Archive of Our Own

“So, Andy. When’s the big party?” Joe slides into the chair between Andy and Booker in the beer garden of their favourite pub. He carefully pushes the drinks he just got from the bar – beers for Andy and Booker, a ginger ale for him – towards them, and they clink their glasses in acknowledgement.

“It’s not the big party yet, that one isn’t for another year and a half at least.” Andy smirks. “But Quynh and I are having an engagement party the Sunday after next, and you’re both coming, no arguments. I don’t even expect any gifts.”

Booker chuckles into his beer. “I still can’t wrap my head around it. No offense, boss.” The nickname is a relic from their student days, when Joe worked odd jobs as he stumbled his way through university, including a night shift unpacking wares at a local supermarket with Booker. Andy had technically been their supervisor, but since she started the game of “How Many Packets Of Frozen Peas Can You Catch Until One Hits You In The Face” more often than she stopped Joe and Booker from them, they soon struck up a friendship based on oddly competitive games and her resolute refusal to mother him and Booker. The supermarket is a long time in their past now, but the nickname stuck.

“But if you’d told me ten years ago I’d one day come to your engagement party, I’d have, I don’t know,” Booker makes a vague gesture.

“Laughed, then rolled over to sleep off your hangover?” Joe asks, grin full of mirth.

“That.” Booker shrugs to Andy’s mock-wistful sigh.

“Same,” she says.

“On both accounts, probably,” Booker says and clinks their beer glasses together as Joe rolls his eyes. He’s long since lost count of the amount of times he was the one who’d get up to make breakfast and coffee strong enough to raise the dead while Andy and Booker sat slumped against each other on his couch, clutching their heads in pain. Still. Who doesn’t like being told they’re a lifesaver?

“Fair. But the difference is, I’ve always known how to keep a woman happy.” Andy winks at Booker.

“Oh, low blow,” he mutters into his pint, but still grins when Joe jostles him.

“And some days that includes throwing a party for all our friends to meet because we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Joe smiles at her, wide and charmed. Try as Andy might, he has always looked up to her as, if not a role model, then at least a sort of older sister he never had. Someone who’s had to fight a lot to have the life she has now, and who he’ll never stop being delighted to see happy. “So how many people are coming?”

“Be honest: Are we the only ones who are coming from ‘your side’?” Booker’s back to a shit-eating grin.

“Hey!” Andy smacks his shoulder, but this gives Joe an idea.

“Ohhh, are we going to meet your family?”

“Definitely not.” Andy looks at him in horror, and Booker leans over to very loudly whisper in Joe’s ear: “We are the only people coming from her side.”

“I’ve got other friends, you know. There’ll be like thirty people there and they’re not all Quynh’s colleagues.”

Booker and Joe share a doubtful look, but as so often, it is only to rile Andy up. Quynh does have a lot of colleagues. And if she isn’t friends with all of them, at least a lot of them want to be, from what Joe can tell.

“Wait, did you say thirty people?” he asks, “How are you going to fit that many people into your flat?”

Andy smiles. “Quynh talked our landlord into giving us the rooftop terrace for the weekend without payment, which is great, means we can get a caterer.”

“What? Why would you get a caterer?”

“Because there’ll be thirty people there, Joe.” Andy shoots him a glance with raised eyebrows. “Do you honestly think I’d cook for thirty people?”

Joe knows he’s frowning, and he suspects that’s why Booker laughs at him.

“Well, no, but that’s what friends are for! And having it catered doesn’t guarantee good food. Have you ever had a catering company that got quiche right?” He’s never gotten quiche right, but that’s not the point. He’s not even entirely sure why he’s protesting, except that he knows Andy and Quynh are people who can be endlessly private and personal, and food is about as personal as it gets. Getting a soulless catering company to make the food for a day that’s supposed to be about the two of them doing something for their friends, together, seems wrong somehow. “Why don’t you let one of us cook?”

Andy looks like she’s surprised to hear this as she casts her eyes between Joe and Booker, to which Booker immediately raises his hands in self-defence. “Oh no no no, that’s entirely on Joe, don’t drag me into this.”

Joe rolls his eyes but Andy looks torn. “I don’t know, Joe, that sounds like it would be a lot of work, are you sure?”

“You already said you don’t want gifts, but we’ve known each other for what? Fifteen years?” He leans across the table to pat Andy’s arm, smiling at her. “Let me do this for you.”

“No offense, man,” Booker interjects. “But do you even know how to cook for thirty people?”

“Sure,” Joe responds before he can think any deeper about it. He might have to get some bigger pots, but it’s summer. The phrase ‘cold buffet’ is his best friend right now. Not Booker. Booker can fuck off.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He needs to not roll his eyes again. “Andy, I’d love to do this for you and Quynh,” he says, once more and then just hopes his best puppy-dog smile will do the rest. It does.

“Alright.” Andy smiles but takes a gentle swipe at his face as if to wipe the expression of it. “But please don’t think that means you’re saving us any money, you know we’re just going to get someone to look after drinks now instead. Unless, Booker-“

He interrupts her there. “You know I’m much better at drinking than mixing, boss.”

They laugh and toast and Joe wraps his arm around Andy’s shoulders, pulling her into a sideways hug until she nearly topples off her chair. He loves her so much, and he knows cooking for her party will actually make him enjoy it more than if he just showed up with a bottle of wine on the day. Now he just has to find some recipes that easily replicate for up to thirty people. But really. How hard can it be?

What was he thinking? Well, he was probably thinking that he’s never backed down from a challenge and that day wasn’t the day to start. Really, though, what was he thinking?

Mentioning quiche at the pub had set the idea in his head, so that’s where he’s starting. In front of him on the counter is a stack of cookbooks. They all have a recipe for quiche. None of them have the same recipe, none of them can even agree on what temperature to cook the thing. Joe refuses to be bested by quiche.

Frustrated, he pulls out his laptop and starts searching. There seem to be endless pins and blogs and vlogs and influencers and while he’s not regretting volunteering for this, he’s starting to regret not drinking. Fourth down on the second page of search results is a blog called Please Stop Ruining Your Food, and just the name makes Joe laugh.

Clicking on it, he sees that the author has a dry wit, beautiful hands, and serious skills.

The owner of the blog calls himself DG, and it seems that each of his posts is a guide to properly cooking something he’s seen ruined. Either he’s had a bad version at a restaurant, a friend has made a version that made him want to herd them out of the kitchen, or, in one memorable instance, an entire wedding reception dinner that was completely inedible. (Frankly, Joe wants to write this man a thank-you note simply for having a blog that isn’t choked with sidebar ads, thirty thousand affiliate links, auto-play videos, and offers to put the ingredients in his virtual shopping cart.)

The post that had come up in his search results is called Stop Ruining Quiche . It seems that whenever several posts fit together in a theme, DG has grouped them as a series because Stop Ruining Quiche appears to be part of a series called, Stop Ruining Brunch. In addition to Stop Ruining Brunch, there’s a series helpfully titled Stop Ruining Parties. Joe bookmarks that one for a later visit.

Tonight, he’s here for the quiche. Unlike so many cooking blogs Joe scrolled past, this entry doesn’t start with the blog owner’s life story, or some clever anecdote about the time he had this same dish in a little cafe, oh where was that again? Somewhere near Montmartre? It’s hard to remember; that whole weekend was a whirlwind from the moment their boyfriend surprised them with a romantic getaway. (Joe hates those posts.) The entry includes a few common ways quiche goes wrong (rubbery, overfilled, crust like a slab of concrete) before listing the ingredients for the recipe, common substitutes or alternatives, then proceeding to the steps, pictures, and videos.

Each step is concise without being vague and thorough without being wordy. The pictures are bright, detailed and helpful. Joe finds his attention unexpectedly caught by the videos. There’s no narration, just music - Joe thinks it might be opera - and it’s nice to see the techniques demonstrated, particularly things like how thick the mixture should be, or how to dice onions without chopping off your fingers. Most importantly, they feature DG’s hands.

Until this evening, Joe wouldn’t have thought he had a “hand thing,” but apparently this has been waiting for a chance to make itself known. DG’s hands are wide, with long, competent fingers. He’s not delicate in any way; but the way his broad hand makes his wrist look narrow is doing something to Joe’s knees that’s making it difficult to stand.

The entire post is easy to read, easy to follow, and has ‘helpful tips’ that are actually helpful. He doesn’t call them ‘helpful tips,’ of course. They’re titled The Voice of Experience. At the step detailing the instructions for blind-baking the crust, for example, is this tip:

"The Voice of Experience says if at this point your mother calls and distracts you for too long and you end up overbaking the crust, don’t get discouraged. Accidents happen, that’s why we made enough dough for two.”

What interests Joe most, and the reason it came up on his search results at all, is the box at the bottom labeled, Bonus: How you’re ruining mini-quiches, and how to stop.

I’ve seen this so many times I fear I will start seeing it in my dreams soon—A tiny quiche, dry and wrinkled, its crust crumbling away before you even pick it up. Perhaps the tiny quiche makes it all the way to your mouth. If so, I hope you brought something to read, because you’ll be chewing for hours. Or perhaps it will only feel like hours. Thankfully, I can help you avoid this fate for your guests. Here’s the trick to making a mini-quiche that’s actually good: Stop making it the same way you make a regular quiche. Seems obvious, yes? Of course it does NOW.

The angle of the tin is going to be more acute than with a regular pie tin, so you’ll need to roll the crust thinner, and be careful not to let it build up in the corners. Don’t overdo it on the ingredients. And most importantly, don’t overcook it. The cooking time for a mini quiche is dramatically lower than that of a regular one. Start with half the time, use the knife trick I showed you in the main recipe. Whatever you do, don’t reheat it in a microwave. Don’t worry, it’s going to taste great, and you won’t find one half-eaten and dumped in your potted plant later. (Sorry, A!)

He mentally adds another few lines to DG’s thank-you note.

Joe tries the recipe; it’s so good he has to sit down for a minute. It’s changed his opinion on quiche. He saved a little bit of crust and a little bit of egg mixture to test a mini-quiche. Using the knife trick he finds the cooking time is about two-thirds of the time for the large quiche. The mini one is incredible, too.

Whoever DG is, he just saved Joe’s life and Andy’s party.

Over the next week and a half, Joe tries several more of DG’s recipes. There’s one for brie and pear sandwiches that Joe likes but decides would be better with tart apples. (He’s right.) The recipe for crab-stuffed mushroom caps was probably quite nice. Joe doesn’t really remember, he just knows that one minute the tray was full, and the next it was empty and he was sitting on the couch, full and happy. The broccoli bisque is fine, he supposes, he’s just not a broccoli fan, apparently. From there he moves on to the puff pastry with spinach and ricotta, which tastes entirely too good for how easy it is to make.

