#puncook

𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧  𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨  —  𝙛𝙖𝙧  𝙩𝙤𝙤  𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡  𝙞𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧𝙬𝙖𝙮.   he doesn’t say anything to the cook for awhile, the two of them alone in the kitchen, just staring at one another. 

𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧  𝙝𝙖𝙨  𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨  𝙘𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙  𝙛𝙤𝙧  𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛.   he’s got a couple memories of mum being well enough to scrape together some dinner or breakfast for him and dad, but most of the time it’s peter managing to pull together whatever odd ingredients they’ve got in the pantry to fix up something edible.  the good nights are when it’s just him, alone to figure out if the concoction he’s tossed together is better than going hungry. 

he’s gotten better as he’s gotten older, fending for himself in his own flat.  still not up to a culinary standards, it seems. 

@puncook​ said:  ‘ what’s the deal with you two? ‘ to REBECCA!

            sitting at the kitchen table, morning light streaming through, but becs is still half-asleep. (luckily, both flora and miles are both still sleeping, themselves, and she does not have to try to wrangle them without this first cup of tea. but she does, it seems, have to wrangle this question. the only sign of any discomfiture comes with an extra little clatter of the spoon against her cup, the flutter of a blink. 

            the truth is that she knows exactly what he means - - of course she does. she knows that none of them are blind, all of them can see the way she and peter look at each other, can feel the way the air changes when the two of them are together in a room. 

            “i don’t ask you about hannah, owen,” she says, and though it’s spoken gently there’s still a reprimand there, somewhere. too long she’s spent with other people prying into what should only be her affair, she doesn’t want to let that start happening here. “besides, it’s much too early for such things. will you pass me the marmalade, please?”