Olikase Oneshots

Not Quite Right

Fukase wasn't used to all this. Cooking together and all. He felt out of place, and even though this was his kitchen, and his kitchen utensils no other could work with on the first try, and his unmatching assortment of cutlery, he felt lost. He didn't know where to put his hands, or what to do next and ended up watching Oliver chop the vegetable on the wrong cutting board. 

Oliver didn't stop as Fukase watched him for a while, forgetting what they were going to make in the progress, but pulled away the knife as his counterpart leaned his face against the counter.

"You're going to get hurt," Oliver said and pushed the board a few inches away from his face. Fukase leaned back again and straightened his back. He had heard this before.

"Why do you use this knife anyways?"

"What knife?"

"The one in your hand. This one is for meat."

"You sort them by that?" Oliver put it down for a moment and looked up. Fukase flinched when finding his face distorted inbetween disgust and confusion. But it was only for a split second and then Oliver shook his head. "There was no other knife."

"There wasn't?" Fukase jumped up and towards the other counter. As he opened the drawer, his eyes immediately darted to the left, but there was only an empty plastic shell. There really was no other knife.

"I must have left it in my room," Fukase muttered under his breath and closed the drawer again. He fell into empty stares for a while and the silence was so awkward that Oliver turned around.

"Why do you keep a knife in your room?"

Fukase's head jerked back, as if Oliver had just pulled on his hair and then he turned around with a lopsided smile.

"To grate chocolate?" He retorted with such strong determination as if it was the most reasonable response he could have given at the moment. Oliver was so thrown off by it that – for more than a split second – he wondered whether he was the weird one.

"You're strange." Oliver turned back and poured the sliced vegetable in the pot. The water wasn't boiling yet, but he needed the space. Albeit trying to push off the peculiar conversation, his curiosity urged him to keep going. "What did you grate chocolate for in your room anyways?"

Fukase hummed and leaned against the counter, watching Oliver wash the next set of vegetables. He didn't even think of helping anymore, even though he was the one to suggest making dinner together. Oliver didn't seem to mind.

"I'm not sure. It calms my nerves, and grated chocolate tastes better."

Oliver opened his mouth but didn't say anything. So that was not a one-time thing.

Fukase pushed his torso off the counter again and reached up into the cupboard. His hand reappeared in Oliver's sight, with a small container this time. Fukase struggled with the lid for a while, making the blond grin to himself in secret, but then opened it with an irritated sigh. Oliver peered over and let out a gulped-down laugh.

"That's a lot of anxiety," Oliver said and laughed. Fukase joined him with a hollow undertone and then pushed the container over the counter.

"Do you want some?"

Oliver shook his head, even though the chocolate leads did look tempting.

"How am I supposed to eat that anyways?"

"With a fork, duh," Fukase spat out and closed the lid again after taking a forkful of it himself. Oliver kept quiet, searching for the sarcasm in the stern voice, but then remembered something else. He laughed again.