The Voice of Experience says: Could you make your own puff pastry? Sure. Will you be able to tell the difference between that and store bought? Probably not, and especially not once you put spinach and ricotta in it. I promise you, puff pastry from the freezer section will not ruin your party.

It takes a few test batches to get the technique down. The first set doesn't rise. The second set the filling spilled out everywhere. The third set was perfect. Emboldened by his success swapping apple for pear in the brie sandwiches, Joe tries a batch with feta instead of ricotta. He tries a few sweet ones as well, smaller versions of the recipes in the Stop Ruining Dessert (It’s impressive just hearing that someone was able to ruin it. It’s dessert!) series. One of the pictures shows a rhubarb crumble with fresh cream and Joe makes a note to try that one later, just for himself.

By the weekend of Andy and Quynh’s party, Joe is feeling like he might actually pull this off. Of course, the proof of how effective his learning has been, is what Joe has at the end of the second week that he didn’t have when he first offered to cook:

• Recipes for eight different savoury appetisers and two sweet ones
• The confidence to break out from the original recipe and change some flavors
• The ability to dice onions without cutting off a finger
• Some kind of supernatural ability to know when the butter is about to go from “brown butter” to “rinse the pan out and try again”
• A “hand thing”
• Several more recipes he wants to try, just for fun
• And, though it might sound silly given that he’s never seen the man, a bit of a crush on DG.

The party is on Sunday, Joe takes Friday off work to start cooking. That day is mostly prep work, cutting, making dough, making sure he has everything he needs. On Saturday, Joe finds out why caterers charge the kind of money they do. He starts just after his morning run and cooks straight through to just after two in the morning. Exhausted, nearly propping his eyes open with his fingers to stay awake, Joe takes the time to do one last thing.

By the time he realises he forgot to sign his name, Joe has already started to drool onto his pillow.

Andy and Quynh’s engagement party is on a lovely day, uncharacteristically warm for early spring, and Nicky can already tell it’s going to be the conversation starter of the hour. He doesn’t mind, usually – warm weather is unusual in London after all – but he barely knows anyone at the party apart from Andy, Quynh, and Nile, and he’d rather not make small talk about the weather with thirty different people.

No, he hasn’t seen Andy and Quynh in ages ever since he changed jobs and got so busy, and he’d much rather spend an evening just with them to celebrate their engagement rather than a big party. He will have to organise something separately. Maybe Nicky can cook for them, Andy loves his lasagna.

“Nicky! You made it!” Quynh nearly jumps into his arms the second he sets foot on their roof terrace, and Nicky laughs into the embrace, hugging her tight. Her girlfriend—fiancée—finds them still clinging to each other, and Nicky pulls her into a big hug as well, sighing a little. Quynh and Andy were some of the first friends he made when he moved to London, and by some small miracle are his friends still even as life started to pull them into different directions. At this point, it’s probably safe to say that they are very much his best friends.

“Congratulations, both of you,” Nicky says once he lets go off Andy, “I’m very happy for you.”

“What, no ‘took you long enough’?” Quynh winks at him and loops her arm around Andy’s waist, pulling her into her side. “That’s what everyone else led with today.”

Nicky frowns at her a little, shrugs. “It took you as long as you needed it to, no? If it was going to happen, it was always going to happen.”

“Nicky.” Andy looks like the only reason she’s not rolling her eyes at him is that he’s, well, him, but her voice is warm. “I’m not going to deal with that much sincerity being as sober as I am. Let me take you to the bar?” She nods towards the far end of the roof terrace, where a large table is holding a truly impressive number of green and brown bottles, as well as what Nicky thinks are a few punch bowls. He makes a mental note to ask if Quynh has made them, to gauge how deadly they’re going to be before he tries them. “We’ve got an impressive number of spirits thanks to Joe.”

“Who’s Joe?” Nicky asks.

“An old friend of mine. Have you not met? I thought I’d introduced you to each other years ago.”

Nicky tries to remember if Andy ever introduced him to someone named Joe – there was a time when Quynh insisted on setting him up on a string of blind dates, but they decidedly do not talk about that period in their lives – and comes up short.

“No, I don’t think so. Is he a barkeeper?”

Andy and Quynh share a look and then start laughing. “Oh, no, he’s a professor, but he offered to do our catering today,” Quynh says.

Andy gives him a wicked grin. “So we decided to splash out on the bar.”

“You got someone to do your catering and didn’t ask me?” Nicky isn’t sure how to feel about these news. On the one hand, there is no way he would have had the time and energy to cook for thirty people in the past days. On the other, his cooking skills have been a point of pride for him, thank you very much, and as far as sins go, one he gladly confesses to.

Quynh touches his shoulder and looks at him with concern. “Nicky, you told me yesterday you’ve barely been able to sleep the last few weeks.”

This is true, but it wasn’t exactly his fault the prime minister called for the third election in as many years during Nicky’s first week as a reporter on a national newspaper. For what it’s worth, there is a certain rush to covering political news Nicky enjoys, but he’ll be glad to see the news cycle quieting down again over the next couple of weeks before ramping up just before the election.

“We’re just happy you were able to come in the first place,” Quynh says, “We’d never have asked anything else of you.”

Andy smiles at her and then turns to Nicky. “Exactly. Now, how about that drink?”

As if to remind him that in addition to missing sleep, Nicky also hasn’t been able to feed himself as much he’d like to, his stomach rumbles in response to Andy’s words. “I really need to eat something before I start drinking, but I will be back to toast your happiness with you.

“You do that,” Quynh says, and presses a kiss to his cheek before he ducks away to where a picnic table with a gingham blanket is heaving under appetisers.

Nicky isn’t a picky eater, per se . He’s the first to tell others that he’ll try anything once, and he lives by that motto. But the emphasis is very much on the once, because while Nicky loves discovering new flavour combinations, there is little as off-putting as food made with the best intentions, and ruined by poor technique. It’s why he started a blog a couple of years ago to show people how to make good food properly. It’s been an outlet for his more creative side whenever his work got too serious, and it’s been his reaffirmation that he was doing something that actually helped people whenever his work felt like it was puff-piece after puff-piece.

He scans the table in front of him and decides to go with a tea sandwich and a cup of tomato soup. Both are things that are basically impossible to fuck up, and--not overthinking it!--Nicky has to say that both are delicious.

The sandwich is brie and tart apple, which he’d probably have paired with pear instead, and if he’d been catering, he’d have probably served a broccoli bisque, but keeping in mind that these weren’t done by a professional caterer – Nicky is suitably impressed.

Halfway through his sandwich, a blonde woman joins him at his table, smiling sweetly. “Beautiful weather we’re having today, don’t you think?”

Nicky swallows, heavily, and nods. Here comes the small talk. “Yes, it’s very warm.”

“It’s so rare this time of year, isn’t it?” the woman continues, “I can’t remember the last time it was this warm in March.”

Nicky hums in agreement, but it’s a distracted hum. What, exactly, is he supposed to say to that? It’s a personal failing of his that, as a European in England, he still doesn’t know how to do small talk. He’s well aware, but that still doesn’t help him in this situation.

“I’m going to-“ he looks around for something that will excuse him from this situation, and his eyes catch on something on the catering table, “get some quiche.”

He smiles at the woman and makes his way over to the table with his paper plate again, stopping in front of the quiches. Their numbers are already fairly depleted, but Nicky knows from experience that doesn’t mean they’ve all been eaten. Quiches, especially mini quiches like these, are fiendishly hard to get right. They don’t look bad at all, on the contrary, they look fine, but his hand still hovers above them, unsure.

“They’re not going to bite you, you know?” a voice says next to him. Nicky flicks his eyes to its owner, a man around his age, with lovely curls, and a bright baritone that immediately puts Nicky at ease.

“You can never be too careful with quiche,” he responds and finally picks one to put on his plate, “I don’t think I’ve ever had quiche from a caterer that was just right.”

“It’s the eggs, isn’t it? They’re always just a little too dry.”

“Exactly.” Nicky smiles up at the man and nearly forgets what he was about to say. The curls he noticed at first glance are lovely alright, but more than that, he’s looking at Nicky with a pair of the warmest eyes and widest smiles he’s ever seen. Nicky looks back at his plate. “Guess I’ll only find out if I try.”

He takes a bite of the mini quiche and notices the man following the motion of Nicky’s fingers with his eyes, or maybe the way Nicky licks one of the flakes from his finger. It should be a little weird, perhaps, but at another glance, Nicky can tell the man looks about as tired as Nicky feels. Still. He’s glad he’s got his paper plate to hold on to, or he’d do something silly with his hands. Like reach out to touch this guy.

“And?” The man asks. Nicky chews a bit longer, trying to identify the flavours in the quiche, then swallows and says: “It’s good. The eggs aren’t overdone at all, although it could do with a bit more salt, maybe.”

The man’s smile gets wider, which Nicky wouldn’t have thought possible. Mainly because the first smile was enough to take his breath away. “I’ll remember for next time.”

Oh. Nicky clears his throat. “I take it you’re Joe?”

“I am, yes.” Joe looks taken aback, and Nicky holds out a hand for him to shake.

“Andy told me you offered to do the catering. I’m Nicky, one of Quynh’s friends.”

“Nice to meet you Nicky.” Joe’s palm is warm against his, and Nicky suddenly feels a lightness in his stomach that has nothing to do with how long he hasn’t eaten anything.

“How do you know Quynh?” Joe asks.

“I used to work at the same magazine as she does,” Nicky says as he finishes his quiche, then takes another, “But I left for a reporter role at a national a few weeks ago. What about you?”

“Andy was my boss during my student days, when I had a job in a supermarket. Didn’t enjoy that as much as I liked studying though, so I lecture in history of art at Courtauld now.”

Nicky nods in recognition. “The Institute of Art? They have a beautiful gallery, I did a piece on London’s hidden artworks when it reopened last winter.”

“Really?” Joe looks impressed, and it makes Nicky wonder what else he can say to keep him looking like this. “Which one was your favourite piece?”

“I remember my editor asking me to focus on the Van Gogh; I think the self-portrait is an easy highlight of the collection. But my personal favourite… hm. I’ll probably have to visit again to have time to really appreciate all of them.”

Joe is still looking at him with this quiet intent and Nicky doesn’t really know why he adds the next thing he says, but by then it’s too late. “The only thing I can tell you now is that it wasn’t the collection of female nudes.”

Joe laughs at that, a full-bellied laugh that makes him throw his head back, curls flying around his head and glinting in the sunlight. He really is breath-takingly beautiful. And he can cook. The preternaturally exhausted part of Nicky’s brain is considering proposing to him right this instant, but the part he likes to call his sensibility, which thankfully is still winning out, reminds him that that would be an insane thing to do.

“Yeah, they are a bit of an acquired taste. I remember Quynh liking them though.”

Nicky glances over to the other end of the roof terrace where Quynh is currently talking Andy into taking off her jacket in the sun.

