When Life Gives You Pickles, Make It Into Soup
rating: G | cw: none | wc: 920 | tags: established relationship, domestic bliss, soup | prompt: Love is silently passing them a pickle because you know it’s their favourite
written for @steddielovemonth
“So Gareth was supposed to stay on the drums, right?” Eddie waves his hands in the air where he sits on the counter. “That’s like his whole thing since he joined the band.”
“Okay.” Steve nods, glancing over at Eddie as he starts sliding the chopped carrots and potatoes into the pot from the cutting board.
“But during practice, which was today, he says that he wants to play bass guitar. Which, in another day, I would be completely cool with and the other guys will be like, ‘Yeah, Gareth, follow your heart’s intent and pick another instrument that calls out to you.’”
“That’s what you would say.” Steve points out just because he knows that Eddie’s that kind of person who says such long-winded compliments. He fills the pot with cold water from the sink, just barely remembering to throw in a pound of the meat bones to complete the broth.
“Okay, yeah, I said that.” Eddie rolls his eyes. Then he raises an index finger, pointing it up to the ceiling for no particular reason. “But I didn’t! I said none of that because Gareth said he wanted to change instruments today. The day before we will have our venue show!”
Steve drops his mouth open in a wide ‘O’ because he’s that invested in the secret drama of Eddie’s band. “He didn’t.”
“He did.” Eddie shakes his head mournfully. “You can imagine our reactions.”
Steve hums, opening the jar of pickles and plucking one out to pass it to Eddie. Eddie takes it and bites it without a second thought. There’s a couple pickles left in the jar since Steve had already blended the brine earlier so his boyfriend could finish them.
After a few chews and swallows, Eddie continues his tale of mutual devastation, still oblivious to Steve’s cooking. Good. Because this has been in Steve’s plans for weeks ever since he went to the farmer’s market and struck a lovely conversation with that Polish couple. He watches the boiling pot, making sure his attention is perfectly divided between the timer and Eddie’s story.
“-and then Jeff said, ‘How about I switch with the bass, Frankie does the second guitar, and you do the drums?’ I told him, ‘Don’t you remember my last time playing with the drums?’ Jeff just said, ‘Oh yeah, right.’ Then-”
Setting the stove’s temperature down to shimmer, Steve slowly pours in the blended pickle in the broth, mixing it together. He sees Eddie has finished his pickle so Steve passes him another.
This time, Eddie ferociously tears a chunk off, green acid spitting out as he speaks with a full mouth, “Eventually, it was Gareth who finally stood himself up and said, ‘Yeah, you’re totally right, I shouldn’t switch out before tomorrow’s gig. But I’m still doing bass after that's done.’”
“So who’s doing the drums?” Steve crosses his arms, leaning his hip on the counter besides Eddie.
“That’s the thing!” Eddie throws his hands up. Unfortunately, so does the half-eaten pickle. It hits the ceiling with a tiny splat. The two men stare up at it, Steve with genuine surprise and Eddie with horror. Before Eddie can splutter out apologies, Steve wordlessly kisses him and gives him the last pickle from the jar. Eddie carefully eats the whole thing with a bright-red face and eyes pointed downwards. Cute.
Steve double checks the soup. The lid’s so steamed over that he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been stained completely white. He takes that cue to take it off and shut the stove for it to cool.
Eddie finally speaks, “Yeah, we have no idea who our drummer could be. Like, Gareth’s good but neither of us are. Frankie has good rhythm but he’s better with guitar. I can’t drum for shit. Same with Jeff.”
“Bet that’s a problem for Future Eddie and his friends.” Steve quips, slowly mixing the soup around.
Eddie barks out a laugh. He hops off the counter and stands behind Steve, peeking over at the pot. “This smells delicious by the way. What soup is it?”
Steve makes a shushing gesture to which Eddie responds by biting his shoulder. Steve rolls his eyes and contemplates if he should put in the half and half cream now. The Polish woman at the market had said it was better to wait for the soup to cool enough before adding the cream and parsley. He shrugs and just dumps it anyway.
He retrieves the bowls and scoops a good amount of the soup. “Careful, it’s still hot.” Steve warns as he passes it to Eddie’s eager hands. “And eat at the table this time.”
Eddie sticks a tongue out at him but does so. Steve watches with bated breath as Eddie carefully blows on his spoon before closing his mouth around it. He sees the exact second when Eddie’s eyes widen and his body going stock still. For a terrifying moment, Steve worries that he had messed up the recipe and Eddie was going to spit it out in disgust.
But within a blink of an eye, Eddie’s standing in front of him. Hands clenching tightly on his shoulders while his eyes start watering.
“Sweetheat,” Eddie says oh-so softly, “did you make soup from pickles… for me?”
Steve smiles at him sweetly and gently squeezes Eddie’s wrists. “Pickles are your favourite after all.”
Naturally, Eddie cries his eyes out with blabbering declarations of his unending love for Steve. Steve is more than happy to hold his boyfriends and return those favors.
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