"All is good." Grayson lightly said, snuggling on his neck. His large hands settled more firmly against his stomach, thumbs rubbing idle circles through the fabric of his shirt. "It’s so comfortable."

Neville’s eye twitched.

"Cook," Grayson murmured against Neville’s collar.

"I can’t cook like this."

Grayson hummed thoughtfully. He moved his weight, pressing closer until his chin could rest comfortably on Neville’s shoulder. The position gave him a perfect view of the counter space and, at the same time, trapped Neville more thoroughly than before.

"Just cook."

"Mr. Maxwell." Neville struggled to keep his temper in check. "I cannot cook with you on my back. I need to move around. I need to reach things. I need—"

Grayson’s tail curled around his calf in a motion that was almost sulky.

"—I need space," Neville finished weakly.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Grayson pulled back just enough to look at him properly. Those silver eyes, usually so cold and calculating, had softened into something that looked distressingly like puppy eyes.

On a different man, the expression would have been endearing.

On Grayson, it was terrifying, more for himself.

"You can’t?" Grayson asked, lower lip protruding slightly.

Is he... pouting?

Neville closed his eyes and prayed for strength.

"I can’t."

A beat of silence.

Then Grayson sighed, an actual aggrieved sigh, and finally released him.

But not completely.

Grayson retreated only far enough to drag one of the tall bar seats from the breakfast counter directly in front of the cooking area. He positioned it and sat down with confidence. He smirked as he knew that Neville wouldn’t dare to argue with him further with this kind of compromise in place.

His eyes were fixed on Neville with an expectant stare. His tail positioned itself loosely wrapped around Neville’s ankle.

This is much better, Neville thought, sighing resignedly. At least I can move my arms now.

He turned to the large bag he had brought, which he left near the counter earlier. With ease, he reached inside and began extracting ingredients like raw meat and fresh vegetables. As if he had not just pulled it out from his Inventory, acting totally normal and not suspicious at all.

He even made sure that his spices were in a container that he bought in Xylos’s Shopping Center with Liam before he put them in his inventory. Now, those unnecessary steps became something he was thankful for.

But the reasonable person beside him secretly furrowed his eyebrows a little as he sniffed something odd attached to those spice containers. Neville didn’t notice it, but Grayson’s eyes darkened dangerously.

The kitchen—albeit not the same as the one he bought from the System mall—was equipped with everything a professional chef could want, thanks to whoever had designed Grayson’s penthouse.

Within minutes, Neville had located the appropriate pans, utensils, and seasonings to begin preparing a meal.

Neville decided to make tacos.

Simple, filling, and—most importantly—not too spicy.

He had no idea if Grayson could handle Earth-style heat. The last thing he needed was to incapacitate Grayson with stomach problems, which got investigated. At worst, that would probably count as a mission failure.

Neville fell into the familiar rhythm of cooking, his movements efficient despite the strange circumstances. The sizzle of meat in the pan filled the kitchen, accompanied by the aromatic blend of cumin, paprika, and garlic.

He could feel Grayson’s gaze on him the entire time. The weight of those silver eyes tracked his every motion. When he diced vegetables, when he flicked off his wrist as he seasoned the meat, when he flipped the tortillas on the warming pan.

It was unnerving.

But Grayson’s tail was always silently helping him by pushing some ingredients towards him. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Neville focused on cooking the food, and soon, a respectable spread of tacos was plated on the counter, accompanied by freshly squeezed lemonade. He had no idea if soda existed in the interstellar era, so the fresh citrus drink seemed like a safe and reasonable alternative.

"Done." He wiped his hands on a towel and turned to face Grayson. "Let me just set the table—"

Grayson’s tail tugged.

Neville stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the bar seat just before he could faceplant into Grayson’s lap.

"What—"

"Here," Grayson said simply.

And before Neville could protest, large hands gripped his waist and deposited him directly onto Grayson’s thighs.

"Mr. Maxwell!"

"Grayson." The correction was murmured against his ear, sending inappropriate shivers down his spine. "Call me, Grayson. You’re off duty right now."

Why would I—

Grayson’s tail had already wrapped around his waist like a living seatbelt, securing him in place with delight. Grayson himself was pressing against his back, arms loosely encircling him in a position that reminded him of their earlier position on the bed.

Except this time, Grayson’s chin was hooked over his shoulder, putting those silver eyes at the perfect angle to observe every nuance of Neville’s expression.

"I can eat by myself," Neville managed to say, even with a strained voice.

"Eat."

"I’ll eat with my own hands."

Grayson’s left hand came up to capture both of Neville’s wrists, pressing them gently but firmly against his stomach.

"Eat," Grayson repeated.

Then, with his free hand, he reached for one of the tacos.

Neville watched in mortified fascination as Grayson lifted the carefully constructed taco and held it in front of his lips.

Grayson’s expression was completely calm. But maybe it was just calm on the outside, because he took a quick glance at his eyes and it...darkened.

As if hand-feeding your company’s normal employee while in the middle of a rut was a completely normal behavior.

This man is insane.

"I have hands," Neville pointed out weakly.

Grayson’s grip on his wrists tightened slightly.

"Eat."

Seeing that Grayson wouldn’t budge the argument, Neville could only stare at the taco hovering in front of his face. With resignation, he opened his mouth.

The first bite was... actually delicious.

He secretly sighed in relief that he didn’t add too many spices nor add too little.

Which was annoying, because Neville wanted to be annoyed about this whole situation. Unfortunately, the nostalgia of the barely recreated flavors of the taco exploded all over his mouth, making it difficult to be angry at all.

"Good?" Grayson asked.