“But I wasn’t a fan either,” Joe adds, eyes sparkling, and okay, Nicky might not propose to the man immediately, but he should definitely get his number.

They grin conspiratorially at each other for a moment, before they are interrupted by a tall man with an undercut and sunglasses who slings an arm around Joe’s shoulders.

“There you are,” he says to Joe with a hint of an accent, “Can you believe that Andy has this many friends who are not us? I was convinced the whole thing was a hoax until I got here.”

“I can,” Joe says and nudges the guy with his elbow, but there’s fondness in his voice, “some of them are very nice, too. Nicky, the French mess draped around my shoulders here is Booker, Booker, this is Nicky. He used to work with Quynh and is scared of bad quiche.”

Joe winks at Nicky just as he is about to scoff. Booker looks from Joe to Nicky and a lazy grin spreads across his face. “Well, I hope that’s not a euphemism. Nice to meet you, Nicky.” They shake hands. “Listen, I was thinking we should make our way over to the bar and have a little toast to Andy and Quynh while the weather is still nice and people aren’t too drunk to string three sentences together.”

“You mean, you aren’t too drunk to string three sentences together,” Joe says, but Booker only smiles and raises his eyebrow.

“Exactly. Are you coming?”

Booker clearly seems to include Nicky in that statement, and they make their way over to the bar. Nicky makes quick work of the other half of his quiche and makes a mental note to come back for another. He can’t quite place the combination of flavours, but enjoys working them out without asking the chef.

Booker rounds everyone up in record time, appears to improvise a speech that has Quynh clapping in delight and Andy fondly shaking her head, and then makes everyone add something to the toast before handing out shots. The delighted grin on Joe’s face as he watches his friends is distracting, and it strikes Nicky how odd this is, that they should love the same people yet never have met each other.

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Joe about this though, because then Nile spots him in the crowd and insists on having a drink with him and introducing him to some other people she met as well. Before Nicky knows it, he’s had quite a bit to drink, spoken to what feels like everyone at the party except Joe, and finds himself in a queue to the bathroom in Andy and Quynh’s flat. He isn’t usually antisocial, but right then, he is tired and feels a bit wrung out from every conversation he’s had, and when the guy in front of him looks like he might strike up a conversation, he instinctively reaches for his phone.

Nicky rarely checks the email from his food blog, mainly due to the fact that it is a side project. He used to call it a passion project, but then Nile pointed out that he started the blog because he despaired of most of his friends’ culinary skills, and that he should be calling it his “salt project” instead. And Nicky is thirty years old, but he’s not going to do that.

Also that may be how he started the blog, but once he realised how much he seemed to be genuinely helping people cook for their families and friends, it changed how he approached the whole thing. Still, it’s not something he has the capacity to keep up to date with regularly, and so when he opens his inbox, it’s overflowing with emails.

He opens the first one, which doesn’t have a subject line, but takes up his entire screen.

Nicky has received mail from readers before. He’s received angry letters about how he was misconstruing some politician’s speech (he reported on it), he’s received insightful comments that made him think differently about an issue he’s written about, he’s received follow-up questions under his recipes, reviews, and he’s received thank you notes, peppered with personal anecdotes.

But in all the years he’s publicly shared his writing in one way or another, he’s never received an email quite like this.

He reads it twice in quick succession, eyes jumping from phrase to phrase, not sure he completely understands what’s going on. Balm to a worried soul? Stumbling, lost, until I found your website? I felt as though you were beside me, guiding me?

Nicky likes to think of himself as someone who has a way with words, but if he doesn’t watch out, he’ll start blushing in line for the loos. He casts a glance at the bathroom door in front of him – he is now next in line – and figures he’ll draft a reply that he can send later.

“Hey mate, you’re up,” the guy in front of him says, holding open the door to the bathroom. Nicky nods at him in thanks and slides his phone back into his pocket. Yusuf will have to wait.

When Nicky finds his way back to the roof terrace, evening has made way to night, and he can see the first people making their goodbyes. It’s certainly not as warm as it was earlier, and in true English fashion, most did not dress appropriately.

Nicky brought a jacket, but he considers joining in and making his escape now. He really is very tired from the last couple of weeks, and he’s already decided to invite Quynh and Andy over for dinner. They will forgive him, and he can live with being called an old man for a couple of weeks. There’s only one thing he’d like to do before he leaves, and that is-

Nicky is so busy scanning the crowd for a head of dark curls, he almost doesn’t notice Joe sidling up next to him.

“Hey,” Joe says. It’s like he read Nicky’s mind.

“Hello.”

“You look like you’re about to leave,” Joe says, and there is an honest to God pout on his face, even as he looks like he’s suppressing a yawn.

Nicky can’t help the smile that’s spreading on his face. “So do you.”

“I was, I was,” Joe admits, and scratches his neck, “but then I thought I’d check if you had any more opinions about food or art you might want to share with me. Just to make sure.”

“You know, I do,” Nicky says. The smile might not be leaving his face any time soon. “Do you want me to share them with you now?”

“Is there an alternative?”

Nicky shrugs. “You could give me your number. I could text them to you.”

“Only text?” Joe asks, but he’s also beaming up at Nicky, like he knows exactly what Nicky is going to do with his number. He pulls a notebook and a pencil out of a pocket of his jacket and flicks through it until he finds a blank page to scrawl his number on. Then he rips out the page from the book, folds it once and tucks it into Nicky’s pocket. It’s an outdated gesture, but entirely too charming. Nicky shivers a little when Joe’s fingers skim his chest.

“Might give you a call, too.” His voice sounds huskier than it did a moment ago. “Now I’ve got your number, the possibilities are endless.”

They’re still standing close and he can see the dimples carved in Joe’s cheeks when he smiles. Nicky kind of wants to kiss them.

“Well, whatever you decide to do,” Joe says, and turns to leave, “I shall look forward to it.”

“Me too,” Nicky says before he can stop himself. But when Joe winks at him over his shoulder, he can’t bring himself to regret it.

That night, Joe is simultaneously wiped out from the cooking and food prep and buzzing from meeting Nicky. He wants so badly to sleep, but he finds himself sitting on his sofa, staring at the ceiling, spinning daydreams about where he might take Nicky if they were to go out. What would be a good enough date for the most gorgeous man Joe’s ever seen?

Just after three in the morning, Joe jerks awake, still on the sofa. His neck is stiff and his eyes feel like they have sand in them. Still, when he remembers the kind of imaginary scenarios running through his mind when he passed out, Joe can’t help but smile. He shuffles his way to the bedroom and collapses, still fully clothed except for a single sock, and sleeps until his alarm goes off at seven.

In the shower, Joe realizes this is the first evening for weeks that he won’t be poring over one of DG’s recipes trying to perfect it for Andy’s party. Tonight, he can relax and go through one of the recipes just for himself. There was an incredible looking entry under the Stop Ruining Pizza series. He can check the ingredient list on the tube and make sure he picks up anything he needs on the way home.

Flushed with success from his first (and definitely only) catering gig, and the thrill of meeting someone new, Joe is almost whistling when he walks out the door.

Just before lunch, Joe’s phone buzzes on his desk. Turning it over, he sees a new text.

Joe grins. This message means that Nicky turned the paper over and saw the drawing. Earlier in the afternoon, Joe had been watching Nicky from across the room. (He insists he was staring for his art, not out of any baser desires. Don’t believe him.) Quynh had referenced an inside joke, and Nicky’s mouth had curled in a small, quiet smile. His eyes had softened and crinkled at the corners and Joe had found himself leaning against the wall so his knees didn’t give out. He’d had no choice, the desire to draw Nicky had been undeniable, and he’d congratulated himself for always having a small pad and pencil on him at all times.

Part of him is a little sad that he’d given the drawing away, but if this goes well, he’ll have more chances to draw Nicky in the days to come. He quickly creates a new contact for the phone number before replying.

They decide to settle the specifics later in the week, and Joe finds himself excited for a date in a way he hasn’t since he was a teenager.

On a whim, before putting his phone down, Joe checks his personal email. Most of his friends communicate via text, but his parents still check in by email from time to time. He’s not expecting a reply to his exhaustion-fueled ode to DG and his blog, so he’s surprised to see that’s the first message in his inbox.

Preparing himself for a note politely asking if he’s some kind of deranged stalker, Joe is surprised to find the email is very short, very curt, and very dismissive.

Joe stares at it. He’d poured his heart out, praised the man’s skills and technique. He’d tried to convey the kind of emotional resonance this man’s writing had on his life and the way his life was better for having found the blog. He used the phrase ‘you saved my life’ and what he got back was ‘That is good for you’?

Even no answer at all would be better than this.

Joe is halfway through a caustic, multi-paragraph reply when he realises he’s letting his irritation get the better of him, that really he’s embarrassed to have bared his soul like that and been dismissed. He discards the draft and takes a few deep breaths. That helps a little, but a long walk around the building a few times helps even more.

That night he orders pizza and tries to pretend he’s not doing it out of sheer pettiness.

The next day starts with a text from Nicky, and that’s all Joe needs to be smiling on his way to work. He gets a few more messages from Nicky through the rest of the day. Nothing big, just little observations, comments on people or things he sees, a snarky little comment about how long it takes some people to order coffee. Every message brings a smile to Joe’s face, every message makes him feel more excited for their upcoming date.

Joe starts the messages the next day. He sends a note about the cute puppy his neighbor just adopted. Nicky replies with a picture of his next-door neighbor’s cat, a big lazy tabby with the kind of superior gaze only a cat can achieve. Joe absolutely cannot wait to spend hours with this man just talking and watching his face.

Somehow, through the distracting power of his text thread with Nicky, his workload, and sheer force of will, Joe manages to make it until Wednesday night before replying to DG. It’s not an email that needs a reply, but for Joe it’s a matter of principle at this point. In a move he will admit is pettiness, he signs it with his formal name. Only friends, family, and gorgeous green-eyed Italians get to call him ‘Joe.’

Nicky is having what may well be both the best and worst week of his life. The coverage situation does not slow down as much as he'd hoped, and he continues to work late into the evenings, waiting outside Westminster Palace just for soundbites. But waiting isn't so much of a problem when he has a beautiful, talented, artistic, funny, kind - Nicky is beginning to run out of adjectives - man to text to keep his mind occupied with the nice things in life.

Like art. And laughter. And food. More specifically, food at his favourite Indian place that he'd love to take Joe to, if only it was already Thursday.

So, Nicky feels he can and should be forgiven for forgetting about Stop Ruining Your Food for a while.

In the end it isn’t until he’s already in bed on Wednesday night, laughing at a selfie Joe sent him wearing a backwards cap - to prove he was “down with the kids”, as he’d heard his students say, but Nicky had to tell him he’s not sure he accomplished that - that it suddenly hits him he never replied to the gushing comment he read on the weekend.

