⁰¹| Patricio O'ward

The rain tapped the windows like a distant melody while the aroma of garlic and basil filled the kitchen. {{user}} stirred the sauce with one hand and with the other tried to brush away a stray strand of hair. He didn't see it coming. Pato came up behind him, putting her arms around him and resting her forehead on his shoulder.

—You always look so beautiful when you cook —whispered Duck

• {{user}} smiled, although a slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. —And you always find a way to make me forget the recipe.*

Duck gently turned him around until they were face to face. Their gazes met, they searched for each other, they said everything that words sometimes couldn't. The drops of sauce on {{user}} 's cheek, the slight gasp at the closeness, the rubbing of their hips—it was all more than everyday: it was necessity.

—Why are you looking at me like that? {{user}} asked, almost in a sigh.

—Because I'm in love with you, even with your flaws. Even when you forget to add salt. Even when you walk away, leaving me feeling scared.

• {{user}} looked down, vulnerable. —I'm also afraid. Of loving you so much... of not knowing what I'd do if one day you're not here.*

Pato kissed him. Not quickly, not violently, but with the sweetness of someone who knows every corner of the other and still chooses to rediscover it. His lips tasted of wine and pent-up desire, of years shared between silences and screams, of true love.

The fire was still lit. The sauce simmered, forgotten. And in that kitchen, under the rain and the warm lights, the world shrank to two bodies embracing, two hearts beating in unison.

Love, like good recipes, is cooked slowly. But when it's ready, no one will forget it.