Corners of the Multiverse (Scomiche Oneshot Compilation)

Take a Whisk on Love (But Watch the Hair, Please!)

Hello darlings! It's been so long. I hope you enjoy regardless.

Also, I'm always thankful for constructive criticism. If you see mistakes, please point them out!

Notes on this one: it's even wackier and less plausible than previous chapters, but with some action and suspense thrown in! It's also the longest to date. Bon appétit! ;)

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"You've got to be kidding me, this isn't a minor error, it is an egregious mistake!"

The venom in the last two words is enough to make anyone's toes curl, and Chef de Cuisine Scott Hoying cringes from where he stands a few feet away. He's been the focus of Chef Grassi's ire before (many times, in fact) and it is not a pleasant experience.

However, he can't help but agree with the other chef's sentiment. On a scale of one to ten for blunders, this fits somewhere around "colossal fuck up." Scott shifts awkwardly, wondering if he should intervene.

"How do you possibly manage to book two brigades to cater for the same event, and not realize until said event is actually happening?!" the brunet demands, gesticulating sharply.

The event coordinator is bristling, his bushy mustache twitching in agitation. "I don't see what the problem is," he protests, "it was a simple error, and both parties will be paid the original amount. If anything, it should be a relief. There's no chance of running out of hors d'oeuvres."

Scott can actually see the moment at which Grassi's mood evolves from extreme irritation to volcanic rage. And, as infuriating as the event coordinator's ignorant comments were, Scott doesn't really want to see the man have his toupee ripped off.

Scott slides smoothly in between the two, holding up placating hands towards Chef Grassi. "Hey! Let's all just take a deep breath," Scott soothes, "we're professionals, we can work things out. Right, Chef?"

Chef Grassi pauses, clearly entertaining the idea of going for the event coordinator's throat anyway, but steps back after a moment. "I certainly am," Mitch says with a huff, tossing his bangs. "Though I'm not sure the same can be said about you."

Scott grins at the jab, feeling oddly pleased at the reappearance of their usual repartee. "Well, everyone is entitled to their own opinions," Scott allows, his feet moving him closer to the smaller chef of their own volition. "Even though they may be wrong."

Chef Grassi stares up at him, his whisky eyes glinting. "It's so cute when you try to be witty," he smirks, and Scott is abruptly aware he's been staring at the smaller man's lips.

"It's so cute when you try to be intimidating at five-ten," Scott retorts, feeling his heartbeat kick up at their proximity. It doesn't make any sense. Sure, Chef Mitch Grassi is beyond gorgeous--Scott has known that since they first became rivals in culinary school all those years ago. But the mere presence of the Italian cook doesn't usually ignite such a visceral reaction.

Grassi glares at him flatly, raising an unimpressed brow. "Weak," he comments, finally stepping back and allowing Scott to breathe. "I'm not even that short. You just happen to be gargantuan."

"All the better to lord my two Michelin stars over your sad, lonely little star high above your head." Scott taunts, and that, that gets a reaction out of Chef Grassi.

"I'm very barely restraining from making some choice comments about your selection in bedmates and your restaurant receiving that star. Very barely."

Scott laughed sharply, feeling that barb a bit more closely. "And you are truly succeeding."

There's a beat of tense silence, before Chef Grassi lets out a heavy sigh. "Look, regardless of our...sentiments toward one another, we still need to deal with the clusterfuck that is tonight. How on earth are we going to make this work?"