In the kitchen, Steve stood seriously in front of the table, his hands busy slicing onions while occasionally glancing at the phone screen next to him. The cooking tutorial video from YouTube was still playing, its sound faint among the clinking of knives and the water running from the sink.
"So, what are we cooking, Vi? I thought something simple, but if you have other ideas, just let me know," Steve said without turning, his eyes still focused on the chopped onions.
Viona, who had been leaning against the kitchen table, smiled slightly as she watched him. "It seems like anything you make will taste good."
Steve chuckled softly, finally turning to her. "Don't just flatter. If it doesn't taste good, you'll be the one doing the dishes again."
Viona laughed along, but her eyes remained fixed on Steve's face. There was something so familiar and comforting about seeing him like this—serious, dedicated, and truly enjoying what he was doing. It reminded her of the night at her house when they both whispered and shared soft laughter.
Steve refocused on his phone, rewinding a part of the recipe that he seemed to have missed. "Hmm, so does the sauce need to be cooked first or mixed directly?" he muttered to himself.
Viona smiled at how seriously Steve was trying. "I didn't expect you to concentrate this much on cooking."
Steve snorted softly. "Don't be mistaken; I'm a perfectionist when it comes to things like this. Cooking is an art, Vi. Just like music."
Viona nodded slowly, still gazing at his face. Deep down, she realized how much she missed moments like this—just the two of them, without any distractions from the outside world, without any burdens to think about.
As Steve took a pan and started sautéing, the fragrant smell of garlic filled the kitchen. Viona stayed silent, enjoying the view in front of her, letting her heart sink into feelings she couldn't express.
Steve was startled when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist. His movement paused for a moment, the sizzling sound of the oil in the pan became the only noise in the kitchen, which suddenly felt warmer than before.
"Viona...?" His voice was almost a whisper.
Viona didn't reply. She just tightened her embrace, resting her face on Steve's back, feeling the warmth she had long missed. Her breathing was slow and steady, but her heart raced.
"I miss you..." she murmured softly, almost inaudible if the room hadn't been so quiet.
Steve felt his body tense up, his right hand still holding the spatula, while his left hand lifted slightly, unsure whether to touch Viona's hand that was wrapped around his waist or not.
He took a deep breath. "Vi... we shouldn't be like this," he said, his voice sounding weaker than he expected.
Viona remained silent. She didn't want to explain anything, didn't want to justify or blame her own feelings. She just wanted to stay like this for a moment.
Steve finally closed his eyes for a moment, then gently placed his hand over Viona's hand. "If you keep doing this... I'm not sure I can stay calm," he said in a voice that was almost a whisper.
Viona smiled softly against his back. "Just for a little while, Steve..." her voice was warm, as if a wound had finally found a bit of healing.
Steve didn't respond. He just let Viona continue hugging him, allowing himself to drift in a moment that shouldn't have happened—but felt so right.
Steve looked at Viona with an expression of victory as he turned off the stove. "There, it's done!" he said proudly.
The aroma of the dish filled the kitchen, and Viona, still slightly blushing from earlier, tried to divert her feelings by looking at the food in front of her. "It looks good," she murmured.
Steve smiled satisfied. "But it doesn't look enough. You have to try it first," he said, taking a spoon and scooping a bit of broth from the pot.
Viona reached out, thinking Steve would hand her the spoon, but instead, he poured the broth into his own palm. "Try it from here," he said casually, then extended his palm to Viona.
Viona's eyes widened. "Huh? Why from your hand?"
Steve chuckled, clearly enjoying her reaction. "To make it more authentic," he said, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.
Viona sighed softly, feeling there was something strange about this situation, but for some reason, she didn't want to refuse. Hesitantly, she bent down, bringing her face closer to Steve's palm. Her eyes glanced briefly at him, and when she saw the mischievous expression on his face, she huffed.
"If this is a trap, I won't forgive you," she muttered before finally sticking out her tongue and tasting the broth directly from Steve's palm.
Steve held his breath unknowingly. The gentle touch of Viona's tongue on his skin felt like more than just tasting food. He felt something else—something that made his heart race faster than it should.
Viona lifted her head, looking at Steve, and smiled. "It tastes good," she said softly.
Steve blinked, trying to return to reality after momentarily losing focus. He cleared his throat, trying to hide whatever he had just felt. "Of course it's good. I'm great at cooking," he said, reverting to his confident demeanor.
Viona chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, Chef Steve," she said, but in her heart, she knew the taste of the dish wasn't the only thing that made her smile right now.
As the last flame on the stove went out, Steve turned to Viona, who was still standing next to him with a faint smile on her lips. There was something in her eyes that lit up—a mixture of desire, nostalgia, and something deeper, wilder.
Without warning, Steve stepped forward, both hands gripping Viona's waist firmly. In one swift motion, he lifted her and sat her on the dining table.
"Steve—" Viona almost spoke, but her words were cut off when Steve's lips seized hers hungrily.
His kiss was intense, filled with passion that had been restrained for too long. Steve's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, while his fingers delved into every contour of her body.
Viona felt her breath hitch. Her heart raced, her body swirling in a confusing whirlwind of feelings. She should have rejected him, she should have pushed Steve away—but her body reacted in the opposite way. Her hands rose, her fingers threading through Steve's hair, pulling him closer as if afraid to lose this moment.
Their kiss deepened, growing more demanding. Steve let out a soft groan between kisses, as if pouring out all the longing and turmoil he had been holding in.
But amidst the intimacy, there was a small voice in Viona's mind whispering—a warning. Frans. Sharone.
And suddenly, reality hit them like cold water.
Viona gasped, her breath coming in shaky gasps as she gently pushed against Steve's chest, separating them. Their eyes met—Steve's eyes still dark with desire, while Viona looked at him with a mix of complicated emotions.
"Steve..." her voice trembled, almost inaudible.
Steve fell silent, trying to understand his own thoughts. His breathing was still heavy, his body still filled with the embers of the fire that had just ignited.
But then, he saw fear in Viona's eyes.
He stepped back, lowering his head, and exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry..." his voice was hoarse, filled with regret.
Viona remained sitting on the table, her lips still warm from their kiss. She didn't know what to say—didn't know how to feel. All she knew was that the boundary they shouldn't have crossed… had just been violated.