40. Zyran #2
He stops in the doorway for just a second, more like pauses, before he's scooting up next to me and peering at what I’m doing. I ignore him and turn the heat down while I move over to the island where my cucumber sits.
Cyran follows me, resting his elbow on the counter. “You’re cooking.”
I hum and pick up the knife.
“Salmon?”
“Uh huh.”
There’s a longer pause, and again I refuse to even look up as I begin slicing the vegetables into small circles. I make quick work cutting that before moving to the avocado and then shredding the carrots. It’s only when I grab the edamame from the microwave does Cyran speak again.
“You’ve been able to do this the whole time.”
It’s not a question, and maybe that’s why I finally peer over at him.
“Zyran.”
“Cyran.”
“You gave us food poisoning," he mutters.
I roll my eyes and huff out a breath. “Once, and that was seventeen years ago.”
Moving back to the stove, I take the lid off and check the salmon—perfect.
“Raiden was sick for three days.”
Again, I shake my head and pull the salmon off the pan onto the bowl of rice. “Raiden’s dramatic.”
“He couldn’t even keep water down?—”
“Dude, that was seventeen years ago. And I stand by the fact that he’s dramatic. I mean, not talking to me for seven whole days because I was young and trying to be nice and cook everyone a meal—don’t tell him I’m cooking.”
Cyran’s quiet for a moment, gaze locked on me before he lets out a single ‘ha’.
“What?”
Cyran shakes his head, turning towards the coffee pot that’s always fresh and warm. “Nothing.”
“Cyran.”
“I said nothing,” he says, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup. But I know that tone; I’ve known it my entire life, it’s the same tone he had right before he did something to get us both in trouble.
“Oh just say it.”
“Dude, you’ve spent seventeen years letting us think you couldn’t cook. I mean, that’s a lot of years of Raiden doing most of the cooking, and him complaining about it, acting like it was a burden he was carrying?—”
“I offered to help plenty of times,” I interrupt.
“You offered to help knowing he’d say no.”
Rolling my eyes, I layer the rest of the topping onto my plate before moving to the stool. I just sit down when Sybil appears in the doorway in one of Raiden’s sweatshirts that’s three sizes too big, hair up, and eyes half open, stopping dead when she sees me and Cyran.
“So… I see you two are actually in the same room together; this is… good.”
“We’re making progress,” Cyran says, leaning against the other side of the island.
She nods and hops her way over to the coffee before pulling a stool next to me. “What are we talking about?”
I open my mouth when Cyran beats me to it. “Finding out this one can cook.”
Sybil looks down at my food that I’m currently stuffing down my throat and then back at Cyran. “Okay, and most adults can.”
Cyran laughs, shaking his head. “Oh no,” he says, setting his mug down and giving her his full attention. “No, no, no. The last time this man cooked for us?—”
“Cyran—”
“We were fourteen, fifteen?—”
“Cyran—”
“—and he decided he was going to make everyone a full dinner. Real food, you know, nothing from a box or canned; very ambitious and spent the entire afternoon on it.” The fucker pauses for dramatic flair. “Gave every single one of us food poisoning.”
Sybil’s eyes widen for a second, and then she blinks. “All of you?”
“Oh every last one. And we had one bathroom,” he says, holding up a finger.
“One. Raiden didn’t speak to him for a week.
Rhys disappeared for two whole weeks, two, Sybil.
Which, I mean, honestly, isn’t that different from normal with him, but still.
And me,” he says, putting a hand over his chest, “I brought it up every single day for a few weeks.”
“A month,” I grumble around my food.
“It was absolutely not.” He points at me and then goes back to Sybil. “And ever since then he has stood in this damn kitchen and watched Raiden cook almost every meal for seventeen years without saying a single word about the fact that he can magically cook now.”
Sybi slowly turns and looks at me as I shove another bite into my mouth.
“Oh, Raiden cannot find out,” she chuckles.
“That’s what I said,” I agreed.
She looks at Cyran, who is already smiling into his coffee, and points at him.
“Cyran, do not tell him.”
“I would never,” he smiles.
Yet neither of us believe him.
“Okay,” she says after a minute. “Give me a bite.”
I frown, glancing down at the few bites I have left. “It’s my lunch.”
She meets me with this look, and I know what’s coming before she even says anything. “Give me a bite, or I tell Raiden.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She smiles and raises her brows, looking downright creepy. “Try me.”
I narrow my eyes and push the bowl towards her. She takes a bite and chews slowly, her eyes going slightly wide as she looks at Cyran and then back at me.
“Are you kidding me?” She then pushes the bowl towards Cyran. “Try this.”
Cyran doesn’t have to be told twice and shoves the last bite of my lunch into his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up, and he chews even slower than Sybil, which for some reason bothers me. It’s almost more nerve-wracking than when Esperr was eating what I cooked.
“Zyran,” my brother groans, and I cringe.
“Dude, don’t ever say my name like that,” I say just as my phone buzzes on the counter.
Esperr’s name comes across the top, and I click on it, my chest immediately going cold as I read her text–going to run home, don’t worry about picking me up.
I’m vaguely aware that I’m already on my feet while Cyran and Sybil are talking, already moving towards the front door.