Please, with a Cherry on top? | 18+

14 | Saint

The plan was simple.

Since the "dinner" was supposed to be had around noon, they would cook the most time-consuming dishes the night before. That way they could still sleep in and only have to worry about the prepped smaller dishes come morning.

The ham was in the oven awaiting glaze; Meanwhile, Saint was mixing the dough to make some macaroni pasta from scratch.

That's when it happened.

He heard a yelp and glass breaking before he turned around only to see Cerise at the stove, falling backward with one foot completely off the ground.

With one stride he was directly behind her, his hands gripping her waist and pulling her until her back made contact with his chest. As she adjusted her footing she lightly brushed against his crotch, only to be pressed further into it as Saint leaned forward to move a sputtering pot off the burner and turn down the heat.

Saint's hold on her waist tightened slightly before he turned her around and scanned for injuries, "Fuck, baby. You okay?"

"Uh-ehm," she sputtered with comically wide eyes, clutching her hand to her chest.

"Cerise, what happened?" he asked worriedly.

"I burned my hand in the steam and then slipped. Nice save," she finally spoke, awkwardly laughing afterward. He could only focus on the fact that she was hurt, "I'm sorry I broke your measuri—"

Cerise squeaked as Saint unexpectedly plucked her from the floor and with the energy it took to do so with a flower, then placed her on the counter.

"Stay."

Quickly wetting a cloth with cold water, he returned to her and rested it on her reddened skin. One glance at her and she was holding the cloth in place before he left and busied himself with cleaning the glass off the floor and the small water splash on the ground that she slipped on.

Everything was in order again, so he prepared another cloth to switch out the one she had.

He stood between her legs, removing the first cloth and inspecting her hand before applying the fresh one.

"Still hurt?" he questioned.

"N-no," her voice cracked.

"Liar," Saint stared her down, "I don't like when you lie to me, Cerise."

"I'm sorry... yes, it hurts a little."

"Good girl," he hummed, his hands resting on the counter at her sides, "You'll listen to me, won't you?"

"Yes," she said immediately, and he smiled as her cheeks flushed pink.

"You'll sit here until that tingly feeling goes away. Okay?"

"Okay," Cerise agreed softly while squirming.

***

Saint couldn't sleep.

His eyes were burning and felt heavy from the weight of his eyelids, yet sleep continued to elude him. Not only that, but for once his mind was not racing, but instead seemed to be moving in slow motion.

In his head, a scene played over and over like a faulty VHS tape, with one person as the lead actress.

Cerise Rowan.

Her skin looked smooth as silk, and from what little he experienced, he knew it was. And her eyes... they were bright like the moon, the warmest of browns, and shiny like the stars.

And the thick, stubborn curls of hair that framed the sides of her face when she wore it in those messy buns only added to what allowed her to be so innocently beautiful.