He looked up at me mournfully.

"What's wrong?"

"You will get to try that restaurant after all, it seems."

"What is it?" I reiterated.

"It's very dense, that's what it is. Also, very not the colour you would want your soufflé to be."

"Well, that's all right, you tried your best." The girl said, too cheerfully. For some reason, she looked a little less attractive. "The restaurant is still there, after all. I'm sure a night out will cheer you up."

Obviously, the woman doesn't know my partner. He's taken the fallen soufflé as a sign of personal failure, and continues to look utterly miserable. One glance at the dejected blue eyes, the trying-so-hard-to-keep-stoic frown, and they arms crossed protectively over his chest, told me what I had to do. I picked up a knife and cut into the brownish lump in the dish, dumping what looked like a serving onto a plate.

"It can't be that bad." I smiled gamely, stabbing at it with a fork. The texture was slightly rubbery. I shoved it into my mouth anyway, and managed to swallow.

"You don't have to--" But of course, he was too late. He winced as the bite went down.

"It doesn't taste as bad as it looks." I shrugged. "It's not light and fluffy, but it has a nice smokey quality to it."

He's too stubborn to actually reflect any emotion, and to a casual observer, he might seem untouched, but I know him better. "It's okay if you don't like it, Napoleon. I did ruin the soufflé, You could have spat it out, my feelings wouldn't have been hurt."

"Don't be silly. Besides, that would be a waste of food, and I know how much you hate the thought of wasting food."

"This is not food." He stared hard at the concoction. "It started out that way, but it is not now and never shall be again food."

"You're being too hard on yourself." I said, taking another bite.

It was more than worth it, for the look on his face. And even if it's not exactly the soufflé it was meant to be, it's not inedible, or even actually bad.

"Excuse me," Illya pulled back from the table. "I-- I've just lost my appetite. I think I shall retire early."

I let him go, until after I had bid our guests goodbye, and then I went upstairs after him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, knees tucked up under his chin.

"Hey." I said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

"Thank you." He whispered. "That-- that meant something to me."

"Well, I..." I turned red. It was just a little gesture, and he's hardly the sentimental type-- at least, I had never thought of him that way before. I was rather surprised by such a show of emotion from him.

"I will miss this." He laughed softly, sadly.

"Miss what? Kitchen disas-- I mean..."

"No, that's quite all right. It was a disaster. I probably should have started with something simpler. I make a decent perogi."

"You'll have to show me sometime. So what did you mean?"

"Well, just that-- I will miss this coziness, now that we are returning to our speperate-- well, more seperate than this, anyhow-- lives."

"I do believe I've caught you in a rare, unguarded moment."

"I apologize."

"No, no, it's sweet. I mean--"

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Will you miss the domesticity?"

"More than you'll ever know." I smiled. "It's something I've always had a soft spot for, I guess, if not actual leanings towards..."

"Sit?"

"Thanks. Don't mind if I do." I rested comfortably next to him, and he smiled back, almost shyly. I considered the possibility of some race of meek, sentimental pod people abducting my partner.

"Perhaps in a few years, we will both be in the market for a roommate?"

"A few years?"

"Yes, when our lives are pleasantly more dull, and we are no longer in the field. No longer partners... Well, maybe then we could give it a try, living together again. I mean, if at the time, we both think it best."

"I think it's the only solution. Maybe we can't really now, but when we aren't working together all day anymore, I don't want you to be out of my life. Yes, sharing an apartment would be the only answer, wouldn't it?"

"I thought so."

"Of course, you'll have to move into mine. There's no earthly way I could fit into yours."

He snorted. "Only due to your capitalist excesses."

I ignored the comment, putting an arm around his shoulders, and he leaned against me.

"Well... this is our last night here. Let's try and enjoy it, huh?"

~FIN~

(Additional author's note: Wow... perogi has so far popped up in three of the stories I've written. Probably because it is pretty easy, it's very good, and-- now I need some. And in Illya's defense, I've had worse cooking disasters than I gave him.)

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