it's not poisoned [semi-closed]

He'd done damn well to learn his lesson from last year: don't wait until the last minute to scope out the fridge for Christmas.

Preston swore he could still feel the sharp chill of the oversized freezers creeping under his skin, or the pain of a poor, wasted block of ham being chucked straight at his head, along with the rest of the pantry. No, he'd done his shopping ahead of time instead, every fridge and cabinet had been filled to the brim all day as he slowly worked through it, using and washing and reusing every pan, pot, and try that was available in their small dorm's kitchen; if you could call it a kitchen. For what he had to work with, and the few bits and pieces of equipment he'd borrowed from the school, he'd thought he'd made a pretty decent table spread.

The Autumn had spared absolutely no expense. Seeing as it was his last Christmas in the dorm for certain, why the fuck not?

A small apple-cider brined turkey, golden and moist to perfection, crusted beef tenderloin, with sweet red meat warm in the middle, ham dripping and glazed in brown sugar, scalloped potatoes encrusted in cheddar, a piping hot green-bean casserole, stuffed and roasted garlic mushrooms, glazed sweet potatoes dashed in pecans, a heaping pile of wild rice; hell, the young man had just about everything that came to his mind. The only thing left to do now was wait for his dumbass roommate to walk in and witness it all.

There were, of course, desserts he was finishing up as well; and he was easily getting ahead of himself, a plate of peculiar brownies held in one hand as he stuffed the small creation into his mouth, admiring his work. Soon as the oven timer went off, in haste, he'd near dropped the plate onto the edge of the table; rushing away into the kitchen.

"Shit, shit." He hissed under his breath, grabbing a glove and pulling out his last work of art. The smell of cherry pie washed over the room, and he'd realized he'd saved it just in the nick of time. It had such an angelic crust to it.

God damn that smelled amazing. She wouldn't pretend it didn't out of some kind of stupid stubbornness. That was just the truth. His food was fucking heaven, not that she'd ever guessed until she'd lived with him for over a year... Back then, she'd been so pissed off at so many things, realizing what he could do in a kitchen, and realizing that he'd never done it in front of her, it'd set her off. The straw that broke the camel's back. A part of her hoped that he'd forgotten her slamming his face into the counter way back when. You didn't fuck with the chef. Another part of her hoped that he kept it in mind whenever he was eyeing some shitty junk food after a long day.

Incentive. It was all about incentive. She'd been ready to pounce all day.

She'd slipped out of her room, maneuvering through the jungle of sheets and blankets and cushions toward the table, drawn by the aroma like a moth to flame. Fuck, and he always made so much. Days like this, when he went all out for dinner, that was her favorite.

Oh yeah. It was Christmas. For the third or fourth time that day she had to remind herself.

Somehow, in the haze of the past few days, she'd forgotten. Even with all these fucking decorations all over the place, kudos to their new roommate... Winter Formal had felt too, shit, she didn't know, grand? It'd overshadowed the big day. He rushed off to the kitchen before he noticed her, and she stopped by the table, locking onto the heapings of turkey and beef and potatoes and... oh fuck, brownies? She glanced over her shoulders, both ways, and when the coast was clear, popped one into her mouth.

And another.

Huh... Not his best. They had some kinda... weird... musky kinda flavor? Like dry spices. Stuff that didn't belong in a brownie. Maybe he was experimenting? She couldn't help but grab for another one despite that. Brownies were brownies.

Fucking shit. He quickly realized as he glanced around the kitchen that there was no good place to sit and let the damned pie rest, which meant there was little other option then to let it head straight out to the table. Not a big deal in the end, he supposed, but he wouldn't have put it past Kayla to try and aim straight for the desert before the main course. And that was just wrong on so many petty levels. Sure as fucking hell, as soon as he turned the corner, there she was, munching around with his brownies, and well on her way for another.

At any other time, Preston may have only been mildly irate and roll his eyes, throw in some smart-ass comment; but not with those brownies. You see, he'd had a certain ingredient laying around his room, left overs from a few evening smokes and, fuck, he'd went and thought it a good idea to go ahead and make good use of the scraps, make his evening a little more enjoying...

Of fucking course, the one time he turned around and left them alone, that would be when she'd finally come out of her cave and get her hands on them. In a cautious, but heated frenzy, Pres rushed over, balancing the pie in one precarious hand and reaching out to grab her wrist with the other. "How many times do I got to tell your ass -" the young man huffed, "Save it for later?"

He didn't hold her for long, scooping the plate of brownies up in her hands and setting the pie down in his place. His ocean-like eyes scanned over the plate, role-calling the many different pieces. "... How many did you eat, Pikachu?" How many did he make to start with? Nine? Ten? Fuck, he couldn't even remember himself.

