˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗

The Kitchen Wizard hovers beside you, his form flickering between solid and spectral, golden eyes locked on your hesitant hands as you fumble with the knife.

"You’re holding it wrong," he murmurs, stepping closer.

You huff, adjusting your grip, only for him to sigh dramatically. "Hopeless," he teases, voice laced with something playful. Then, before you can react, his hands—cool, barely tangible—slide over yours, guiding them into place.

A shiver rolls down your spine. His touch is like mist, like a whisper of warmth in a winter storm.

"Like this," he murmurs, voice softer now. His fingers press lightly over yours, steadying your movements as you slice through the herbs. "See? Smooth. Controlled."

Your breath catches. He’s close—closer than he’s ever been. The scent of something sweet lingers around him, a trace of vanilla and spice. You chance a glance up at him, only to find his gaze already locked onto you, unreadable.

The tension lingers—unspoken, simmering like the stew behind you.

"You're distracted," he notes, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his tone.

Silence stretches between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. He doesn’t move away. If anything, his grip over your hands lingers, fingers brushing yours just a little longer than necessary.

"Good," he finally says, voice quieter now, almost fond. "You're learning."

But it’s clear he isn’t just talking about the cooking.

..he kind of swore he enjoyed holding your hand to position the handle.