

I couldn't believe how insensitive I had been, realizing that my comment had caused him to become uncomfortable. "I'm sure I won't ever measure up to your mom, but I do make a mean omelette!"

He strode to the kitchen table, declaring, "I will be the judge of that!" and then, without further ado, took a seat. He then added, "Do your thing. I won't interfere anymore." He went on his phone, staying true to his word.

I utilized the time I had to return to what I had been working on. I measured out a suitable amount of oil and then tipped the eggs in too. As the edges of the eggs began to become solid, I employed a spatula to move them into the middle of the skillet, allowing the raw mix to flow outward.

The omelette was beginning to solidify as the bottom cooked, so I grabbed the diced bell peppers and a handful of grated cheddar cheese from the fridge and sprinkled them over the top. The cheese melted into the omelette, giving it a creamy texture, while the bell peppers added a burst of colour and freshness.

I folded the omelette in half, producing a symmetrical crescent shape. The outer edges of the omelette had crisped, giving the egg creation a golden hue. After one swift movement with my wrist, I placed the omelette onto a plate. I allowed it to rest for a few moments, allowing the flavours to come together and intensify.

I switched off the stove and retrieved some ketchup from the cabinet. I tried to write the phrase 'Thanks for letting me stay here' on top, yet it only ended up being a messy smudge. No matter how hard I tried, only a few words were decipherable.

I got cutlery and placed the plate of food in front of him, interrupting his intense concentration on the video he was watching. With a warm smile I said, "Here you go, breakfast for dinner!"

He gave a warm grin in response to my expression and inquired, "What were you trying to say?" as he gestured to the condiment creation I had made.

"Thanks for letting me stay here. But it got messed up." Shame burned in my cheeks as I admitted my missteps.

He took a bite of his food, "I like it. Ketchup art can be tricky to perfect, even the most talented of us haven't yet mastered it. But I'm sure you'll get the hang of it!" His infectious grin was impossible not to return.

"Time to make my own." I was just about to spin around, my feet itching to get work when I heard his voice, making me pause. 

He shook his head, "Don't be ridiculous! Grab a plate, fork and knife and we're splitting this." So, I did as he suggested, took a seat, and watched as he divided the omelette and sent me my half.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3