She was just about to stuff it into her mouth when he came rounding out of the kitchen like something had caught on fire. The brownie dropped out of her fingers as he clasped her wrist in a firm hold. Shit, did it matter that much to him? "Hey, fuck off," she spat, eyeing the pie fresh out of the oven. Was he gonna block her away from that too? Since when did he care about that kind of thing? Kayla jerked her hand back and rubbed where he'd grabbed her like she was scrubbing off germs.. "I don't know. A couple? Like two or three?" Kayla twisted her lips, suddenly defensive. "What the hell does it matter to you? It's not like I'm gonna fucking eat them all." Caring about eating dessert last was rich coming from him.

Preston could feel the pit in his stomach dropping, hell, his face might have even turned a little pale. Two or Three? Fucking shit, two or three enough of the sweet baked treats would have been enough to be sure that he would have been baked off of his ass. A lazy chuckled escaped him as he took at step back, grabbing away at his hair. He'd thought to seriously offer her some of the treat, if she wanted it, as soon as he saw her come out - but now, fuck, was there even a choice? Should he have said anything at all?

Was it worth it? It wasn't as if he'd poisoned her or anything. She'd just appreciate dinner a hell of a lot more.

"You fucking would," Pres mused with a resigned sigh, forfeiting the moment with a shrug of his shoulders and reaching instead for one of the empty plates set out, holding it back out to her with his free hand. "Whatever. Merry Christmas." Shit, maybe she'd even thank him later for it.

What the hell was his problem? Kayla took the plate after a moment of hesitation, still on the defensive. "Well so-fuckin'-ry," she murmured under her breath, getting to work on the (still admittedly gorgeous) dinner he'd thrown together. Casserole, potatoes, mushrooms, fuck yes, that beef and turkey. She felt a sharp pang in her stomach just looking at it all, like she was weak on her feet. She wasn't sure what she'd done to piss in his cheerios that she hadn't done a hundred times over without him saying a thing, but hey, whatever right? Whatever it was, she made sure not to touch the pie—desserts were last now, apparently. God. He was turning into Martha Stewart more and more every day she knew him. Did he show this side off to anybody else?

Kayla sat down, shooting him a weak grin as she grabbed at the silverware. "Merry Christmas, dick."

At least she wasn't fighting him anymore on it, or slamming his head into any tables for any strange reason. Preston's own smile weakened as he settled down in the chair besides hers, already feeling the warm affects of the brownies creeping in; like gravity had just begun to truly pull him in. It was a slow process, but considering how much the girl had ate, he bad half-a-mind to watch her carefully; reaching over and carving away at the turkey. He stole a leg for himself, scooping up heaping of sides and forming a small Hill on his plate. The longer he stared it down, the more his mouth had begun to water, his stomach twisting and turning in hunger.

"Bon appetite." He hadn't thought to say grace or any of the like, digging straight into his meal. And fuck, nothing ever tasted mote savory to him in that moment. With glowing eyes, he glanced Kayla over again expectantly, pride radiating off him.

Saying grace, itadakimasu, any of those kinds of formalities, whatever, it didn't even cross her mind. She didn't have any dinner traditions like that, not here, not at home, not anywhere. Her only focus was on the food in front of her. Preston's little bit of weirdness, and shit, she knew he could be weird, was ancient history as far as she was concerned, piling on the last of the sides to her giant heapings. Already, she could feel that hollow sharpness in her belly, the hunger basically eating away at her as she dug into the meal. And fuck, those first few bites were always so heavenly, so satisfying, that familiar warmth that filled her body. Kayla couldn't help but crack a smile, practically shoveling it into her mouth, potatoes and casserole and whatever, as inelegant as ever.

Maybe even more inelegant. She was making a fucking mess. Kayla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, that small smile still planted on her face, brushed away that little bit of sauce smudged across, leaned back and... whoa, shit! Kayla's hand flashed out, grabbing at the edge of table as she sat back, frozen. Her heart was drumming in her chest. It was like gravity had been trying to suck her straight to the floor. She could've sworn that the chair was about to tip and send her ass spilling across the carpet, but after a few frozen moments sitting stock still, she was as safe and situated in her seat as she had been when she'd first sat down.

Damn, huh. Kayla let out a small laugh, electricity arcing between the teeth of the fork in her hands. She felt ten pounds heavier already. Another laugh, shaking her head, glancing up at Pres, her food, still laughing. She blinked, shook her head. Okay. "That was weird." Awkward, sure, whatever.

And fuck, if this didn't taste amazing. Kayla turned back to her plate, just enjoying the sound of silverware scraping and clattering against the porcelain a bit more than she should've. Shit, she hadn't even noticed how starving she was until she'd started scarfing this all down. Not just the regular kind of starving, but like a guy on a deserted island starving. Stilted currents of electricity fizzed and sizzled in the air around her, different somehow, wispier, but she barely noticed. Bzzz. Spk. Crack.

