The process of dating or not often didn't appeal to me. The formality of it, the way you had to calculate all of your actions, intents, and prove to another that you are a stand up individual who is exactly who they say they are. That you're accountable, respectful, genuine, kind, sympathetic... All of the adjectives that describe a good man or woman. The process that you endured to decide whether or not you wanted to share an intimate part of yourself with another had always struck me as brutally uncomfortable and something that you might right out as a standardized operating policy, instead of the way you decide if you want to adopt a significant other. In my humble experience, the act of dating happened accidentally with adventures turning into cherished moments turning into times that you desired their company, into times when their company was all that you wanted. Granted, it would sound strange that my experience is fairly limited but that would stand to be the truth. And each time I had found myself in a relationship, it had happened accidentally and out of a blissful kind of ignorance about any kind of presence of the future. The idea of planning the future had become somewhat of an issue for me after... After I'd lost the ability to make that choice on a relatively fateful night in the very early morning of a spring day that should have been the best day of my life. The period following that expanse of time rendered me guarded and in a complete disparity of intimate relationships. I wouldn't have chosen any other way, not with the amount of soil I'd buried those gates under. The soil seemed to have been blown about by the existence of the young witch I found myself in the kitchen of, incredibly unaware of how familiar the scene really should have been. Being a wallflower would have given me much more insight to the way I watched her, and the way my eyes were brighter when she was in view.

I believe I'm the definition of in over my head.

"I'm inclined to say yes, but I'll leave it to my imagination."

Obviously, she'd found a way of surviving despite her lack of utilities in her kitchen. For a moment, I longed for the culinary art that was remaining dormant and stagnant on my countertops for the time being. Had I only known the state that the kitchen would be in! The idea of Serafina attempting to unwrap a package of ground beef and even stick it in the ... what, one frying pan that was in her cabinet - brought a smile to my lips as if the idea was as amusing as it was endearing. There was very little I couldn't do in a kitchen, even if the ingredients were sparse and the materials not so useful. Now, on the subject of fantastical abilities while it's understood I have a handful, technology and electronics are not one of them. I could break a television faster than you could even imagine, and in fact it is a talent I would be ready to boast. Instead, the line of humorous thoughts changed their currents direction towards what I should have recognized as familiar territory as the young witch slid between me and the area the cutting board was situated on. God, it was as tempting as the ripest peach just within reach to pick that I could relinquish hold of the knife and let it cut by itself as it was more or less already doing, and pull her closer. Those thoughts reached an eddy in their river, swarming almost desperately at the shore in that I was so, so very tempted to allow myself to indulge in the very behavior I had wanted to from the moment her lips had touched my skin in the back of her shop. We both knew I was encouraging a game, though, and instead of allowing myself to bring her tighter against me I stepped back but not before letting my fingers rest on her hip a moment or so longer than necessary.

"Cider vinegar won't make you sick unless it's â€"" I looked at the expiration, and could only offer her a short laugh. "expired. I stand corrected. It will make you sick."

The bland olive oil stared mockingly at me, as if returning my cross stare. Her clear admonishment of my deliberate dissatisfaction elicited a smirk, and at the request that I take the trip to the market allowed my smirk develop into a broader, more amused smile as I moved to oblige her request. I would be able to run the errand quickly, but I wouldn't walk out the door without pausing to pose her a question that had a variety of acceptable answers.

"Is there anything else you'd like?"

---

"Here is where you help me before going back to lounging around while I slave away in your kitchen."

The door opened with a little more force than Davante had touched it with, allowing the energy to pass through before him, curious of what awaited it inside.

True to the probability of a short trip, I returned to Sera's home laden with an armful of paper bags to stock her kitchen with precisely what I intended to use. As I walked in, it struck me that the building was far colder than when I'd originally arrived which struck me as strange, considering I often ran hot. She didn't seem bothered though, so I kept the thought to myself before quickly setting up a prep station. And infact, she seemed more or less indifferent to my return. I put the knife in my hand down, brows furrowed only briefly.

"You don't have to," I started to say, wondering if she was unamused by the suggestion to come help me. It had seemed like the perfect situation to play, to tease... I was often not wrong about my instincts on things like that; rarely did I misread someone. It seemed like that had been exactly what she wanted, before. What had changed in the incredibly brief period?

The young blonde woman had materialized with a gentle force, but the force would command attention. Her expression remained blank as she would survey the evident surroundings, deeming one of the chairs at the table satisfactory. Wordlessly would she take in the scene, her large green eyes falling heavily on the pretty brunette witch who was set up in the room as well in an almost expectant manner. She would be sitting upright, her hands folded delicately in her lap, although it would look as if nothing was delicate about her beside her youthful appearance. The young woman remained expressionless until her gaze fell on Davante's back, letting every line in her face soften remarkably. It would look as if she wanted to speak, wanted to reach out and touch him when instead, her gaze fell back on the brunette, any sign of remorse and heartbreak that had been written on her face fading away. "How well do you think you know him?She would ask without hesitation, before standing and gently trailing her fingers over the countertop, one hand fluidly reaching to gently brush her own eyes before slowly reaching to touch the small of his back.

Had I done something absent mindedly? Rarely would I worry about my behavior, as it had become relatively obvious to me that Serafina could make her own judgments based off of prior behavior or ... I don't know, whatever it is intelligent females use to do such a thing.

"I'm sorry; listen, I can get this in the oven really quickly and head out if you'd prefer..."

He would have turned around at the exact moment her fingers graced his back, as if he was responding to the touch. "Never would I have imagined you here. Whole, healthy, alive..." Her words were so soft that she wasn't sure the witch would hear her. It was obvious that Davante wouldn't; obvious that he was years, and years beyond a belief that he might be able to speak with her again. Would the witch offer that solace?

Would the witch understand? With a pointed look, she would turn her head to view the witch once more, her face falling expressionless once more as well â€" save for the marred, resigned nightmare emblazoned in her eyes, as if waiting for the witch to question the man in her kitchen â€" the man she'd desperately wanted to see, even if only once more.