5SoS Preferences

Ashton Makes Dinner

He didn't do it often, and for good reason.

While he was talented behind his drums – twirling the worn sticks of wood around his deft fingers with a careless precision that he somehow managed – he was an absolute disaster behind the stove.

It wasn't for a lack of effort, truly – he was completely dedicated, like he was towards everything he did for you.

When he announced that he wanted to have a date night with you and that he wanted to cook, you couldn't help but to laugh.

Are you doubting my abilities?

You were, obviously – you could hardly forget the food poisoning incident the first time he tried to cook or the accidental salt/sugar mix up the second time or the completely overcooked, watery meal the third time – the list went on and on, really – but that wasn't the point.

I doubt it'll make a difference, Irwin.

And it really didn't, because no matter what questionable – masterpiece – Ashton tried to make for you, you wouldn't be able to truly taste it.

You thought it a little strange, but he thought it rather cute, really – a little challenge for him.

It was just an unlucky mix of vitamin deficiency that led to lack of taste somewhere in your system, and Ashton was on the constant pursuit that if he cooked something just right, he could unlock some magical vitamin cure to your deficiency.

It was sweet, how he put so much effort into his little meals for you – you'll taste this one for sure, babe!

You don't have the heart to tell him that a single meal will hardly be a magical cure, but you like watching him bustle around the kitchen with your apron stretched across his stocky torso, hair in a messy bun.

It didn't hurt anyone – well, so long as he didn't accidentally poison himself or set the house on fire.

You still can't quite forget the flaming inferno of masterpiece number eight that sent the firemen over to your house.

He did say it was an accident and apologized, but the firemen were less than impressed and you were less than happy to have to throw away half of the now-burnt utensils around the kitchen.

I think the feeling of smoke clogging up my throat was the closest thing to tasting something in a while – I suppose you're halfway there, sort of.

Does that mean I have to burn down the rest of the house to reach that victory lap?

You know what, I take that back.

It was a little routine now for the both of you – with Ashton leaving for his sporadic schedules, whenever he returned he'd announce some foreign dish that he heard of from his travels that he wanted to share with you.

And he'd be there in the kitchen – it looked so much more cramped when it was him and all of his broad-shouldered bustling there – with his scribbled recipes that he collected from all over the world.

I had this in Amsterdam, you're going to love it – tomorrow's Berlin, okay?

And while you could say with a definite certainty that Ashton was probably butchering these famous cultural foods, you thought it sweet that he'd put in so much effort into bringing something back with him for you, despite the little barrier in your experience.

No matter – you think you liked the process work more than the final result anyways.

You'd perch yourself on the couch, a book in hand or your laptop balancing on your knees, eyes flickering to his figure every now and then.