It'd become such regular background noise, but had she ever really noticed the sounds, how it all snapped and buzzed around her head all day? With her fork halfway to her mouth, her concentration kept getting broken by the little pops and flashes, jerking her head to catch them before they disappeared into nothing. The fork wavered in her hand, heavy and laden with a cut of tenderloin.

...Shit. How had controlling lightning become normal for her? There was a heavy weight pressing down over her back, all these obvious questions swimming in her head that she'd somehow never thought of before. Kayla stabbed her fork down into her food like a banner and propped her elbows on the table, leaning forward to rub at her face. She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity, giggling under her breath in short, rapid titters. "God damn..." This was Christmas in fucking North Dakota. Kayla wasn't even sure if she could point out North Dakota on a map. How weird was that...? "Sorry..." she giggled. Her skull felt like it was full of lead, and she had to hold up her face to keep it from plopping into her rice and mushrooms. "This is just so good..."

He wasn't good for much, but he could fucking cook. Her face was starting to hurt.

The slightest of her chair was the first clue in. Preston leaned forward against the table, holding his own meal up in the light and watching her out of the corner of his eye. He tried his best to make the smile playing at his face, stuffing his mouth to keep himself busy, savoring every bit of savory herb and juice he'd so carefully crafted into a masterpiece. He admired the way the steam twisted and rolled elegantly into the air, the way the girl beside him laughed to herself, how sweet it sounded to his ears, how sleek the metal wares felt between the tips of his fingers, the way she seemed to stare off into nothing, just scraping her fork on the rim of the plate, and how nice the soft table cloth felt under his arm. He'd let the knife slip out from his grasp, his head like lead as he leaned further into the palm of his hand, elbow pushing up against some humongous platter.

And ah, mother fucker. How long had he been watching her? Preston blinked his heavy lids, his smirk curled to a peak as she giggled and rubbed away at her cheeks, admiring the warmth in her eyes and the frenzied way her hair ribboned and framed her face. And the small sauce stain, still at the edge of her lips. Fucking idiot...

"Better be. Took fucking forever to make," Preston mused, catching himself in the moment. Shit, he was staring. Still. With a small heave, the young man pulled himself back up, turning his attention back to his plate, trying to think of something useful, like how much of his food he could stick on a fork at once without it falling, but she kept on with her damn giggling. It was almost... almost...

What was the word?

Pres began laughing under his breath at her absurdity, shaking his head and lowering his eyes. She had such a stupid laugh, it was weird and nastily and, fuck.

But he wasn't complaining.

Because fuck, he didn't hear it often.

Fuck.

He said fuck a lot.

Not said, but thought.

But also said.

...

. . .

CONTAGIOUS.

Her laugh, her laugh was fucking contagious.
Contagious and dumb and adorable.
Yeah?
Maybe?
Yeah?
Fuck.

He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, chucking to himself what had to be God damned nothing to any other sort of sane person. Even as he took another bite, a few giggles of his own broke through. "Nothing from a freezer. It's aallll fresh."

"What?" she managed between giggles. Did that even make any fucking sense? She had to be delirious or something... Sleep was as hard as ever, but shit, she didn't know what came over her. Kayla took in one deep breath, holding it, holding it, bottling back... and the laughter came spilling back out, curling a hand over her gut, her cheeks starting to ache from the strain. "Stop la-... Stop laughing..." He wasn't fucking helping. Was he laughing at her?

God, her head felt so heavy.

Kayla stared into her food, stabbing at the potatoes, the casserole, damn, that beautiful ham... The beef seemed to fall apart, tearing apart so perfectly just by lifting it with her fork.

What was she laughing about again?

God, her head felt so heavy.

When had everything gotten so bright. She rubbed at her eyes, her thoughts swimming.

She'd calmed down enough to stuff the load of food into her face without choking, meeting his eyes from across the table for one fleeting glance. Sparks crackled in her hair.

It was no fucking use. Everytime the slightest hint of a laugh bust out from the girl, there was no putting away his own madness, a sharp ache stabbing away at his ribs as he buried his face away - thankfully not on his food, just on the table. "You - You bitch." Preston heaved what chuckles he could manage into the back of his hand. It was fine. They we cool. He was cool. It was all cool. Except for his food, that was still hot, thankfully. And hey, alright, he was pretty hot too. And cool right now. Totally, completely, utterly cool.

The young man cleaned his throat and gripped at the edge of the table, deliberately avoiding looking at the girl, lest something slip and the hilarious bullshit started over all over again. He didn't even know what was funny, just that her laugh, and she kept laughing, and he was laughing. And then she'd laugh. And then he'd laugg. And God damn, fucking shit.

