Flambae's love language, as everyone agrees, is obviously through cooking/food. Cooking is a big part of who he is, all of his happy memories are either in a kitchen, or around the dinner table. He feels closer to his parents when he makes a traditional dish, closer to home. Cooking makes him feel closer to everyone. He cooks for his friends, brings in homemade sweets for coworkers to try, meal preps for his family, anything to provide.
So when he meets Robert "consumes nothing but twinkies and coffee" Robertson, that caretaker side really comes out. Flambae makes it his personal mission to put some more meat on the dispatcher's bones, and starts bringing in extra food "on accident" and uses the excuse that it would be such a waste to throw good food out when Robert questions the offered meals. And Robert never turns down a single meal, the man just about licks the container clean every time, so Flambae knows he appreciates it.
When they eventually start dating, and Flambae has more of an excuse to feed Robert, he doesn't shy away from it anymore. He packs his boyfriend elaborate lunches every day, trying to outdo himself every time.
Then they move in together, and Flambae realizes Robert can actually cook?? Not even just "good enough to survive" kind of cooking. No, Robert has a cookbook from his mom, with almost every recipe memorized to the point where he knows how best to alter each one. Robert's good at cooking, he just chose not to because he didn't have the time or the resources to for the longest time.
But now he does have time and resources, and as hot as it is watching his boyfriend bustle about in his kitchen, Flambae feels worthless, undesirable.
Cooking is his thing, and Robert apparently doesn't need Flambae to do it for him.
So, Flambae cuts back on how often he cooks, lets Robert take over more and more. Robert's happy to show off his mom's recipes, and Flambae's happy to critique them, but beneath that he feels like he lost the most redeeming part of himself.
Flambae hasn't cooked in a week. No breakfasts, no lunches, no dinners, no random treats. Nothing. Robert handled all of it, and Flambae just. . . Let him. They didn't talk about it, didn't plan out days they'd be cooking, Robert just quietly took over and Flambae felt like he was losing his mind over it.
He wanted to cook, but Robert clearly had it handled. He didn't have anything else to do though, didn't have any other way of expressing himself. It felt like prison all over again- no cooking, no hobbies, no setting fires when the frustration of that boiled over. Except, that was an awful way of viewing it, because life with Robert wasn't imprisoning, he wasn't fucking trapped with him!
They'd just gotten off of a long shift, and Flambae was mentally preparing for another night of Robert's cooking. His boyfriend kept sneaking glances at him throughout the drive, but Flambae didn't comment on it. He didn't know what they were for, but it could wait until they got back home.
Actually, it could wait until Flambae showered, and changed, and texted Prism, and flipped through shows on the TV. He refused to look at the kitchen the whole time, letting Robert do whatever.
Although Robert didn't once enter the kitchen. He followed Flambae around the apartment, looking more and more confused the longer Flambae avoided his favorite room. He sat on the couch next to Flambae, watching him with that intensely calculative look of his, before speaking.
"Bae, when are you going to cook again?" He asked, throwing Flambae off. "I miss your food."
"What?" Flambae asked, very eloquently.
"I like the stuff you make, I was just wondering why you haven't been cooking." Robert shrugged his shoulders like it was a casual conversation, but his eyes screamed concern.
"I mean, I can if you want me to, but I thought you liked cooking? With your whole, recreating childhood dishes and shit," Flambae pointed out, waving a hand in the general direction of the kitchen. Robert laughed, short and sharp like Flambae said something incorrect.
"I don't like cooking, I just figured you were burnt out, I thought I'd take over until you felt more like yourself. I may have my mom's recipes, but you have more of a love for making food than I do."
". . . Oh." Flambae couldn't think of anything better to say, too stunned to really think. This fucker cooked for him out of. . . What, concern? Because he thought Flambae was tired of it?
"I'll still cook tonight," Robert tacked on, "If you're still burnt out, I just really miss watching you work." And, that certainly got Flambae's mind running.
"Bitch, I don't get burnt out!" Flambae scoffed, pushing himself upright, "Fine, I'm taking away your kitchen privileges, have fun getting it back, biitch." He walked straight into the kitchen, dragging out ingredients and utensils without really thinking about what he was using them for.
"Oh no, whatever shall I do," Robert snarked in a deadpan, trailing after Flambae. He stood at a distance, watching him work from the doorway.
The air was warm, and Flambae relaxed back into the motions of chopping vegetables, tossing pans, stirring pots. All of it settled the uneasiness in his bones, and he felt so much more like himself as he poured his affections into his cooking.
All the while with Robert very obviously staring at his ass.
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