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[righteousindignation]

It's the scent of blood that pulls him out of his fixation on his work. Not human, that would have been instantly on his senses, tearing at him, but animal. Finding that it comes from the corpse of a rabbit in his kitchen explains it, but not why it's there. Or maybe it does, when Elijah breathes in deep and catches the telltale scent of a wolf as well.

Only one wolf is brazen enough to break into his house. And as expected, he shows up again later, when Elijah's got his sleeves rolled up, radio on low, the meat separated from the rest of the rabbit, and he's chopping it into small pieces. "It's really touching, it is, that you care enough to want to make sure I don't starve."

"Don't make this into something it's fucking not. It just happens from time to time."

Elijah gives him that smile, the one that says he's laughing at Cyril, and Cyril bristles. "It's an instinct, holy shit! Don't give me that look!" A shrug, and Elijah returns to his chopping, still smiling while he makes a pile of the pieces. It's when the meat's set to the side that Cyril talks again. "...Do you even need to eat at all?"

"No, it gives us absolutely nothing we need, but I could compare it to you drinking. Do you need to do it? No, but you enjoy it for what you get out of it." A pause while he gets another knife out. "I find without the pressing need to eat I have time to make sure what I do is of decent quality. And if you're going to hang about, the least you can do is cut up these vegetables." He holds out the second knife to Cyril, who takes it slowly, looking unsure about this.

"Can't you just throw them in the processor?" Elijah gives him a look like he's just been insulted, and turns away to get the meat ready.

It would be weird, them cooking, if Elijah didn't completely ignore how Cyril didn't exactly seem thrilled about helping or how he seems unsure to be in a kitchen in general. Elijah seems calmer during this, enough that at one point he joins in with the radio. A hidden talent, his singing. Even Cyril's mangling of the vegetables can't bring him down, they don't need to be pretty to come out delicious. Spices, real butter (why people insist on using substitute he will never understand), white wine to cook down, mixing at the right times. He will get this, even if he thinks he's half motivated by the desire to prove to Cyril that he can cook well despite being undead.

Speaking of Cyril, he's wandered off somewhere, and Elijah can't be bothered to look for him. As long as he wasn't wrecking the house or messing up Elijah's files...it should be fine. Or he left, and then it's dinner for one tonight.

Finally everything's in to cook for the longest portion of time, and Elijah steps back. He washes what dishes he has at this point-later he'll want to not do them at all, and that's a habit he doesn't think he can break. Drying his hands, he sets the timer and goes out to the living room, maybe he can rest for a bit. Flopping down on the couch, he closes his eyes and-

"What'cha doing?"

Goddammit.

"Sleeping."

"You're talking while you're sleeping?"

Fine. Elijah will be silent then.

...Is Cyril really, honest to god and the devil and whatever else, poking him in the arm? Seeing as the feeling is coming every five seconds, the answer is yes. He raises a hand to smack away Cyril and resume attempting to rest.

He gets maybe a minute of peace.

"Elly." Not that fucking name. "Elly."

If this continues for the whole time the stew is cooking he will consider ripping out Cyril's throat.

When the stew is done, Elijah dishes it out onto two plates, since Cyril's still here. He doesn't start eating when they're at the table, thinking for a moment before rising and coming back with a bottle of red wine and glasses. Uncorking, pouring, it's all done without a care as to whether or not his guest even likes red wine.

Cyril sees the label-at least Elijah doesn't buy shitty alcohol. He accepts the glass without a complaint in that case, having been ready to start whining about it if it was less than decent quality. Elijah sets the bottle on the table between them, and takes his seat. "I've found that rabbit goes best with a red, in my opinion." Cyril shrugs, because it's alcohol and he's not going to sit around holding it in his mouth to draw out the flavors or anything like that.

He does, however ask one question that seems unprompted. "This isn't like a date or anything, is it?"

Elijah blinks, then raises his glass for a sip. "Absolutely not." Just because it was dinner didn't mean anything of the sort.

It's good food, as Elijah is eating it without criticizing his own cooking, though he's frowning a little. Cyril can't taste the problem, so he leaves the vampire to ponder over his food alone. Elijah nearly rolls his eyes at Cyril's table manners, but figures he couldn't expect better. Did he overdo it on the thyme? Maybe a touch less, next time. The meal's mainly silent for his thinking and Cyril not caring about his thinking-if it was edible and didn't taste awful, it was a success.

The wine did go well with the stew, if he was pressed for an answer.

When they are mutually done, Elijah clears the table without being asked. He doesn't come back within a few minutes, and Cyril briefly wonders if he's expected to clear out. He pushes his chair back from the table, and Elijah returns, two glasses with vanilla ice cream in one arm, a small pot of espresso and two spoons in the other. No cups for the espresso, but the reason why becomes clear enough when he pours it over the ice cream and adds a spoon, handing it over.

"Affogato."

"Or you could call it ice cream."

Elijah's in no mood to debate why changing the topping on ice cream makes it worthy of a new title altogether, but his short sigh makes his opinion on Cyril's comment very clear. It was meant for contrast-hot and cold, sweet and bitter, things that complemented each other even though they were strongly different.

A vampire and a werewolf. The thought occurs to him on the edge of the one before it, and it could progress, could open up in that symbolism-loving mind of his, and it could be an utterly stupid mental exercise.

He bites down on his spoon, thinking about the taste of the metal instead, and by the time his glass is empty, the thought is gone.

It wasn't a date, but this sort of thing will happen again. Of that, Elijah is certain.