#rj3

His mind had slipped. Just a fraction of a second. It was a sound or maybe a spice , he wasn't sure. He just knew he had floated away to a world of sounds and smells of tea and desert. Not even bad, just a distant memory like closing your eyes and listening to the ocean. That daydreaming phase was enough for the food he was preparing to burn.

"Ah Shit." he muttered under his breath. Hopping to the kitchen, he opened the oven. Now he wasn't the most skilled cook in the world, but he could cook up some things. As he went for the pan, his hand touched the hot metal. In his haste he hadn't properly covered his hand. "FUCK" he yelped as he let go, all of it just crashing to the floor.

Jack deeply sighed , now standing in a mess of a kitchen, a hand angry and pulsing, while the other holding the counter for balance. He wasn't bad at balancing, but turning to the sink with potatoes and sauce all around was not really the easiest task , especially to avoid any slipping.

❝ hey. i’ve got you. ❞ Of course the commotion had alerted Robby. Jack turned his head as he was coming to help him. There was relief in a way. Mostly because he was kind of trapped. "I'm fine, It's not too bad. The floor had it worse " He insisted on reassuring his husband as he guided his hand under the cool water. His eyes stayed on Robby, not on his hand. And every time he did , he knew that Robby really got him, just as he got Robby. They both had shadows with which they were dancing, and yet they were always present for each other. He felt lucky for that, felt like he wouldn't have come as far as he did in therapy without him.

she had always had an eye for aesthetics. after all, it was her job, but for rosalie, art was about more than just pretty paintings and realistic portraits. it was about seeing what lived underneath - the artist sweating and obsessing over one brushstroke, the model being involved in an affair, even what went on in the background.