((Bumping you on the list to ‘right the hell now’ since I never finished those longer-form drabble requests from earlier. Also because you rock.))
Oh, yeah, it was definitely one of those days today. The kind of day where things just went to shit. First, they’d run out of tons of shit to cook and he’d had to go out shopping before anyone else was even hardly awake, aside from Iori, and he was a nice kid, but man did he talk too much in the morning. Trying to make conversation or whatever.
After he’d gotten back, though, Fuuka was up. Hey, that suited him just fine. Better than fine, actually. She’d even been in a really cuddly mood; not just regular cuddly, but like an almost pin-him-against-the-wall sort of thing. He’d growled something like a promise into her ear about a little later; there was food to cook.
This was a sort of special day, after all. It wasn’t like that was going to ward her off, though; no. She wanted to help him. With the cooking.
Well aware that he was very literally holding the lives of the entire team in his hands, he had to watch her like a hawk; not that his eyes didn’t naturally tend to go wherever she did… but every ingredient, every bit of boiling or baking, it all had to be watched, which left him less time to, you know, cook the damn food.
Iori suggested he flirt with her less and cook more but after he got a look or two he quickly decided that fucking off was the better part of valor. As though he couldn’t do both.
Besides, a little seemingly unprompted affection now and again, a hug, a nuzzle, really made her happy… and so, they went for a while, and he’d almost fooled himself into getting into a really happy mood, not just like happy-with-her, but happy in general…
And then she’d gotten hurt.
Going from sleepy-i’m-trying-to-seem-like-i-don’t-care to doting papa-bear in about four seconds, he got Iori back in here to handle the kitchen shit while he actually swept her completely off of her feet and took Fuuka to the bathroom closets, where the bandaids and ointments and such were, all the while looking grim and trying to stay calm.
Fuuka herself was more than a little bemused by this, and even through her pain, laughed a bit. “I just nudged the stove, senpai. I’ll be fine.” If he would just agree to carry her like this more often, though, that wouldn’t be a bad thing, either…
“Yeah, you’ll be fine, but we’ve got to get some cream on that burn, or else…” He’d save the medical shit, or what little medical shit he’d picked up over the years from Aki, until he was fully awake. With grumbling and groaning, he found it tough to shuffle through supplies and closets while holding a girl in his arms like a princess.
“You could set me down and then look for the bandaids?” Fuuka suggested timidly, stifling her giggles.
“Suppose I could.” Fuck it. It was one of those days and he was tired and he didn’t give a fuck. She’d stay in his arms a while more. In fact, maybe the cooking didn’t matter all that much.