James was asleep on the couch again, curled into a tight ball. After a month of his mother working nights, this had become their normal. He was grumpy when he woke up, she knew that. But she couldn't resist.
Renee saw him and let out a soft, "Oh." She approached and shook him, not gently, but playfully.
He stirred with a groan. "What...?!" He turned his head away, burying his face deep into the couch cushion. "Go away.." he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
She giggled, finding his stubbornness adorable. She reached out and ruffled his hair furiously, her fingers dancing through the messy brown strands.
"Hey!" he yelped, swiping at her hands while keeping his face hidden. "That tickles! STOP!" He wiggled, a prisoner to the cushion.
"OH REALLY?" Her hands hovered lower, finding his sides and tickling him properly. She giggled as he squirmed.
He started to laugh, his body shaking, the sound muffled by the cushion. "Ahh! St-stahhhhppp!" he giggled, wriggling under her touch. "I-I hate youuu!" he complained, but there was no real anger in it.
"So?" she teased, not letting up.
He giggled and squirmed for another minute, laughter taking over completely. Finally, he sat up abruptly, rubbing his eyes. "Alright! Alright! I'm up! I'm up!" he said, though his voice was still grumpy.
"There we go," she said, satisfied.
He looked up at her, squinting in the light. He was cute when he was grumpy, his hair a wild mess and his cheeks flushed pink from laughing. "You're mean..." he pouted, crossing his arms.
She blushed a little, seeing how adorable he was. "Awwww," she cooed, and before he could protest, she lifted him up like a much smaller child.
He let out a surprised giggle, his arms automatically wrapping around her neck. He was used to this by now, even at eleven. "Put me down!" he complained playfully. "I can walk!"
When his face was level with hers, she leaned in and kissed him. It was short, just two seconds, before she pulled back. "You hungry?"
His face turned bright red. He nodded quickly, looking down. "Yeah... I'm hungry." It wasn't a lie. His heart was racing from the sudden kiss, but his stomach was empty, too.
She lowered him back onto the couch. "Want me to make you something then? Orrrr want me to order us food?"
"Hmm..." He sat there, his grumpiness fading as hunger took over. He thought for a moment. "Can you make me something? I want something homemade." He looked up at her with big, pleading eyes. "Please?" He'd never tasted her cooking. He had no idea.
"Right on it, boss," she said, heading to the kitchen with a smile.
He watched her go, his eyes following her for a second before he pulled out his phone to play a game. He waited, his expectations quietly building. He loved pasta. He hoped it was pasta.
[An hour later]
She called him to the kitchen. On the table was a plate. "That's pasta! Don't you like pasta?" she asked, beaming.
His eyes widened. It was pasta! But it looked... weird. The sauce was a strange color, and the noodles seemed a bit limp. But it was still pasta. "Really? How'd you know I like pasta?"
"Try it," she said with a genuine, hopeful smile.
He looked at the plate suspiciously. He took a hesitant bite. As he chewed, the flavor hit him. It was awful. It tasted... indescribably bad. His excitement evaporated instantly, his taste ruined, his expectation burned into ash of the volcano. He chewed slowly, trying not to make a face. He swallowed hard. "Mmm... it's good!" he lied, forcing a small smile, not wanting to hurt her.
"That's great! Come on, give it another try!" she encouraged.
He looked at the plate with dread. He didn't want to lie again, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. He took another tiny bite, chewing as fast as he could. "Mmm... yeah... good..." he said, his voice weak. His face felt a little green.
"Okay! Let's eat." She sat down across from him, starting on her own plate.
He watched her, then tried to mimic her enthusiasm. He pushed the food around, taking the smallest bites possible, silently begging for the meal to be over. Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore.
He burst out, spitting the pasta back onto his plate. "I CAN'T EAT THIS!" he exclaimed, pushing the plate away. "It tastes like shit!" he said bluntly, his face red with frustration.
She blinked, stunned.
He looked at her, his face still red. "It's awful! It's the worst thing I've ever tasted!" he complained loudly. "How can you even eat that?! It's gross!"
The room fell silent. The quiet stretched on for over a minute before she finally spoke, her voice soft.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Because-... because I didn't want to hurt your feelings!" he snapped, crossing his arms. "I tried to eat it and act like I liked it! But it's honestly inedible!" He pointed at the offending plate. "Your cooking is terrible!"
[A Few Hours Later]
A few hours later, after the chaos of the nasty food had settled, it was midnight. He had chosen to stay overnight. He was lying in bed, still feeling gross. He'd brushed his teeth three times.
"I think I'm going to have nightmares about that pasta..." he complained dramatically.
"Shush," she said, pulling him close. "I tried my best, y'know? That was mean."
He rolled his eyes but let himself be pulled closer. "Well your best sucked," he retorted bluntly, burying his face in her shoulder. "I'm never eating your cooking again," he declared firmly.
She cupped his cheeks gently with both hands. "James..." Her lips parted slightly.
"What?" He looked up, meeting her eyes. Her expression looked a little hurt, and his heart immediately sank. "I'm being honest but I'm being mean..." His tone softened.
She leaned close, pressing her lips against his for three quiet seconds before breaking the kiss. "Shh... goodnight."
He stayed quiet, his face flushing. He watched her pull away, his mind racing. Just as she started to turn, he grabbed her wrist.
"Come here." He pulled her back, his face inches from hers, and kissed her again. This time it was more passionate. He felt guilty. "I'm not going to sleep yet," he mumbled against her lips. "Kiss me again."
She leaned in. The kiss lasted five seconds before they both pulled away, breathing softly.
He watched her, his mind going blank. He realized two things very clearly. One: she was a terrible cook. The worst. Two: she was really sweet, and she'd taken his mean comment to heart.
"Now sleep, dummy," she whispered.
He huffed softly, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He was tired, but his mind was busy. "You're bossy..." he mumbled, watching her climb into bed beside him. He scooted back automatically to give her space.
"I'm not! Gosh, it's literally the middle of the night," she whispered back.
He rolled his eyes dramatically, pulling the blanket over his head. "You're literally arguing with me about being bossy while being bossy... at midnight..." His voice was muffled by the fabric. "Just go to sleep already..." He let out a final, tired huff.
He slept peacefully beside her, his arms wrapped around a pillow. He slept deeply, his face buried in the softness. He woke up a few hours later, thirsty. He sat up slowly, looking over at her sleeping soundly.
He watched her sleep for a moment, her mouth slightly open as she breathed softly. He remembered how sensitive she had been about his honest comment. He felt a pang of guilt, but then the memory of the pasta surfaced, vivid and terrible.
"God," he whispered to the dark, quiet room, a grimace touching his lips. "That pasta was bad..."