6/9. Calliope
"Did you make all of this yourself?" you ask between bites of delicate, fluffy crab cakes. A flavorful blend accosts your taste buds–the gentle spice of red pepper flakes, the refreshing twang of fresh parsley, the subtle hint of lemon, and the buttery richness of diced crab meat. If he did, color me impressed.
"W-Well, yes," Elliott confirms bashfully, and averts his gaze from you. "I–um, living on my own makes mastering the art of the 'home-cooked meal' somewhat of a necessity."
His response is humble, but it instills you with admiration all the same. Back in your crappy apartment in the city, you're ashamed to admit just how much your survival relies upon your mother's leftovers and an embarrassing amount of orders from [1] Joja Eats.
"It's really good," you sigh adoringly, bewitched by the scrumptious flavors of all this picnic has brought to your blessed palate. "And impressive too, actually. It's a struggle for me to boil water, if I'm being honest."
Elliott lets out a good-natured chortle, though you know by his kind character that it's not at your expense, "Somehow, I very much doubt that, [Nickname]."
He seems veritably unconvinced by your culinary woes, and your cheeks darken in embarrassment. You relent, "Okay, I can make a few easy things, but nothing close to this! Sheesh, you're like a housewife or something!"
You gesture broadly to the homemade spread you're happy to enjoy, well into your apologetic-picnic by now. You're a bit flustered and prone to running your mouth as a result, and it prompts a reciprocating blush from Elliott. Your wording is a little…
"H-Housewife!" He squeaks, jolting. His sudden movement results in a half-eaten scallop flying off the end of his fork and rolling across the blanket pitifully. "Oh, drat!'
He drops his fork unceremoniously on the plate and shakes his head fervently, willing away the sudden mental image which has cropped up against his will–the image of himself in a cutesy pink apron, sending you and your briefcase off to work with an ample serving of steaming crab cakes made with love–goodness, he laments internally. Where did that idea come from?
He's an author, not a housewife; you're an artist, not a salaryman. Wait! He brings both hands to his cheeks in a cacophonous smack; we're not a married couple, either!
YOU ARE READING
Muse
Fanfiction[Gender-Neutral Reader] x [Elliott] (Stardew Valley Fic) [Cover illustration of Elliott: pulled from 'Google Images,' but appears to belong to 'Cleopatra-Sans on Deviant Art.' The book cover was made in Canva.] A relatively short tale of two artisti...