He sits boltright up in bed and reaches for his laptop, which even at home is never far from him. Technically, there is no rush to reply to the comment - certainly not after three days, and who knows how long the thing sat in his inbox before then - but Nicky has been so preoccupied with Joe and his job, he knows if he doesn’t do it right then, it’s not going to happen.

To his surprise, the comment is marked as ‘unread’ again when Nicky opens his inbox. But when he clicks on it, he realises why. Actually, he realises two things:

First, that his ‘draft’ reply may have been less of a draft than initially thought.

And second, that it seems to have caused Yusuf to go through what can only be described as the emotional whiplash of the century.

Where on Sunday there was enthusiastic adoration, long-winded and poetic descriptions of how much of a help Nicky had been, now there is- well. Now there is what Nicky would say is a bit of an overreaction to what was clearly a prematurely sent email. And Yusuf’s one for oversharing, apparently.

Nicky rolls his eyes. He’d been halfway through a response that was equally as gushy in his mind, but if Yusuf decides to be petty, then well. Two can play that game.

Joe’s never been less nervous for a first date. Maybe it’s how much they’ve been talking already, maybe it’s just that things were so easy at the party, but all he feels is excited.

After some back and forth, they’d decided on a pub not far from Nicky’s office. Things had been busy with his work lately, and this way they’d not only be close, but if Nicky had to run late, Joe would be able to do some people-watching to occupy himself.

Nicky, as it turns out, is exactly on time. He comes through the door already looking around for Joe. Once he catches sight of Joe, waving his hand to catch Nicky’s attention, his eyes light up and Joe thinks this man is going to be the death of him. It had been hard, at Andy and Quynh’s party, not to lean in and kiss Nicky’s ridiculously adorable nose, and it hasn’t gotten easier in the five days since.

He stands as Nicky comes closer, wondering if they should hug. Joe wants to kiss Nicky, has wanted to kiss him for days; he’d even settle for kissing him on the cheek. The problem is that he can’t think of a way to do that without looking very forward or very French.

In what Joe suspects is about to become a recurring theme this evening, Nicky saves him from himself.

“Hi,” Nicky says. Whether he’s a little breathy from the walk over or Joe’s presence is a matter for debate. He leans in, like it’s nothing at all, and kisses Joe on the cheek before dropping his messenger bag under the table and taking the seat opposite Joe.

It hadn’t been anything special, the dictionary definition of a ‘hello’ greeting cheek kiss, but Joe suspects he’s going to be playing it on a loop in his imagination for days.

“Did you get better looking since Sunday?”

Joe blinks. “Not that I know of?”

”Turn to the left.” When Joe turns, Nicky hums, considering. “You did. You definitely got a little better looking. That’s unfair.”

When he turns back, Joe can see that Nicky is grinning at him. He has to bite his tongue not to point out that if they got on the next plane to Vegas, they could get married and still be back in time for them both to get to work on Monday morning. Determined to get his feet under him again, Joe smiles. “Well, given that you couldn’t possibly get better looking, I’ve got some catching up to do.” He’s smugly satisfied to see the slightest blush across the bridge of Nicky’s nose.

Once they’ve got their food in front of them, the conversation flows as easily as it had at the party. Knowing that Nicky just started at this job, Joe asks him what story he’s working on lately.

”Our editorial focus is on the election at the moment which doesn’t leave space for much else unfortunately, but when I have the time I investigate how much need there is for range anxiety. Basically, if we really don’t have enough charging stations for electric vehicles as many drivers believe, and if the problem is with our infrastructure or just a fabrication by the oil industry. Which I promise is more interesting than it sounds.”

”I think it sounds plenty interesting already. What’s been the most challenging part for you?”

Nicky looks a little startled, as though he’d not been expecting someone would want to know more. He spends a few minutes telling Joe about the obstacles and problems he’d been dealing with and the workarounds he’d found. His fork is waving around like an extension of his hand and Joe thinks somehow it makes Nicky seem even more Italian, and he is hopelessly endeared. ”Was this something you dreamed about doing when you were younger?”

”Writing, yes. Though perhaps not this kind of writing. Still, my dream was to write things that help people and touch people, and hopefully this will do both. So tell me, do you draw everyone you pick up at parties?” Nicky takes another bite, chewing as he waits for Joe’s answer.

”No,” Joe laughs. “Or at least I don’t draw them just because I want to pick them up. I draw people whose faces I find compelling. Sometimes it’s their hands, or their arms. Once, while sitting in the park with my nieces, I drew an old woman walking her dog, simply because her hair was so extraordinarily wild I had to capture it.”

”Did the nieces enjoy that?” Nicky seems genuinely curious.

“I think so? We took turns making up stories about her and her dog, and the adventures they went on together. Holly’s story was the wildest; she thought the dog and the old woman were both aliens here to observe mankind.”

Nicky grins.

“I like her already; I’m a fan of big imaginations.”

”Holly and Simone—Holly’s sister, the eldest—have more imagination in their tiny fingers than most people do in their entire bodies. Most of my first show was paintings inspired by the stories they made up for each other and for me and their parents. They would spin these wild tales and I would just take notes and sketch.”

Nicky’s eyes are wide, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Your first art show? Like in a gallery?”

Joe thinks about the tiny gallery where that show had been hosted. Barely room for ten people and ten paintings, but the way he’d felt when he walked through that door the first time, you’d have thought it was the Tate Modern.

”That’s what it said on the door. Really, it was more of a closet with picture hangers on the wall, but it was a solo show, and every piece in it was special to me.” He can’t keep the fondness from his voice.

”You said your first show?”

Joe’s trying very hard not to feel outrageously flattered by the attention and slightly awestruck tone in Nicky’s voice. “I’ve been lucky enough to have a couple of them. I’m working on finishing enough pieces to consider another one.”

”I would love to hear more about them.”

Winking, Joe says, “If I tell you all that now, how will I convince you to go out with me again?”

Nicky smiles into his lager. “That’s not the trick to getting a second date.”

”Oh, now I’m intrigued.” Joe leans forward, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Care to share the secret?”

With one finger, Nicky beckons him closer and Joe leans further forward. “The secret is, you have to ask.”

Joe’s never been so glad he doesn’t blush easily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

”Should we have dessert?”

Somehow, by sheer force of will, Joe doesn’t open his mouth to say that he’d prefer to have Nicky for dessert. It’s a close thing, though. “I’d like that.”

Scanning the menu, stuck between the sauce bottles, Joe can’t help but grin when he sees a familiar dish. “I’m thinking of having the rhubarb crumble.”

Nicky smiles at him and it’s that same soft smile Joe hadn’t been able to resist drawing at the party. It’s just as devastating the second time, and Joe’s glad he’s sitting down. “I was thinking about that myself.”

Joe rubs his palms on his jeans, oddly anxious at what he’s about to suggest. “Would you like to share one?”

Nicky’s smile spreads across his entire face and Joe’s breath catches in his throat.

“I’d like that very much.”

They talk more about Joe’s nieces, about Nicky’s brother, whose wife is expecting their first. Nicky’s excited to be an uncle; Joe promises to tell him all the best noisy toys to get. It’s a conversation that rambles from travel to families to university parties to the best bad tv shows. Most of all, it’s a conversation that’s easy. Joe never feels like he’s got to force things along or pull information out of Nicky. Everything just flows like this is their tenth date rather than their first.

It isn’t until they’re standing in front of the restaurant, with Nicky’s hair lit golden by the light from the front window, that Joe thinks about DG again. “The prettiest man in the universe,” he’d called Nicky, and looking at him now, it’s still true. He’s stunning, and for a second, Joe can’t think of anything to say.

”Joe?”

Oh God, how long has he been staring? “I had a really nice time, Nicky. Would you like to do this again?”

”I would love to.” Nicky leans in and brushes a kiss over Joe’s cheek. “See, I told you the secret was to ask.”

Joe’s not sure his feet touch the ground until after he’s inside his flat with the door locked behind him.

The evening would have ended so perfectly, if he could have left it there. Instead, he makes the mistake of checking his mail. Reading the reply from DG, Joe can feel the back of his neck get hot and his face get flushed. First with embarrassment at his overreaction to DG’s mistakenly sent message, then with irritation at the multiple misconceptions DG has about him, and about Nicky.

Somehow, and he’s going to credit the lingering buzz of his date with Nicky, the better angels of Joe’s nature prevail and he takes the night to rest and consider his reply rather than just dashing one off. Of course, he could always just let the communication die, but that would mean letting DG continue assuming he’s right about the possibility of anyone being better looking than Nicky, or that Joe needs anyone’s help impressing him. He decides to sign it with his full name again, rather enjoying this epistolary alter ego he’s developed. Yusuf is like Joe, but with better punctuation and a more considered vocabulary.

Nicky closes his laptop, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Yusuf is incorrigible about this teasing. It shouldn’t be so endearing, it really shouldn’t. Perhaps on any other week it wouldn’t be, but this is the week Nicky started seeing Joe, and he knows very well what it’s like to look at the man across the table and think, ‘What is he doing here with me?’

As infuriating as Yusuf’s initial attitude had been, it seems to have mellowed out into a kind of dry humor, and Nicky can appreciate that in a man. Not only that, but there is something warm and compelling about someone so besotted with a new relationship. It almost feels as though Yusuf’s emails should be accompanying a movie montage of picnics and flea market shopping and getting caught in the rain.

The one thing Nicky won’t budge on is Yusuf’s belief that the man he’s seeing is more attractive than Joe. Nicky knows better. He’s seen Joe. No matter how many other points Nicky is willing to concede, on this one he’s not giving an inch. For the sake of a conversation which seems to be growing positively friendly, and which is amusing enough that even with the good-natured barbs, Nicky doesn’t want to stop emailing, he’ll stop pushing it.

Perhaps they can move on to less divisive subjects. How to solve world hunger, maybe, or whether or not Han shot first. Nicky’s phone buzzes and he looks down to see a text from Joe. He smiles thinking about creating this contact and making sure this Joe would never accidentally get a text meant for a writer friend of the same name.

When Nicky’s colleague asks him what Joe ended up choosing, he will pull a name out of thin air and pretend it’s a Danish art house movie they’ve never heard of. He’ll have to resort to that, because sitting here in the dark with Joe, Nicky couldn’t care less what they’re watching.

They’d arranged to meet just outside the theater, and when Nicky came up the steps, Joe was already waiting. He’d stopped for a second, just to look at Joe. Their first date had been straight after work, and that had dictated the dress code to a degree. Today, they’re free to be as casual as they want, and that means Joe had turned up in a sinfully soft looking leather jacket and a pair of jeans so well-fitted they might very well have been only artfully applied body paint.

He’d been smiling at his phone, scrolling through something if the flick of his fingers was anything to go by. Nicky had watched the movement of his hands, the flash of his rings in the glow of the street light, and felt a tightness in his chest that felt like the beginning of something overpowering and precious.

