Taste of Iron

Two: Can You Stomach The Spice?

Two: Can You Stomach The Spice?

"Uh," Atlas bit his inner cheek. This was by far the most bizarre situation he had ever been in. He was used to a rather... eventless life, so he was having a hard time processing what was even going on. "Emil. Short for Emilio?"

"That's right!" Emil exclaimed with an amused smile on his face.

"Okay," Atlas muttered. He walked over to his closet, picking out a random pair of plain black shorts and an old band t-shirt.

"This is cue for you to tell me your name too, you know?" Emil spoke. Atlas glanced at the other man, unsure of whether to tell him his name or not.

Well, to be fair it's not like the intruder could invade his privacy more than he already had...

"Atlas," the blue-haired chef replied.

"Cute," Emil hummed, as his eyes took in the man in front of him. Atlas wasn't shy, but this wasn't anything like changing in front of his brothers or in the locker room, so naturally he couldn't help but feel at unease.

Atlas wasn't going to let it show, though. So far, Emil told him that he'd be safe if he just lets the man stay the night. But there was no way in hell that the chef was going to trust his word. There wasn't much that he could do, but at the very least he refused to show any weakness.

The chef faced Emil, a blank expression on his face contrasting the smirk that was on the intruder's. Atlas dropped the towel, making Emil widen his eyes in surprise. His gaze left Atlas's as it went down, his brows shot up for a brief moment before he turned his head away and cleared his throat.

Atlas didn't waste any more time as he put on the clothes. A part of him felt like he won that round, whatever it meant.

"Your phone and other devices now," Emil spoke. Atlas nodded, not liking the fact that he had to hand over everything to the stranger but he didn't exactly have a choice.

"Okay," Atlas mumbled. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table where he had left it before his shower. He switched it off and then gave it to Emil, who quickly slid it in his pocket.

"What century is this from?" Emil asked, narrowing his eyes as Atlas gave him his laptop. "Anything else?"

"I have a fax machine."

"What?" Emil blinked. "Seriously? Are you living thirty years in the past?"

"It was left by the tenants who lived here before me," Atlas answered. "They were...old."

"Right..." Emil trailed off, sighing as he glanced at the chef. "Anything important on here?"

"Uh," Atlas frowned slightly. His laptop was barely even functional. It was a hand down from his older brother who had bought it from a friend. It wouldn't even switch on unless it was plugged to the charger. "Not really, I guess. I did just download Downtown Abb— Hey!"

Atlas watched, shocked, as Emil threw the laptop on the floor, before stepping on it and breaking the device. The chef was speechless. Sure, the thing was ancient and he didn't use it much, but it was still his.

"Why did you do that?" Atlas questioned, a frown on his face.

"I can keep your phone with me but I can't exactly shove this in my pocket," Emil shrugged, casually as if it was no big deal. Atlas tightened his jaw, looking a mix of both upset and angry. "Hey, don't give me that look now, yeah? I did ask you if had something important on here before."

"You did," Atlas said, his tone sarcastic, same as the quick smile he flashed at the intruder. "Very considerate. Thanks."

"No need to get so sentimental," Emil rolled his eyes. "Got something to eat?"