Fuck.

“Right,” Damon said tersely before returning his attention to the stove.

Could he punch himself in the face, please? Micah took a deep breath in through his nose before bravely taking a seat on one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen island. Damage control time. “It’s a… um, nice place you have here.”

The lack of personal items and boring décor aside, it was an understatement.

“Thank you,” Damon said stiffly, though he didn’t turn around to face Micah. “There’s a personal gym and a pool the floor below this one as well.”

Of course, there was.

“That explains a lot,” Micah couldn’t help but mutter.

Damon glanced over his shoulder, a puzzled frown pulling at his mouth.

“I mean, no one gets a body like that,” – Micah gestured vaguely at Damon’s whole person – “what with the arms, and the back, and the thighs, without working out regularly. I mean, you could probably bench press me if you wanted to. Of course, that doesn’t explain away the face, or the perfectly styled hair, or the frickin’ eyes, but… you know you can stop me at any time, right?”

Micah should have been embarrassed, prattling on about all the ways he found Damon attractive, but it was hard to feel anything but proud when the man lost most of the tightness that had gathered in his shoulders the moment Micah had made that stupid remark about his “job”.

“Speaking of my eyes… you know, someone once told me they were downright arresting. Threatened to arrest me because of them.” Damon’s tone was purposefully flippant, but it was obvious he was teasing him.

Micah groaned aloud, fighting the urge to hide his reddening face in his hands. “Yeah, well, that person was probably drunk at the time. You can hardly hold it against them.”

Damon offered Micah a little smirk before transferring whatever delicious smelling… thing he was making from a pan onto a plate.

There was already a tall stack of what looked like extremely thin pancakes.

“What are you making?” Micah asked. “Whatever they are, they smell really good.”

“Crepes,” Damon answered, adding some more batter to his pan. “There’s fruit, too, of course,” he said, nodding at a platter of strawberries, blueberries, and pineapple. “I also whipped up some fresh cream. Or there’s powdered sugar in the cupboards if you prefer that.” He paused, his frown suddenly returning. “Unless you want something else? I can always order in.”

Micah blinked. “What? No. You already made these.”

“But I didn’t ask-”

“I will seriously throw a fit if you don’t let me try those,” he told the man honestly. “Nothing that smells this good could possibly taste bad.”

He must have said the magic words because Damon snorted, and his frown disappeared. “Alright. I have enough batter to make a couple more if you want to hang tight for a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Micah agreed easily.

It shouldn’t have been so comfortable, lounging in the man’s kitchen and waiting for him to finish cooking (for him!), but Micah felt oddly at ease, and before he knew it, Damon was placing a plate of stacked crepes in front of him. Damon grabbed the fruit and whipped cream, along with his own plate and some silverware before taking a seat next to him.