Chapter Text
Razz has never quite gotten over his sensitive temper. He might have it in a chokehold of sorts, but it strains against his grip, even on the best days. Today is not one of his best days, and he knows it when the spoon snaps in his hand while he's trying to mix the dough.
He stares at the broken end of the wooden spoon, the tip of the half in his hand splintered, the broken end half-submerged in too-sticky batter. His magic crackles in his joints, the memory of violence like a lingering taste in the back of his throat.
Razz carefully puts the bowl and broken spoon down, then dusts his gloved hands and the sticky dough in flour. He really should set it somewhere to let it rise, but doing so would leave his hands free, and that would only make the coaxing call to violence all the more tempting. Instead, he uses excess flour and sets about wrestling the dough into submission.
His violence can go to kneading dough. And nowhere else. Absolutely nowhere else.
He isn't going to think about where that smug prick is. He isn't. Razz is not going to let himself get worked up over that snide, silver-tongued, too-tall bastard that pretends to be nice while harboring the most rancid taste in fashion and work ethic.
Suave never even buttons his shirt all the way up!
Razz wrestles and kneeds and wrestles and kneeds the dough until his arms at least pretend to feel tired. It isn't enough to give him a real workout, but it makes him use movement combinations he isn't as used to, and that's enough. Next he sets to rolling the damn thing flat, although this time he tries not to break his rolling pin.
He already has to replace a perfectly good wooden spoon.
Because Suave is so damn infuriating. It is all Suave's fault. His bare clavicle, his wide smile, the way he gives gifts that are thoughtful and to Razz' taste even though he himself is lacking in all sense.
Razz adores his new broach: It's tasteful yet not too expensive, crafted well and carries a meaningful message: 'Cool Dude'. It's a true statement if Razz is wearing it. Which he does. Often. Whenever he isn't in court.
And that bastard was the one who gifted it to him. How dare he be so- so flattering!!
It's been two weeks since, and Razz still hasn't figured out what he can do to one-up Suave on their date. Which is a problem, because that date is tonight.
In Razz' defense (pun not intended), he has been quite busy with work.
The dough is flattened, so Razz has to make himself set the rolling pin aside. He slathers the dough in sauce and pops it into the oven to get some pre-baking into it. He has to go lift weights for ten minutes to keep from making any holes in his walls, then he can add cheese and whatever assortment of toppings he decides to fancy. Today he fancies some jalapenos and banana peppers with his pepperoni.
It's a simple stress-dinner so he doesn't drink on an empty stomach.
Another hour or so of weight training and the oven dings at the same time someone knocks on the door. Razz prioritizes the oven first, pulling that stress-pizza with extra peppers out to cool on the counter before he changes out his cooking gloves to his standard gloves.
When Razz answers the door, a large bouquet of lilacs is right in front of him. Suave looks down at him from overtop the soft fragrant petals.
"I AM EARLY AND ALSO CAME WITH SENTIMENT!" Suave brags, like the smug prick that he is. "TO PICK YOU UP FOR THE DATE THAT WILL WOO YOU."
Razz takes the gift. He likes flowers, strange as it sounds. They bring color to the room, and they smell fresh, a mundane reminder that they aren't underground anymore.
(That he isn't in a war anymore.)
"ONE MOMENT, WHILE I PUT THESE IN A VASE," Razz says. "COME IN."
Razz puts his back to Suave only because Suave is not a real threat to him. He opens up the closet to find one of the vases he has stored away for just such an occasion. It's a simple glass thing, one that Razz has to handle with utmost care so he doesn't break it.
He nearly breaks it when he turns back to find Suave is not where Razz left him.
Quickly, Razz sets the vase down on the coffee table and darts around the corner where he senses a pulse. Suave is in his fucking kitchen!
"IS THIS FOR ME?" Suave asks, looking down at Razz's stress pizza.
The conflicting emotions that that question brings up crushes Razz's eloquence between them. On the one hand, it is ludicrous to even think Razz would offer a lazy, stress-induced monstrosity like that as a pet offering, no matter how potent the intent in it. On the other hand, that Suave would ask means he knows Razz's cultural customs and is expecting it. On the other other hand, Razz is certainly flattered that he can be so good at cooking that even his mediocrity is considered luxuriant.
"YOU CHEATING BASTARD!" Suave snaps, picking up the pizza cutter Razz had already pulled out of the drawer. "MAKING A HOME-MADE MEAL COVERED IN THINGS THAT START WITH MY FAVORITE LETTER! SURPRISING ME ON THE DATE NIGHT I AM DRIVING ON KNOWING I WOULD BE EARLY!"
Razz almost laughs. He isn't about to admit it's a fluke. One should always let the enemy talk themselves into whatever hole they want to. "ARE YOU GOING TO EAT IT?"
"OF COURSE! AS IF I WOULD BE UNGRATEFUL!" Suave retorts, slicing out a near-perfect eighth of the pie. Razz watches in well-masked disbelief as Suave brings it to his teeth and takes that first bite. Suave's face flushes in a sudden, vivid blue. "OH? WHAT..?"
"WHAT IS IT?" Razz asks, trying to ignore the way his SOUL wants to flutter. "HAVEN'T YOU EVER HAD FOOD BEFORE?"
"WELL, YES, BUT THIS IS DIFFERENT." Suave takes another bite. Then he inhales the last of the slice. "IT TASTES WARM AND COLD! BUT IN A PLEASANT WAY. HOW NOVEL. YOU CHEAT. WITCH FOOD IS CHEATING."
"IT IS NOT WITCH FOOD. I MADE IT MYSELF BY HAND," Razz huffs, already feeling victorious. "I EVEN MADE THE DOUGH WITH MY OWN RECIPE. NONE OF THAT PREMADE NONSENSE."
"OF COURSE YOU DID. BECAUSE YOU ARE A CHEATER." Suave took a second slice. "WELL. COME HAVE SOME. WE MIGHT AS WELL EAT IT TOGETHER BEFORE WE LEAVE. I DO NOT WANT TO MISS THE CONCERT."
Razz didn't know there was a concert involved. He comes closer, taking a slice for himself. The sweet and spicy comfort of the peppers helps to calm his racing SOUL.
Suave was Razz' pet now. Razz' person, his responsibility and his duty. He hadn't been emotionally prepared for a commitment. He hadn't expected a commitment.
But he got one. And that means Razz wins at Dating, something that is reasonable to want and possible to achieve. He wins. He is the Best at Dating and not a fun-hater. And he was going to be riding that high for a while.