'It must be the weather and the open windows.'
That's what Nox thought. Or maybe it had something to do with them swimming in the lake last week... Torven had been too stubborn to dry off properly, and now he was sick, flat on his back in bed, completely unaware of how much Nox was worrying about him.
Nox had been checking in on him every hour, bringing tea and pressing his hand to Torven's forehead to check his temperature. He really needed to make him something to eat.
"Wait here. I'll bring you some lunch," Nox said.
Torven propped himself up weakly on his elbows. "Wait, Nox, I'll cook something."
"No, no," Nox cut him off. "You stay right here. It won't take long."
And with that, he headed to the kitchen, completely forgetting that he was a terrible cook.
'I will make something edible and simple. There's no other option. How hard could making eggs be?'
He found a pan, a spatula, that would do, right?
The fire crackled to life in the wood-burning cooker, surprisingly obedient. He cracked the eggs, one of the shells fell into the pan, but he fished it out quickly, burning his fingers in the process. Then the eggs began to stick slightly. Nox wasn't ready for what came next.
"Okay, okay," he muttered, reaching for the handle.
He didn't notice that the wooden tip of the pan had brushed against the flames.
Until it caught fire.
Nox panicked.
He grabbed a dishcloth, which had been hanging from the window latch, and started waving it in the air, trying to put out the fire, but it only made things worse. The flames licked closer to his fingers, and in a panic, he dropped the cloth on the carpet.
Within seconds, the fire began to spread through the rug fibers on the floor.
'Oh gods,' he thought. 'Water, quickly!'
He ran for a bucket, and by the time he returned, the fire had climbed up one of the table legs. He doused the flames in one swift motion. Smoke and the stench of burnt fabric filled the kitchen.
'We will need a new rug. And a table. And maybe a mat in a different color. Why does everything have to be brown after all?'
He opened all the windows wide to clear the air, then looked at the charred eggs still sitting in the pan. Letting out a long sigh, he thought with a surprising sense of optimism:
'Good thing I adopted so many chickens. At least we're never short on eggs.'
Two hours later, the food was finally done, well, mostly. All that was missing was a pinch of salt on top. Nox tried to remember where Torven had hidden it and began rummaging through every cupboard.
In one of the drawers, he stumbled upon something else: a sketchbook.
Torven's sketchbook.
He opened it to the first page but quickly closed it and decided he'd look through it properly once he brought Torven his tray.
He plated the scrambled eggs with bread, some sliced vegetables, and a glass of orange juice. Then he carried it to their bedroom, sat gently on the edge of the bed, and said quietly, "Your food is ready."
Torven gave him a small nod. After making sure his partner is comfortable, Nox slipped out of the room, returning to the kitchen to grab the sketchbook. He made his way to his favorite tree, sat on the grass, and began leafing through the pages.
Some of the early drawings were rough, probably Torven's first attempts. Animals. A cat. A dog. Even... a goose? 'Is that a goose?'
They looked like they'd been drawn by a child. Somewhere around a third of the way through, Nox noticed human figures. Was that... him?
He wasn't sure. Some sketches were in black and white; others had hints of brown or ochre. As he turned the pages, more and more drawings depicted the same person. 'That's me,' Nox thought.
In various poses: sitting, lying down, standing. Portraits. Full-body studies. Page after page, the entire sketchbook filled with images of him.
But the last twenty pages were... of him nude. In different positions.
Nox squinted critically at one sketch. He had some issues with the proportions.
"I'm not THAT small," he muttered aloud.
Sure, Torven was bigger than him. But still, this was exaggerated. That didn't look like him at all.
For a moment, doubtful, Nox pulled open the waistband of his trousers and peeked down.
'Definitely not that small.'
His dissatisfaction grew to the point that he decided to fix Torven's mistake. With the sketchbook under his arm, he headed to the art studio to "adjust" each drawing.
Before diving into edits, though, he grabbed a few sheets of paper to practice. His first attempts were shaky; he struggled even with a straight line. He tried to capture the shape of the testicles accurately, adjusting them several times to look more supple before he was finally satisfied.
Holding the drawing out at arm's length, he tilted his head.
"Yes," he whispered. "That's it."
He got to work. It took him several hours to modify every drawing in the sketchbook. He was just finishing the last one when he heard the door open behind him.
Torven stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised high, his gaze sweeping from the floor to the table, looking at pages covered in drawings of male anatomy.
Nox lunged, trying to scoop up the pages, but it was too late. Torven had seen everything.
"What are you doing, Nox?" he asked, trying to keep a straight face.
"I... I was just..." Nox stammered, desperate to change the subject.
Torven stepped further into the room. "I'm feeling a bit better. I noticed a burnt smell in the house... But what are you doing here? I see you've taken up an interest in art, and are creating your own... 'masterpieces.'"
His eyes narrowed on the notebook Nox was trying to hide.
"Wait... is that my sketchbook?" He snatched it from Nox's hands. "Where did you find it? I've been looking everywhere."
"Imagine this... It was in one of the kitchen drawers." Nox continued, "You didn't think someone else might find it? Like Mary?"
"You're right. That was careless. Good thing she didn't see it, because at the very end, there are..."
He flipped to the final pages and froze.
Drawings of Nox. Naked. Edited.
"What... is this?" Torven looked stunned, unsure whether to be furious or laugh.
"Don't look at me like that!" Nox blurted. "I should be the one asking! Why did you draw them so small?" Face red as a beet, Nox crossed his arms.
"I drew them before I ever saw you naked," Torven said, unbothered. "And I wasn't that great at drawing from imagination back then."
Torven kept flipping through the altered sketches, his gaze catching on one particularly generous revision.
"Nox.." he said, slowly, "This one...Seriously? It's down to your knees."
Nox folded his arms and huffed. "Maybe it is. Under the right conditions."
Torven chuckled, closing the sketchbook and putting it back on the desk. "You're ridiculous." Then added "I like the real one the best".
"You like me even when I burn down half the kitchen?"
Torven's smirk softened. "You were trying to take care of me."
He reached out, tugged Nox closer by the front of his shirt, and kissed him, slow and warm.
"Next time," Torven murmured against his lips, "just bring me toast. And stay in bed with me."
Nox smiled, pressing their foreheads together. "Only if you promise to draw everything more accurately next time."
They both laughed, tangled in each other's arms as the sketchbook lay forgotten on the table, pages fluttering in the breeze from the still-open window.