By mutual agreement, Joe got the tickets, Nicky got the snacks, and they settled on a pair of seats that was far enough for Joe to see without having to tilt his neck, but with no occupied seats between them and the screen, so Nicky wouldn’t have to be distracted by people moving around.

Now they’re well into the movie, and Nicky is sure neither of them is paying attention. How could Nicky be expected to focus on the screen, when Joe’s knee is touching his and Nicky can feel the warmth clear through to his skin. He leans over to say something to Joe, gesturing at the screen and pointing. When Joe reaches out to lower Nicky’s hand before they get hissed at by the people behind them, he tangles their fingers together and Nicky decides this is a fine way to spend the rest of their time in the theater.

It goes from fine to perfect when Joe leans over to say something to Nicky and never fully returns to his own space. For the rest of the film, they’re leaned against each other, holding hands, with their knees pressed together and, at least in Nicky’s case, a ridiculously pleased look on his face. It’s the kind of date that belongs in the movie montage he’d envisioned when talking to—shit.

Now is entirely the wrong time to be thinking about the charmingly irrepressible pen pal Nicky seems to have acquired. With a quick shake of his head, Nicky tries to center himself in the moment again. Joe turns to him, eyebrows raised in question. Smiling, Nicky raises their joined fingers to his mouth and kisses the back of Joe’s hand.

He’s glad, he is, that Yusuf is seeing someone he’s so enamoured with; if for no other reason than it keeps Nicky from wondering if he’s that infuriatingly endearing in person, too. It frees Nicky to focus on Joe. Which is what he’s doing now. Right this second.

Turning, Nicky presses his forehead to Joe’s temple. It’s not much, but he’s pleased to hear Joe sigh with contentment.

The night air is chilly after being pressed so close together in the theater, but Nicky doesn’t mind. As long as Joe keeps holding his hand, Nicky doesn’t mind much of anything, in fact.

At the corner, Nicky stops.

“My stop is that way,” he says nodding his head in the direction of the station.

“Mine’s the other way.”

“I guess this is as far as we go together then.”

“For tonight.”

Nicky smiles. “Yes, only for tonight.”

“Actually,” Joe’s grin turns hot. “I’m wondering if we might go just a little further.” He leans forward just a bit.

There’s a rush of heat as Nicky feels his face flush. Leaning forward himself, Nicky says, “Perhaps just a bit.”

Joe closes the last bit of distance, and Nicky can feel Joe’s smile against his mouth. “I’m so glad you agree,” Joe says and then they’re kissing.

Nicky’s wanted to kiss Joe from the first moment their eyes met. He’s wanted to run his tongue over that offensively full lower lip and moan into Joe’s mouth. It’s everything he imagined and more. Their hands separate, but only so Joe can clutch at Nicky’s back, pulling him closer. Nicky’s hands are cupping Joe’s face, fingers stroking the nape of his neck.

Smiling, Nicky finds that Joe’s mouth tastes of salt and butter from the popcorn. When he strokes his tongue across Joe’s, Nicky feels Joe’s fingers tighten against his back and it’s everything he can do not to grind himself against Joe’s leg. It’s not, strictly speaking, the kind of kiss one reserves for a public street corner at what is still a reasonable hour of the night, but Nicky can’t help but dive in for one more pass, one more sweet taste of salt from the popcorn and sweetness that’s entirely Joe.

He can't keep the smile off his face, and it seems neither can Joe; by the time the kiss is winding down, they’re smiling against each other’s mouths more than they’re kissing.

“Can we do this again?” Nicky asks.

“The kissing? Absolutely.”

“Yes, the kissing, but also the date.”

“I would love to go out with you again, Nicky. I would love nothing more.” He cups Nicky’s face and gives him one last nearly-chaste kiss. “I’ll text you.”

“Good.”

He waves as Joe rounds the corner and disappears from sight. After that, Nicky walks sedately to the station and gets on his train. He does not press his fingers to his mouth and smile like a besotted teenager. He doesn’t spend half the ride running the pad of his index finger across his lower lip and remembering the feel of Joe’s mouth on his. Absolutely not. That would be the kind of thing a lovestruck youth did, and Nicky is too old for that. Right?

As he’s brushing his teeth, Nicky remembers that he’d promised a follow-up email to Yusuf. Once he’s curled up in bed, he pulls out his phone.

When Joe gets in, he takes a moment to lean back against the door of his flat, close his eyes and sigh dreamily in the dark. It's something a heroine from a nineties romcom would do, he's well aware, but he is an artist, and so he figures he is allowed a few theatrics in the privacy of his own home. Especially after the evening he's just had.

Who was it who had said dating was hard work? If only everything in life was as easy as dating Nicky.

As he flicks on the light and shrugs out of his leather jacket, he pulls his phone out of his pocket to text Nicky that he made it home. But when he looks at his phone screen he gets distracted by an email notification.

When did he turn those on again? It must have been at some point over the last week, while he was emailing DG, when he started looking forward to seeing his name in his inbox as much as texts from Nicky. Joe rolls his eyes at the last paragraph, but he's still grinning from ear to ear.

Joe can feel his eyebrows crawling up his forehead. If he didn't know any better - at this point it is pretty firmly established that both he and DG are seeing other people - he would think DG was flirting with him. But that is ridiculous. And Joe enjoys talking to DG, who is knowledgeable about so many things other than food, and he doesn't want the same thing that happened the last time he jumped to conclusions.

Joe changes into his pyjamas and brushes his teeth, eyes glued to his phone. Maybe DG has gone straight to bed and is not going to answer him, but Joe hopes, fervently, that he is just typing out a longer answer. Not that he needs the guidance, thank you very much, but Joe wasn’t lying when he said he was intrigued. He doesn’t want to be, he shouldn’t be, but he can’t deny that he is. After drawing his bedtime ritual out as long as he can, and just as Joe finally gives up hoping for a message and slips into bed, his phone lights up with another email. His breath hitches, he taps the message with a shaking finger. And why is his heart suddenly beating so fast?

He's staring at his phone, processing the ways DG just… understands how he feels about feelings, but also he’s just looking at the last bit when—

When the notification vanishes, Joe is left staring at the email from DG. DG, who he spent the past hour emailing, instead of texting Nicky like he promised.

What really matters is just being there, being interested and attentive when it’s needed. That’s all there is to falling in love.

Joe stares at his phone until the screen goes black, then he switches it on again and sends a reply to Nicky.

He also types Wish you were here with me, but then deletes it all again before placing the x. It’s not that it’s not true – it’s just that he’s had a wonderful time out with Nicky, and then spent all evening texting and DG, and now he’s lying in bed – and all he knows is that he’s fucked.

Joe sleeps in late the next morning, and wakes up feeling lighter than he has in years. He has papers to grade, and tutorial content to review, not to mention some laundry to do, but he does his chores absentmindedly. His lips feel different now that Nicky’s kissed them and as much as he tries to focus, there are two things sneaking into his thoughts again and again, over and over:

Nicky’s fingers tingling on Joe’s neck as he licked into his mouth; and the sentence that’s all there is to falling in love, intermixing and entwining until the memories of both leave his skin with a pleasant buzz. So this is what people mean when they say you’re on Cloud Nine.

In the early afternoon his phone rings and he picks up after a single ring. If Nicky asks why he practically scrambles to reach it, he might deny that he’s been checking his phone for new messages from him all day, but what would be the point.

“That was quick,” Nicky says, and his voice sounds like laughter.

“I thought the quicker I pick up the sooner I get to hear your voice again.”

“Aww. Scared that you forget what it sounds like?”

“I could never forget that after yesterday,” Joe says and lies down on his couch. Now that he’s started acting like a romcom heroine around Nicky he might as well go on.

“Hm, let me guess, it’s filed away in your brain right under the entry for ‘best kisser in the city’?”

Joe laughs at the fact that Nicky compliments himself, but who is he to argue a fact he thinks might be true? He can think of a million little quips he could make about it, how he won’t know for sure until he tries again, but thinking about what DG told him yesterday, he settles for compliments instead. “Yes, Nicky. Along with the prettiest eyes in the world and the warmest smile.”

“Well now you’re flattering me.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth.” They both laugh, and Joe thinks with delight that he isn’t the only one who sounds slightly breathless.

Nicky clears his throat. “As much as I enjoy your not-flattery, and the reminder what your voice sounds like, I wanted to call to ask if you’d be free on Friday.”

Joe doesn’t bother looking into his calendar, anything that doesn’t immediately come to mind is something that can be moved for Nicky. “Should be.”

“I’m having a little dinner party for Andy and Quynh because I haven’t properly caught up with them in weeks and barely got the chance at their party, and I thought, well. Would you want to come?”

“That sounds great! Of course! Do you need me to bring anything?” Joe sits up on the couch.

“No, no, I’ve got it, don’t worry. I was also going to ask Nile to see if she’s free, but then we’d be five and I-“

“Do you want me to ask Booker if he’s free?”

Joe can hear Nicky smile through the phone. “You read my mind.”

They have a chat about what Nicky is planning and how hard it is to combine Andy and Quynh’s tastes into one single party, and when they finally hang up, Joe has been smiling for so long his face is beginning to hurt.

The rest of the week follows a similar pattern: Joe has things to do, a job and chores and friends and some drawing he indulges in from time to time, but it’s like only half of him is attending his life at the moment. The other half is mentally already at Nicky’s party on Friday, so much is he looking forward to it. Well, not quite half. Because a small part, but it’s a part he can neither ignore nor deny, is also thinking about the last email DG sent him.

He rereads it twice more before he replies, and even then, it’s hard. Joe isn’t normally short on words, not ever, but somehow, he doesn’t quite know what to say in reply that isn’t saying something he doesn’t mean, or at the very least, doesn’t want to say.

When Joe catches on that DG knows about London’s tube networks because they are an integral part of his everyday life as well, he nearly drops his phone. What are the chances that the online chef who taught him all he knows about cooking, (and more and more what he knows about wooing), should live in the same city? Not that it matters, of course. It would almost be more poetic if they struck up this… connection while being continents apart. But why meet online when they could’ve met at a street food vendor, a coffeeshop, at a party? Not that Joe would want to do that, because Joe already has—

Nicky sends him a series of pictures of a tabby cat that’s been basking in the afternoon sun on his doorstep. They’re arranged like a photo story, first the cat alone, then the cat offering its chin for scritches from Nicky, then Nicky placing a little flower that looks like it might have grown by the wayside on the cat’s head.

Joe thinks he might melt into a puddle of the floor. This was Yusuf al-Kaysani, future archaeologists finding his remains will say, molten away after an overexposure of cuteness.

On the day of Nicky’s dinner party, Joe takes the liberty of showing up early to his flat. There’s a look of confusion on Nicky’s face as he opens the door, but it melts away into a warm smile the moment his eyes land on Joe.

“You’re early,” he says, but he’s already pulling Joe into a hug that ends in a kiss that definitely doesn’t feel like he’s complaining.

