Christoph had not entirely been stuck at home for his birthday. He had “celebrated†against his will with his best friend, Engel, around midnight, by being given shot after shot. Had he been given the full thirty-five he was owed; he might be in the hospital now. As it was, he had five and left it at that. True to his functional alcoholism, however, he had not even been hungover this morning and instead was far clearer headed than he would have liked. He was remedying this now, already most of a bottle of wine in. He had drunk while cooking, and was fully intending on opening a second, fresh, bottle for Rosaline. He didn’t face his alcoholism head on. He didn’t acknowledge it in any way, not that any of his friends had any room to speak on the matter. Engel, as it was, was drunk half the time too—or on some substance or another. Rosaline was much the same, always with a drink in her hand and something up her nose. Did he have any other “friends†really? Leona was not a friend, wife-to-be or not. She was more like an enemy that he felt sorry for.
“A birdy, hm?†He laughed, knowing the culprit. “Engel can’t keep his mouth shut for the life of him.†He laughed, fondly. He loved Engel, despite the man’s quirks. He loved him like a brother. In fact, he loved him arguably more than his own brother—from whom he was rather estranged. “Thank you, though, for the thought. Come in, Rosa.†He repeated. “I’m grilling up a filet.†He smiled. “I know you enjoy my cooking, gatita.†He teased in Spanish, referring to the time she, as a cat, had eaten his steak off his plate… and he had let her. His accent was a unique mix of Spanish and German, despite his years speaking English. His mother’s native tongue, his native tongue, was ingrained in him regardless. He had always had an accent, and had never thought much of it. Besides, gaita rolled off the tongue a lot sweeter than kätzchen. the German word for ‘kitten.’ He wondered for a moment if she even knew he spoke Spanish, let alone that it was one of his natively-spoken languages.
“I miss you as a kitten, really.†He teased, leading her inside and closing the door behind her. “You were very cute and cuddly.†He laughed, a little more intoxicated than he had initially thought. “As it is now, you just scowl at me with murder in your eyes.†He teased. “That’s what the darkness is, yes? Loathing?†He knew it wasn’t, and knew she knew as well. It was clearly meant as a tease.
He popped the bottle on the merlot, and poured her a hearty glass, pouring some over some shallots and garlic in the pan before pouring himself another glass. “I’m making a little reduction for the filets.†He explained, giving it a stir and adding some butter to the pan. He let it simmer for a moment as he reached into the icebox for the meat. He was lucky he had bought two, as there were now two hungry mouths to feed. He slid them onto his grill pan with a hiss as it seared quickly. He liked his steaks rare, and hoped she didn’t like hers too well-done either. “How do you take your steaks?†He asked. “Bloody or burnt?†He teased, suddenly in good spirits.
