#5 : three's a mess

On a fine Sunday.

Seth was in my kitchen again, drinking my coffee like he paid rent.

He leaned against the counter, mug in hand, looking too comfortable for someone who didn’t live here. “So,” he said, “you planning to survive off air and pride again today?”

I took a slow sip from my own mug. “I was thinking of adding toothpaste for variety.”

He snorted. “You’re a medical student. Shouldn’t you know better?”

“Knowing and doing are two different sports.”

He looked at me over the rim of his cup, like he was about to call me out again. But I was already pulling on my Jacket.

“I’m going to see Pearl.”

That got his attention.

You’ve seen her twice since you moved here. Are you dying?”

“She lives. I live. We check in.”

“And today?”

“She wants egg curry. I felt like making it.”

He smiled a little. “You’re soft for her.”

“She’s the only person I’d burn onions for.”

“Can I come?”

I looked at him. “You volunteering to suffer grocery aisles and sibling sarcasm?”

He smiled like I’d just handed him the winning lottery ticket. “Obviously.”

We hit the grocery store first. Seth took the cart. Probably a mistake.

“You’re steering like we’re in a Fast & Furious spin-off,” I said, dodging a corner display of wine glasses.

“I like to keep things exciting.”

“You’re going to end up in a lawsuit.”

He pushed the cart like he was on a racetrack. I trailed behind, reading labels like an actual adult.

He stopped by the spice aisle and picked up a random jar. “What’s this?”

“Cumin.”

“Sounds like a spell.”

“It kind of is.”

Then we went back to my place. I chopped onions while he dramatically fanned his eyes.

“Now you know how Pearl feels every time you talk.”

He threw a kitchen towel at me. I let it hit my face for the drama of it all.

“You ever think about quitting med school and opening a restaurant?” he asked, slicing garlic way too neatly.

“No, but I’ve considered faking my death.”

“Too messy. Your handwriting would give you away.”

We worked quietly after that. Kind of synced, the way we always were. I cooked, he stirred. He washed, I plated. We didn’t need instructions, just glances and small jokes in between.

“You’re really good at this,” he said, wiping his hands.

“Feeding people or being tragically underappreciated?”

“Both.”

His shoulder brushed mine. I didn’t move away. Neither did he.

...----------------...

Pearl opened the door in a hoodie three sizes too big and socks that didn’t match.

“Danny?” she blinked, then grinned. “You cooked?”

“For you. Don’t get used to it.”

Her face lit up when she saw Seth. “No way!”

“Hey, Little Pearl.”

She turned to Seth. “And you! Where’ve you been, disappearing side character?”

“I came back for the food arc.”

“You’re taller than I remember.”

“You’re shorter than I remember.”

She rolled her eyes but hugged him anyway. “Come in before someone thinks you’re a lost puppy.”

We ate on the floor on the rooftop of her dorm, trading stories like nothing had changed.She talked about her roommates, who all hated each other, and Seth told her stories about my tragic kitchen habits.

“He once tried to make noodles in a kettle.”

“It worked,” I muttered.

“Barely,” he said.

“Didn’t you vanish to some mysterious dimension?” she asked, arms crossing. “Or were you just ghosting my brother like the rest of us?”

He laughed. “Both.”

She looked between us. “You guys are weirdly close. ”

“Not as wired as your sad playlist. ”

When we finally left, Pearl hugged me too tight and smacked Seth’s shoulder just because.

“Next time, bring dessert.”

“Next time, cook for us,” I said.

“Harsh.”

Seth nudged my arm as we walked.