For Just a Moment

Unskilled

Cinder sat on the floor of the Rampion's kitchen, listening as Kai muttered to himself over the intricacies of a can-opener. She tried not to smile—really, she was trying to read that day's news articles, but she was far too distracted for that to be an achievable goal. Not smiling was the best she could do.

When Cinder and the rest of the crew had kidnapped Kai, Cinder hadn't really considered how thoroughly they were taking him out of his own universe—literally and figuratively. But no matter how Iko insisted he be treated as their royal guest, Kai wanted to help around the Rampion as much as he possibly could. He wanted to be helpful—useful. The only problem was, his skill set wasn't exactly compatible with space travel.

So they put him in the meal rotation.

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea, but as Cinder listened to Kai grumble and even go so far as to smack the can he was trying to open on the counter, she worried that they were only frustrating him further.

"Hey," Cinder said, getting to her feet. She moved to Kai's side, taking the can from him. "I know I'm the one that taught you that, but there's a time and place for it. The can's only going to explode if you keep doing that, and I don't think you want to clean up a mess of assorted beans."

She had been hoping he would laugh, but instead she watched in horror as he dropped his head, defeat written across his face.

"I can't do this," Kai said.

"Open a can of beans? Of course you can. You just need to twist the opener the other way," Cinder replied, nudging him.

"No, Cinder. You've seen me. I'm completely useless to the whole lot of you. I can't fly the ship, I can't repair the ship, I can't hack into government intel." He let out a breath, ticking off his list on his fingers. "I can't help you train. And now I'm discovering that I can't even open a damn can. It's the easiest task in the world, but I can't do it. I'm unskilled. It's laughable. Let's broadcast it to the whole Eastern Commonwealth—no, let's show all of Earth—that their supposed leader can't do even the simplest task. I am incapable and inadequate and incompetent and inept and inexperienced and any other in-word you can think of because they all describe me. And worst of all, I didn't even know all these things until I tried opening Lenny's stupid can of beans." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Okay, first of all, none of that is true," Cinder said. She touched her hand to the sleeve of his military-issued uniform. "And second of all, you are helping us. You've been fundamental to our strategizing, and you literally wrote my entire revolutionary speech. Without you, I would be standing in front of a crowd of Lunars shouting the most uninspiring jumble of words imaginable. It's because of you that I'll be able to convince them, and it'll be because of you that we'll be able to get to Luna."

Kai looked at the counter, his eyes burning and fingers tense.

"Just because it doesn't feel big doesn't mean it isn't. Everyone is playing a part in this revolution. I couldn't do this without any of you." Cinder let out a sigh. "Even that emperor who can't open a can."

"I hate this stupid can," Kai whispered. He picked up the can, examining it as if it were a grenade. Then he set it down and turned to her. He looked at her face—her eyes, her cheeks, her lips—and gingerly, his fingers came up to move a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail.

"I've never been a big fan of beans," Cinder said, voice low. "Or people named Lenny. What is that even short for anyway?"

"Leonard, I think," Kai said. His fingers lingered on her cheek, barely a breath upon her skin. "Or sometimes Elena. Really anything with L, E, and N in it."

Cinder gave him a look.

Kai dropped his hand and rapped on the counter. "Thank you," he said. "You know, I think you could have written that speech yourself. You've got the inspirational lingo down."

"It was bound to happen, being in such close proximity to you. I must have absorbed it."

"Then how come I can't fix the engine?"

Cinder made a face. "Well, have you tried?"

"Fair point."

They smiled at one another, all the frustration of a minute before seemingly forgotten. Kai's hand found Cinder's and their fingers twined together like ivy. Then slowly, hesitantly, Cinder brought her free hand up to Kai's face, cupping his cheek, her fingers brushing the hair at the back of his neck. Kai tilted his face down, and Cinder tilted hers up, just enough that their lips touched.

They kissed—softly, sweetly, shyly, but unfaltering all the same. Kai's free hand brushed Cinder's throat, his thumb resting over her pulse, and Cinder's arm wound around his neck, pulling him closer.

When they broke apart, their faces only inches apart, they were both a little breathless. Kai brushed his thumb over Cinder's lower lip, as if he was unsure that he had actually kissed her.

Then, remembering who and where they were, they separated. Cinder tightened her ponytail, and Kai picked up the can again. Wordlessly, Cinder handed him the can opener and, with perfect ease, Kai opened Lenny's can of assorted beans.

"I think we discovered how you best absorb information." Cinder smirked.

Kai flushed.

"And remember," Cinder said, taking the can from Kai and pouring it into a bowl. She smiled at him, a teasing glint in her eyes. "No matter how little you feel like you're doing for this revolution, you're always doing more than Thorne."