“I had to make sure I still know what your voice sounds like before the others get here. Oh, and I thought I might help you set up.”

Joe trails after Nicky into the flat and realises almost immediately that there will be very little to help with: The table is set in the living room complete with folded napkins, a couple of bottles of wine and a bottle of Schloer for Joe. Even the starter salad they talked about on the phone, with pine nuts and tangerine slices because Quynh loves them, is already plated and the heavenly scent of rich, creamy tomato sauce wafts in from the kitchen.

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m sorry, I can be a bit, I guess, particular about the way I like things done,” Nicky says when he notices Joe stare, crunching up his nose like that fact is a slightly embarrassing memory. “But for what it’s worth, I’m very glad you’re here early.”

“So am I.”

Nicky sways imperceptibly closer to Joe, like he can’t help himself from moving into his orbit, and Joe beams at him as he nods towards the kitchen. “Smells delicious.”

Nicky grins. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t let you think you were the only one who could cook for your friends in this—“

He makes a big sweeping gesture through the space between them. It feels like Nicky might be dancing around a word, and it feels like that word might be ‘relationship’. Joe catches Nicky’s hand with his own before it can drop back to his side, and looks him in the eyes before pressing a kiss to each one of his knuckles.

He wants Nicky to say that word, of course he does. Doesn’t want him to think that he needs to hold back because Joe isn’t ready, only if he is ready… Why doesn’t he say anything?

Joe hears Nicky’s breath hitch over the whirring of the fan from the oven when he reaches the knuckle over his little finger, and then he is distracted from these thoughts, because they’re kissing again. It is, if anything, even better than Joe remembers it, that kiss on the street corner he’s been replaying in his mind the whole week. And if he can have this, then maybe he doesn’t need to put a word on it immediately. What was that word DG used? Wooing, that’s it. That’s what they’re doing.

By the time the doorbell rings, Joe figures he might not have needed to spend any time prying his curls into shape before he came over, if how much he can still feel the tingle of Nicky’s fingers tracing his scalp is an indicator, and Nicky’s lips… Nicky’s lips look a lot more plump and well-kissed than they did when he opened the door for Joe. Not that Joe is going to complain.

The others have the good grace not to say anything about it outright as they trickle in, but Joe doesn’t miss how every single one of them, even Nile who he’s only spoken to once, reaches up to try and pat his hair back into shape with a huge grin on their faces. Not that he can fault them. He’s sure he wears the same smile every time he looks across the table at Nicky.

“I knew I should have introduced you years ago,” Andy says mid-way through the lasagna, “but I guess it’s all worked out anyway.”

“No Andy, it’s too much,” Booker says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, “I mean one person who can cook in a relationship, fine, but two people? That’s not how the universe is supposed to work.”

“Will you be quiet? It doubles our chances of being invited to amazing dinner parties.” Nile winks at them. “It’s delicious Nicky, thank you.”

Joe laughs at her and joins in with the others praising Nicky, but the truth is, he barely notices what the lasagna tastes like. It’s like he can’t focus on anything else when Nicky is just there , smiling at their friends, his lips stretching over his teeth, curling around a wine glass. How could the lasagna possibly compare to the taste of Nicky’s mouth?

And so he is distracted all through dessert, and through the impromptu charades game that he suggests himself, and even more when their friends start to bid them good-bye. He barely manages to help Nicky tidy all the glasses away into the kitchen before he launches himself at Nicky like a starving man.

Nicky catches him in his arms like he’s been waiting for Joe, groaning into a kiss that goes from deep to desperate in no time at all. He is so close, hands on Joe’s hips, and Joe tightens his hold on Nicky’s shoulder, his hair, as Nicky presses him back against one of the counters. He tries to remember if there are any dishes behind, but the decision on whether to hop onto the counter is made for him. Nicky slides hands under his butt and lifts, just a little, until Joe sits on the counter, now towering over Nicky a little. He laughs against Nicky’s skin, into the space where their breaths mingle, and tucks one of his legs loosely around him before sinking back into the kiss. It’s slower this time, more lips than tongue but no less sweet, and Joe might even go as far to say it’s perfect. Everything he’s ever wanted, if only—well.

If only the kitchen didn’t still smell like lasagna, if only he couldn’t see Nicky’s pretty impressive collection of kitchen knives out of the corner of his eye when he opens them, if only he couldn’t feel Nicky’s hands at the small of his back, pulling him closer, and if only all of these things didn’t suddenly remind him of DG. He doesn’t even know why his brain bothers conjuring up thoughts about that guy now , when he’s got Nicky in his arms (and legs). Nicky, who is, if not everything he’s ever wanted, then pretty close. Joe doesn’t even know anything about DG, apart from the fact he’s very opinionated about food and just about everything else, that he’s an incurable romantic by the sound of it, and that he- that he lives in London as well.

Joe hisses when Nicky’s teeth graze his lower lip and they pull apart, both breathing heavily. Joe licks his lip where he can still feel Nicky’s teeth, and watches Nicky follow the movement with his eyes.

“Do you-“ Nicky says, but cuts himself off, still panting.

Joe closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Nicky’s. “I think I need to get going.”

“Yeah?”

“Last tube waits for no one.” Joe kisses Nicky once more, and slides off the counter. “We can’t all live on the night tube.”

They share a couple more kisses at Nicky’s door until Joe can wrench himself away. When he promises to text Nicky this time, he does it almost immediately, taking his phone out on the tube home to text him. The thing is, he would really like to have a relationship with Nicky. He should just tell him. He looks at his phone, and he begins typing it, but then a particularly loud screech of the rails as the tube takes a corner pulls him from his thoughts.

And why didn’t he say something earlier, when Nicky was on the verge of maybe inviting him to stay the night? Because of DG. Who he really needs to stop thinking about when he’s texting his boyfriend (boyfriend?), or making out with him.

It’s just so hard to do if all they talk about is their relationships. Before he even knew DG lived in the same city as him, this all started as them talking about food (and DG’s terrible email etiquette), but they haven’t even mentioned any food in the last couple of emails.

Joe takes a deep breath. Maybe he just needs to cool it off with DG, so he can focus more on Nicky. He erases his previous text and sends Nicky a good-night text, then opens his email programme, vowing to only talk to DG about food from now on.

It’s what friends do. And that’s what they are. Friends.

Nicky doesn’t hear from Yusuf for a day or two, but he reassures himself this is for the best. It’s possible that every time he gets on the tube he thinks about Yusuf griping about it and smiles, but they’re friends, so that’s to be expected.

Yes, perhaps in recent days things have been getting more flirty than would be appropriate for two men in the throes of new relationships. They’re back to food now, though, and that’s good. Even better, Yusuf seems to be interested in branching out into a few new cooking skills. Nicky’s excited for him and eager to hear how things go. No. Wrong. Nicky is pleased for him and will be interested to hear the results. That’s better.

What Nicky’s truly excited for is the chance to spend more time with Joe, especially after that dinner party. Well, more what came after that dinner party. Sitting through dinner watching Joe had been an exercise in patience. At one point Nicky had nearly needed to sit on his hands to keep from reaching out and stroking Joe’s face, or any other part he could reach. He’d somehow waited until everyone else was gone and the dishes were done before pulling Joe into his arms like he’d waited centuries just to kiss him.

Mapping Joe’s body with his hands, even just the parts he could reach while fully clothed and standing up, was enough to have Nicky feeling lightheaded and needy. Maybe lifting Joe onto the counter was a little much, but Joe didn’t seem to mind. Nicky presses his fingers to his mouth, remembering the taste of Joe’s lips under his. When Joe laughed, his breath had brushed over Nicky’s flushed, heated skin and Nicky had shivered.

Joe’s leg around him had been a tease and a promise and Nicky had wanted to tempt him to stay, to linger over more of those slow, deep kisses. He might have asked, really, he’s still not sure that’s what almost came out of his mouth after ‘Do you-’

As soon as Joe mentioned having to catch the last tube, the evening became a little fuzzy in Nicky’s memory. He’d been distracted thinking about Yusuf complaining about the tube system. He wondered if somewhere Yusuf was at a movie or dinner with his date, worried about making the last train. So that’s another reason it’s good that he and Yusuf are back to talking about recipes and food rather than relationships. Nicky has a relationship, and it deserves his attention. Joe deserves his attention. Joe who is funny and sweet and who makes Nicky melt with just a look.

He hopes, though, that Yusuf’s date works out, and that the man he’s cooking for appreciates him. Yusuf deserves that.

If Nicky knew where Joe lived, he might go over there right this second just to kiss him. The idea of finishing this week by sitting and eating with Joe, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company, sounds like heaven. Since he doesn’t know where Joe lives, he’ll settle for making sure part of their evening is spent showing Joe how appreciative he is.

On Wednesday, Nicky sets up his camera and a spread of ingredients, finished dishes, and utensils. Not one to put his voice on his videos, he’ll overlay this with captions later, so for now the only requirement is to get the movements on video. For the next few minutes he takes the pans of finished dishes, the pickled vegetables, the steaming pile of sweet-smelling rice, and puts them all into serving dishes. He takes care to wipe the edges clean before placing them on a serving tray. Just as carefully, he takes the perfectly browned samosas and arranges them on a plate and arranges the dessert options in their own serving dishes, smaller versions of those used for the mains. The naan gets its own plate, but it also gets brushed with a little coating of melted butter so that it shines under the kitchen light. He shuffles the dishes on the tray so that the adjacent colors compliment each other and does one last swipe of edges and rims with a damp tea towel.

Later, he’ll put up captions talking about the importance of presentation. He’ll mention that even simple dishes can look extraordinary if presented together with some care to the visual impact. There will be a few seconds devoted to the importance of cleaning the dishes off and how he likes to have pickled vegetables served in a chopped format but also a dish of them arranged in slices just for visual impact. He’ll finish the video with a caption about how a sprig of fresh herbs on top of some of the dishes always looks good, but be careful not to overdo it. The point, he’ll say, is to show the person you cooked for that you care about them enough to sweat the details when you want to impress them.

Because the video is meant for Yusuf, because Nicky knows he’ll have to watch it repeatedly and at least once he’ll leave the volume on in case there’s some narration, Nicky decides to set the video to Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass.” Alone in his kitchen, Nicky snickers, trying to imagine the look of irritation on Yusuf’s face and hoping the song gets stuck in his head for at least a few hours.

Thursday night, Joe shows up at Nicky’s door with a tired smile and a bag that smells of Nicky’s childhood.

“I knew there was a chance I’d go down in flames, but I decided to risk it and bring food from my favorite Italian place.”

Nicky somehow restrains himself from tearing the bag open to find what smells almost exactly like his mother’s kitchen. Instead he leans in and kisses Joe with every bit of exhausted adoration he can. Joe, who had been checking his phone and was caught somewhat by surprise, hums against his mouth and soon they’re both smiling more than they’re kissing.