Preston took in a deep breath, stabbing a fork into his plate and pulling apart the biggest piece of pork and potato humanely God damned possible on his little piece of silverwead, shoving it oh-so-fucking elegantly into his mouth all at once.

Holy fuck if he could breath it might have been the best fucking bite of his life.

Instead, he awkwardly tried to chew away at what he had. Like a chipmunk. A stupid, sparky, oversized chipmunk. And it was then, in that perfect, glorious, handsome moment that he finally decided to gaze oh-so elegantly back at Kayla, catching her eye with flushed fat cheeks.

And he had to slap his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing again.

Fuck, what if he could fit more food in?

It'd been bad enough when she was laughing for no reason, but now... One look and she burst back into belly laughs again, painful fucking laughs, laughs until her sides ached and her head went woozy. Holy shit, he looked fucking ridiculous. Was he trying to play chubby bunny or something? She shoveled food into her mouth and then had to clamp her teeth close, bowing over, probably looking just as ridiculous as him. Kayla forced herself to chew, swallow, choke up, swallow, swiping a soda off the table to wash it down and keep herself from dying at the dinner table. Hell no was she going to let herself get killed by a piece of fucking tenderloin.

She had to rub at her face, red as a tomato, to regain that little teensy bit of composure. As little as it was. Kayla still had to fight through the tiny giggles. "You idiot... Chew." If she could've reached, she would've been tempted to squish those puffed out cheeks together. A sip, and she almost sputtered it out again. "Jesus..." She spooned up another heaping that clinked against her teeth. Ow...

It took everything in him not to choke on his food then.

Damn, wouldn't that have been a way to go?

One, two, three... He counted away each swing of his jaw, wrinkling his nose and giving his roommate the most serious stare down he could manage, clawing at the table cloth, eyes watering as he a few more laughs tickled away at his throat. No sooner than he finally did manage to smile did an ugly chuckle escape him, breaking into an entirely new roar of thunder. A few tears rolled down his cheek as he gasped for air. Fucking hell, what the fuck was so fucking funny again?

He looked to her for answers, but Kayla seemed no more better off than he was. She looked good at least, all puffy face and gravy stains. (Not.) (Not not. Heh.) Like, good good. Like, chocolate milk levels kinda good. Shit, that shit was fucking good. Like, sweet and shit. Ah fuck, he was thirsty.

You know what sounded good then?

Preston stood up, slamming his hand on the table, his chair screeching out across the floor.

"Mother fucking chocolate milk." The words escape him. A sheer, low, inaudible mutter of utter determinatter.

With an overly codky smirk, he tossed his head, throwing the bangs out of his face. "Save me some food, Pikachu. Gonna do some amazing shit." He managed to scarf down precisely two more bites of potato before disappearing into the kitchen.

She almost jumped. Or would've. Kinda. Her reaction was about five seconds late, lurching back in her chair as he went springing out of his seat and then lumbering back off toward the kitchen. Another five seconds. Four, three, two, one. The surprise finally slammed into her. "What?" Sparks crackled in her hair, and then she was giggling again, he was just so... so... Shit, she forgot. Kayla stabbed into her mushrooms, stacking them like a tower. Damn, these were so good, back home she never....

Where did he go?

Oh. Right.

Kayla stuffed the makeshift kebab into her mouth. "Don't leave me alone too long..." she murmured through full cheeks. She wasn't even sure if she could understand herself.

Did that even make any sense?

He shot her one last smile from a peak around the kitchen corner. Fucking idiot. If she were going to lag behind and fall out of her chair, he at least deserved the chance to make her something that would make that worth it all. Preston danced around the kitchen, pulling out the largest cups they had, pulling a sleek bottle of chocolate syrup out of the fridge and coating the bottom of the glasses in heart-stopping chocolate sludge. Once he pulled out the remainder of milk out of the fridge, he thankfully had enough to make two full servings.

A quick stir and viola.

God's greatest gift to this earth and Preston's perfect creation.

He'd already chugged down half of his own glass before he'd even scooped up his roommates, having to pause and take in the sweet, cocoa ecstacy. How blessed he was for this shit, it was so fucking good. He was truly unworthy.

Pres took one more sip because getting the bright idea to take the long way around out of the kitchen, sneaking back through the living room and coming up somewhat oh-so carefully behind the girl. Woth an unmistakable grin on his face, he leaned over her against the back of the chair, chest a bit to the back of her head, just a bit, as he dropped the large glass slowly into her line of sight; like an angel descending from the heavens.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~"

The terrible hymn was the icing on top. Or the cherry. Or the chocolate to the milk.

"For you, Miss." He said with a beaming grin, his new brown moustache twitching.