“Thank you,” Nicky says. He carefully places all the containers on the table. He opens them one at a time, inhaling the scents and smiling. The one that smells most like home is the white bean soup, which has an enormous sprig of rosemary draped over the top and almost makes Nicky cry.

In one of the last containers Nicky finds a layer of sliced tomato drizzled liberally with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and topped with basil leaves and slices of soft, fresh mozzarella. The noise that escapes him is half surprise and half longing. Nicky drops to the couch and picks up one of the slices of tomato, taking a big bite and humming happily as he chews. When Joe sits beside him, Nicky leans sideways just enough to tip his head onto Joe’s shoulder.

“I love this. My grandparents grew their own tomatoes, and in the spring and summer we would have something much like this. I got to pick the tomatoes just before dinner, so when we ate they were still warm from the sun.” He looks up to find Joe smiling at him, pleased and proud to have chosen well. “It’s even better right now because tomatoes are actually in season.”

Joe smiles. “I thought about that. I know a sure way to ruin a meal is using produce that’s not in season.” Nicky kisses him then, as a reward for his brilliance if nothing else.

Going to the kitchen to grab cutlery and glasses, Nicky thinks he’s lucky to have two clever, interesting men to talk to about food. Though talking to Joe is more fun than talking to Yusuf, if only because with Joe there is kissing. He hopes that Yusuf listens to his advice about in-season produce for that recipe, and he hopes it turns out as well as Joe’s attention to that same detail did just now.There’s no telling how long he’s been standing at the counter, staring off into space when Joe calls his name.

“Nicky?” Joe is looking up from his phone.

“Hmm?”

“Where did you go?”

“Just thinking about what you said about produce.” Nicky smiles at him. What was his life like before Joe? It certainly didn’t have this many smiles in it. “You took the words out of my mouth.”

“I’d rather take—”

“Dinner first!” Nicky laughs. Joe winks at him. Nicky watches as Joe’s fingers twitch toward his phone, like he wants to pick it up. “Everything okay?”

“What?” Joe seems genuinely confused.

“You’ve checked your phone a few times since you got here, I was just wondering if everything was okay. If you were waiting for a call about something. We can do this another night—”

“No,” Joe says. He takes a deep breath and somehow Nicky can see a little tension drain from his shoulders. “The only thing I’m waiting on is for you to come sit on this couch with me so we can eat and watch mindless TV, and maybe I can kiss you later.”

Nicky stares at him. Still not convinced everything is alright. Of course, it could just be that Joe isn’t as interested in him as Nicky is interested in Joe. Searching Joe’s eyes, though, there’s no sign of anything but affection and contentment. When Nicky sits next to him, the couch cushions shift enough for Joe to sway slightly closer, and Nicky can’t help but kiss him. “To tide you over.”

Later, if questioned, Nicky wouldn’t be able to tell you for sure what they watched first. He’s fairly sure it had been some American police procedural, and he half-remembers both of them pointing out all the times when one of the police broke a law and being glad they weren’t playing this as a drinking game.

What he remembers clearly is how, from time to time, Nicky would look over to see Joe staring at him intently, as though Nicky were a puzzle and if he concentrated hard enough, Joe would be able to solve him at last. Each time, Nicky had smiled, and the last couple of times he’d hooked Joe by the back of the neck and pulled him close for a kiss.

After the first show is over, Joe helps Nicky clear the dishes and containers and when they settle back onto the couch, Joe sits with his back against the arm. Nicky spoons up against him, feeling Joe’s reassuring warmth on his back. They shift a little so that they can both see the TV without getting a neck cramp and Joe picks up the remote. He starts flicking through channels, pausing on each potential option to get Nicky’s input. Nicky passes on some panel quiz, some reality competition, and some American drama. When Joe pauses on an episode of MasterChef, Nicky affects a full-body shudder.

“No. Absolutely not. Cooking brings me too much joy to see people turning it into something terrifying. Plus, they always make everything so dramatic. Between them and food bloggers, everyone thinks cooking has to be something with drama and a story. The ‘story’ is that you’re nourishing your body with something, but you choose to take a few extra steps and make it something which nourishes your soul as well.”

After a few seconds, during which Nicky wishes he could see Joe’s face without twisting his entire body around, Joe bends down and kisses Nicky on the neck. “No MasterChef. Got it.”

They settle on some cheesy reality show, but which one hardly matters, since two minutes into it, Nicky turns around so he’s facing Joe and kisses him. “Thank you for bringing dinner.”

Joe leans in for another kiss. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad we got to spend the evening together without having to deal with the fuss of going out. A quiet night on the couch with you is exactly what I needed.”

Nicky tries to get past the phrase ‘night on the couch’ but it takes a second or two. He sinks against Joe’s chest and slides their mouths together. Joe’s lips are warm and when his tongue drags against Nicky’s, he tastes of balsamic vinegar. When Nicky slips his hands up Joe’s back, he can’t help but dig his fingers in a little, then smile as Joe hisses into his mouth.

From where he’d been cupping Nicky’s face, Joe’s hands roam across his shoulders, down his back, and finally rest with his fingertips on the exposed sliver of skin above Nicky’s jeans. When Nicky sighs against his skin, Joe’s hands drift over his jeans and grip his hips, pulling him closer.

“One of these days,” Nicky murmurs against Joe’s mouth, “we’re going to start this kind of thing earlier in the evening and not on a work night.”

Joe drops his forehead to Nicky’s collarbone and groans. “It might be worth the shit I’d get at work if I called in sick tomorrow.” Nicky laughs and strokes his hand through those amazing curls.

As it is, Joe nearly misses the last train because they spend so long at the door of Nicky’s flat having ‘just one more kiss’ again and again. Watching Joe leave, Nicky struggles to remember why letting him go was the right idea.

Joe doesn’t get a chance to check his email again until Sunday evening, when he is home from the family weekend at his parents. As much as he was tempted to take pictures of his mum’s cooking to share them with DG, or of his niece’s drawings to share them with Nicky, checking his phone in the presence of his mum is a dangerous game. It usually results in either being told he works too much, but if he texted Nicky, he may have made the fatal mistake of smiling at his phone, in which case his mum would have asked immediately when she was going to meet his new boyfriend. And it’s not like Joe hasn’t secretly already thought about introducing Nicky to his family, in those quiet moments he stares off into space and imagines what their lives could be like together, but he feels like there are a few things they need to do and discuss before that can happen. Oh, and apparently he needs to make Lamb Biryani for Nicky first.

Now, having showered and changed into his pyjamas after he got in, and sitting in bed with his laptop, Joe can see that DG has sent him a video. No reply to his last email, just a video file, and the subject line: ;)

Huh. If it wasn’t for the subject line, Joe might think it was spam, but in the end, the smiley is intriguing enough to win him over. He clicks on the video, and realises that he shouldn’t have been fooled by the smiley. The smiley should have been a warning.

Joe is not entirely sure what he expected. But it’s not that.

Objectively speaking, it’s an instruction video like all the other’s DG has on his blog, showing only his hands measuring and cutting and frying ingredients while little note cards with instructions pop up. At the end, he does a little flourish with his hand to present the plating and shows Joe two thumbs up.

Only unlike all of his other videos it’s not accompanied by opera music. It’s set to SuperBassby Nicki Minaj. And Joe is having an entirely inappropriate reaction to it.

Which is to say that he’s currently staring at the hands of a stranger from the internet cradling an onion bhaji, trying to will down his growing erection. He knew he had a thing for hands the first time he watched his videos, but this is not okay.

He closes his laptop and presses his fists to his eyes, trying to take deep breaths. Okay, he’s had a bit of a dry spell, and leaving Nicky’s place twice late at night without anything more than kissing and the barest minimum of dry humping happening is not… helpful in his current situation either, but the problem is- Well, the problem is that Joe wouldn’t feel so bad about it if that was all it is.

But as much as he wants to imagine he just has a thing for hands, the fact of the matter remains that from the first couple of weeks of him learning about DG from his blog, to their initial misunderstandings through all the teasing and the flirtation, Joe has developed a steadily growing attraction to a man he’s never even met, all the while falling in love with another. Not even trying to keep their emails strictly to food has made DG and less charming or compelling.

And Joe hates feeling this way, because it’s not like he’s got anyone but himself to blame. DG has never given him any indication that he might be trying to flirt, given that Joe established almost from the start that he was seeing someone himself. It’s all in his head, and that is the worst of it, because what should be in his head is Nicky.

Gorgeous Nicky, the charmingly intelligent man who likes cooking for their friends and kisses him pinned on kitchen counters and- and that train of thought is not helping his situation. But it steels his resolve.

Joe opens his laptop again. Takes a deep breath in and out. He’s not going to reply to DG, but he is going to follow his advice.

He’s going to invite Nicky over. And he’s going to cook him the most delicious lamb biryani, with seasonal ingredients, plated perfectly. And then he’s going to tell him about DG, and that he’s not going to email the man again, but that he wants to commit to Nicky, definitely now, ideally forever. It’s what Nicky deserves.

After sending the video, Nicky doesn’t hear from Yusuf again. At first, he assumes it’s just the busy week, especially since he gets distracted by the dinner invitation from Joe. He’s refusing to tell Nicky what’s on the menu, insisting that he’s got it all under control.

When Nicky asks what he can bring, Joe’s response is charming but succinct.

Staring at the message, Nicky tries to see only the charm and flattery. He thinks about their conversation after their last date, about bringing a toothbrush for the next date, and tries not to read into the fact that Joe hasn’t mentioned that.

A day or two later, when Nicky still hasn’t heard from Yusuf, he finds part of him is worried that he’s somehow offended Yusuf again. They’d moved the conversation back to only food, but that hadn’t made Yusuf any less fun to communicate with. If he’s gone for good? Well, Nicky would miss him, to be honest.

No. No, that’s the precise reason Nicky should be ending that conversation here and now. He imagines explaining it to Joe. ‘I have a funny, smart, clever man I email with. I think we used to flirt, but I’m sure now that it’s only about food. Sure, I miss seeing his name in my mailbox when he doesn’t write for a few days, but I’m sure that’s just something all friends do.’

Nicky wouldn’t believe that if someone said it to him, and he suspects neither would Joe. Particularly if Joe’s picked up on any of Nicky’s distraction. If that’s the case, Joe deserves to know what was causing it, and that it’s not going to be a problem anymore. While the temptation is there to reach out one last time to ask how Yusuf’s date went, how the food turned out, his explanation to Joe will be easier if he can honestly say there’s been no more contact.

That settles it. Nicky brings up the latest article he’s been working on, and ignoring the chorus of voices screaming conflicting advice inside his head, he gets back to work.

Standing in front of Joe’s door a few nights later, Nicky realises his hands are clammy. He’s confident in his position, and that Joe will understand, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go through with this explanation. He’s glad, though, that they’re at Joe’s house tonight, because if Nicky’s wrong about how Joe is going to react, at least Nicky can get up and leave.

He wipes his palms on his jeans and rings the doorbell.

When the door opens, Joe looks almost as nervous as Nicky feels, and Nicky’s outlook for the evening plummets. Taking a chance, Nicky opens his arms and lets out a sigh of relief when Joe steps into the hug.

Joe pulls back just enough to find Nicky’s mouth with his own, and Nicky wonders how it’s possible that even when he thinks he remembers how good it feels to be kissed by Joe, he’s always underestimating the reality.

Cupping the back of Joe’s neck, Nicky leans into the kiss. He feels warm all the way through and when they separate, Nicky doesn’t let go of Joe’s neck, happy to feel the steady warmth under his palm.

“You got better looking again.”

Joe scoffs. “In a week?”

Nicky brushes his thumb against the nape of Joe’s neck. “I’m only stating facts.” Joe kisses him again, soft and sweet.

“Come on in.” There’s a tension in Joe’s shoulders that Nicky isn’t used to seeing there.

“Are you okay, Joe?”

Raking his fingers through his hair, Joe smiles, but Nicky can see how tight his eyes are. “You’re here, I’m great.”

“Joe.”

“I promise, it’s nothing. I’ll tell you all about it during dinner.” He waves Nicky further into the apartment. The table is set already, and Nicky smiles at the trouble Joe’s gone to. The food smells incredible, too. For a second, Nicky tries to place the recipe but he’s cut off as Joe shoos him toward the couch. “Sit, sit. I have a few things to do in the kitchen, but I don’t want you in there spoiling the surprise.”

He puts his hand on the back of Nicky’s chair and bends to kiss him just below his right ear. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Nicky reaches back and cups Joe’s head. “Me too.”

They keep up a steady stream of chatter between the two rooms. Joe asks about how Nicky’s family is doing and Nicky asks Joe about the latest piece he’s been working on. It’s a portrait of Andy and Quynh he’s planning as their wedding gift.

“It’s fine,” Joe calls. “I’m having trouble with some of the shadows, but I’ve got a few photos I can use for reference, so it shouldn’t be hard to fix.” There’s a sound like metal on metal and a quiet, triumphant, “Yes!” Nicky can’t help but grin.

“Sure you don’t want help?”

“I’m positive. You could have a seat, though. I’ll be finished in about two minutes.”

As he walks past the kitchen, Nicky thinks he smells rice with cardamom, and he’s extremely grateful no one else can hear the sound his stomach makes.

“You sitting?” Joe calls.

Nicky drops into his chair and scoots it in. “I am now.”

The tray Joe is carrying almost doesn’t fit through the door. He places it on the table and Nicky has a moment of dizzying confusion.

It’s biryani. Lamb, if he’s not mistaken. It’s arranged on the tray with side dishes, a bowl of fluffy, sweet-smelling rice, a yoghurt cucumber and a curry sauce, some bhajis and pickled onions. The display is striking not only for it’s visual impact and color, but also because it’s very much like the plating Nicky had done in his video.

No.

It’s not.

It’s exactly the plating from Nicky’s video. This is his recipe. The recipe he told Yusuf to make to impress the man he said he was falling in love with. Yusuf who lives on the same tube line as the one Nicky took to get here tonight.

Joe puts together a plate of food and holds it out for him. He’s not sure how long he stares at Joe, but it’s long enough for him to ask, “Nicky?”

He wants to answer but his mind is still trying to catch up to what he thinks can’t possibly be true. If it were true, then Nicky could have everything. They could both have everything. He pulls at threads until he’s got the rest of the picture in his head. Yusuf’s new relationship started at the same time as Joe and Nicky’s. Yusuf who is smart and funny. Yusuf who—Yusuf who said—

He twists in his chair to look up at Joe. “You said I was the prettiest man in the universe.”

Joe looks confused. “I said you were the best looking man in the world.”

“No. You said I was the prettiest man in the universe. Oh, Joe. Weeks ago you said it, and—we both missed it.” He reaches out and clutches Joe’s forearm, careful not to spill the food and hoping his smile says all the things he could never find the words for. “We both missed it the whole time.”

Joe is not sure he understands what’s going on. His heart is beating all the way up in his throat, he can hear his pulse pounding in his ears like it's trying to tell him something, and when he tries to speak, there are no words. He looks from Nicky’s face, which is currently being overtaken by a hopeful smile, to where Nicky’s hand is wrapped around his arm. Nicky’s grip loosens and his thumb makes small, comforting circles, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, but when Joe notices the shape of Nicky's fingers those goosebumps spread over his whole body.

Joe knows these hands. He’s been looking at them for weeks, ever since they hovered over one of his mini-quiches at Andy and Quynh’s party. Only that wasn’t the first time he’d seen them. The first time he'd seen them, he was watching a video on how to stop ruining pizza.

Joe sets the plate of food on the table in front of Nicky and lets himself fall into the chair next to him. He might need a moment.

“Are you- are you saying that you’re DG?”

Nicky nods.

“DG as in ‘The Voice of Experience’?”

“DG as in Nicolò di Genova, which is my full name, but, yeah.”

“And you run a blog called Stop Ruining Your Food?”

Nicky’s smile gets wider and he slides his hand down Joe’s arm to link their fingers together. “I set it up a few years ago after Nile suggested I might need an outlet for all my opinions on food. Which I’m sure you appreciate after bearing the brunt of them in the past weeks as—“ he looks around the flat, eyes twinkling, “—Yusuf at home?”

Joe nods and gestures to the bowl on the coffee table that holds his keys, wallet, and university lanyard. “Yusuf al-Kaysani, technically, but only my mum and letters from HMRC use that name. Well, that is up until recently.”

“Yeah?”

There’s something wild and carefree beating away in Joe’s chest, like laughter just waiting to bubble up, spill over. And to think he was ready to make some great speech to tell Nicky he would cut the best source for recipes (and snarky commentary) out of his life to commit to Nicky, heart and mind and body, kisses and late night emails.

Joe catches a glint of mirth in Nicky’s eye. He can’t believe he’s missed this. He can't believe he's had both all along. Well, Nicky still deserves the speech.

"Yeah, you see I found this amazing food blog that pretty much saved my life after I decided on a whim to do the catering for my best friends' engagement party, and when I sent the owner of the blog a fawning email to tell them so, I'd been cooking for more or less forty eight hours straight and forgot to sign my name. And when he responded, well, let's just say he was way too rude for me to correct him."

Nicky spears an onion bhaji on his fork, and a faint blush colours his cheeks. "I sent that email by accident at Andy and Quynh's party. I was really flattered but I guess I was distracted trying to get the number of a guy I'd just met."

Squeezing Nicky’s hand, Joe lets it go so he can put a plate of food together for himself.. He reaches across the table again and smiles when Nicky takes his hand.

"See, now I'm glad you did. At the time, I was furious." Joe smiles around a forkful of rice and lamb. He's not in the business of flattering himself too much, but it really is delicious, DG was right. No, Nicky was right. "But once I moved past that, it turned out this DG guy was funny and charming and easy to talk to, and hey, he happened to live in the same city as me, so that was nice. Or it would've been if it didn't also didn’t also feel like it was distracting me from the man I was, well, am falling in love with.”

"Yusuf," Nicky says, as if he's said the name a hundred times before and isn't testing it out for the first time, and Joe can't help it, it sends another shiver down his spine. Or maybe that's just the sudden heat in Nicky's eyes. Nicky puts his fork down. “I think you should kiss me.”

Joe gestures to the spread in front of them. “Don’t you want—“

“Oh, absolutely. It’s delicious. I mean, I knew it would be.” Nicky licks his lips, but he’s already pulling Joe up from his seat and over to the couch. “But you know there is another reason I recommended Lamb Biryani as the food for Yusuf’s date.”

Joe laughs, but decides to play along. “Which is?”

Nicky loops his arms around Joe’s neck and kisses him, long and slow and deep until Joe can feel himself all but sink onto the couch. “It also tastes amazing when warmed up.”

They’re both still smiling when their mouths meet, the emotion Joe felt simmering under the surface since this conversation started finally bubbling over. It makes kissing hard at first, but it also means that when the mood shifts from the highs of elation to something deeper, their mouths are already open. Tongues meeting with the practiced ease as if they’ve been doing this for years and not just a few weeks. It feels longer to Joe all of a sudden, as he’s putting together the pieces of DG and Nicky into one person.

He pulls Nicky closer and leans back until he's lying back against one of the pillows on the couch, one of Nicky's legs slotted between his. He can't help the little moan that escapes him when Nicky slides his hands into his hair, rolls hips against Joe's. He's been steadily getting harder ever since they made it to the couch, but it seems Nicky's beat him to it.

"I know I didn't ask again," Joe gasps when Nicky starts kissing a line down his neck where his beard ends, "but did—"

"I brought a toothbrush," Nicky says, and Joe can feel the smile against his skin.

His hands are more insistent now as they roam up and down Nicky's back before settling on Nicky's ass. The squeeze he can't resist is entirely worth it for the little noise Nicky makes alone.

Nicky's hands have found the top button of Joe's shirt when their eyes meet again. There's only a sliver of the beautiful green of Nicky's still visible, blown wide as they are, and Joe feels something set alight inside him.

He raises an eyebrow, watching Nicky's Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Food?”

Nicky looks at the button in his hands. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

The food goes cold but Nicky is right. It still tastes amazing heated up. Possibly more so when consumed sitting half-naked on the counter next to the microwave, trading kisses in between bhajis.

"I forgot to say earlier," Nicky says, kissing crumbs of Joe's lips, "but you're not the only one."

"Not the only one you're embroiled in a snarky email affair with?"

Nicky chuckles, but his eyes are warm and sincere when he responds. "No. You're not the only one falling in love."

And Joe thinks that might just be what tips him over.

Later, when they’re lying in a tangled heap between Joe's sheets, he can’t help himself but grin into Nicky’s neck when a thought crosses his mind. “You lied, by the way.”

“Hmm?” Nicky makes an inquisitive sound like he’s been miles away, or at least half asleep, and it makes Joe delirious with happiness to know he’ll wake up with him in his arms and not just his phone.

He presses a kiss to Nicky’s neck. “The Voice of Experience is also pretty firmly rooted in the bedroom, I’d say. Not just the kitchen.”

Nicky groans, but snuggles closer into him, pressing a kiss to the back of Joe’s hand. “Good to know you’re just as infuriating in person.”

Joe smiles into Nicky's neck, breathing in the scent of his hair, which is mixed with distant notes of cardamom. If he didn't know better than to offer catering services by now, he might call Andy in the morning and offer to do her wedding as well, that's how happy he feels.

But he probably won't do that. Or if he does, well. Joe snuggles against Nicky and feels himself drifting to sleep in the knowledge that if he does, he probably won't have to do it alone.