HiNaBN: Mentha spicata

I like cooking for Hanna, but I'm never sure if I add too few spices or too many, or if things are undercooked, or anything like that. Being unable {well, more unwilling than unable} to taste the food makes cooking one huge game of chance.
  Luck and apparent skill {or muscle memory and a good recipe book} appear to be on my side most of the time. Hanna scarfs down practically everything I cook, up to and including eggs Benedict, which was yesterday's breakfast.
"Hey, Rosario, I just got the best idea ever!" he shouts from the couch. He doesn't really have to shout; the apartment is tiny and I can hear him just fine at normal volume anywhere in it, except, inexplicably, the bedroom.
"Hmm?"
"We should totally make ice cream. Like, homemade mint-chocolate-chip? That would be like whoa."
He comes bounding into the kitchenette {which is really almost too small to hold us both, but I don't mind.}
"But it sucks that you wouldn't be able to have any," he says, dejected. He pulls himself up on the countertop next to the sink {I am doing the dishes with the aid of a pair of rubber gloves.}
"I mean, I'd hate for you to have to put so much effort in and not even get to taste it. Dude, like, I would hate if that happened to me."
"I wouldn't mind, Hanna. I like cooking for you."
"Nah, but seriously, bro---oooohIknowwhattodo! It's almost dark, so we could totally send Connie up to Food Giant and he could get some already made! That way I could still totally have some ice cream and you wouldn't have to waste time making something you couldn't even have. Like--whoa, what if you were lactose intolerant? That would suck, too, I mean..."
I can't help but smile, and I can almost see him tallying it on that chart of his. At this rate I'll surpass Conrad within a few days.
"Soooo, dishes done yet?"
I nod. "You could help me dry them and put them away."
"AwwmanIhatedrying! But I guess I can," he says with an awkward grin. He grabs a more-or-less-clean dish towel off the counter and plucks a plate off the small pile of dishes.
The pile is dried and put away in no time. Hanna contributes his energy to everything he does, even things he hates, it seems.
"So yeah, I'm gonna go call Connie."
"Alright."
He jogs off to the bedroom to find his cell phone, which is hopefully charged. {I don't know why I can't seem to think of it as 'his bedroom', since he's the only one who actually sleeps, or even 'our bedroom', since I do spend roughly eight hours in it most nights.}
I sit on the countertop where Hanna was and lean against the cabinets. My head almost touches the ceiling this way.
A few minutes later, Hanna emerges from the bedroom.
"Phone call went well?"
He scratches the back of his head. "Weeeell, define 'well'. He complained a lot but he says he'll be here, and he also said 'what am I your errand boy fuck this even Worth isn't this demanding fine Hanna I'll go get your goddamn ice cream'." He shrugs. "That's a direct quote."
He sits on the countertop next to me {a little too close, most people would think, but Hanna really has no concept of 'too close'.}
I can feel the body heat radiating off of him {which sounds creepy but feels nice.} He leans his head back and looks at the ceiling.
There's a pencil stuck in one of the tiles. There's water damage, and the light fixture, which is hanging on by a few wires, looks as though it's trying to escape the mortal coil by plummeting to the ground any second now, but when I bring it up, Hanna insists it's been there this long, it'll stay for now.
"You know, Hugo, I like having you here. Like, you have no idea, bro. Everything is so much more fun when I don't have to think of ways to keep myself occupied until the next case comes up. Such as throwing pencils into the ceiling to see if they'll stick."
He grins, and I can't help smiling again.
Conrad knocks angrily on the door, as if he's trying to break it down. "Cross, come get your bloody ice cream! I had to fight through her to get up here; you'd damn well better enjoy it!"
   It seems he's still afraid of Hanna's landlady, and I don't blame him. She casts a disapproving eye whenever see sees Hanna and me together, but he pays the rent on time, which has to count for something.
"Just a second, Connie!"
Hanna rockets out of the kitchenette, almost crashing into the door. He opens it awkwardly, and Conrad shoves an ice cream tub into his arms.
"Never. Again."
"Right, right, Connie. Mmkay, have a good night! Don't forget to eat!"
"Hanna, you're such a--"
Hanna shuts the door in his face, something I've never seen him do.
"Wow, I just totally did that," he laughs.
He brings the ice cream {which he has opened in the meantime} into the kitchen and sets it on the counter, then digs a spoon out of a drawer. He pulls himself onto the counter again and holds the ice cream in his lap as if it were a small child or a puppy.
I didn't expect him to bother with a bowl, and he doesn't. He plunges the spoon into the unnaturally green, slightly melted ice cream and takes a bite of epic proportions. He closes his eyes and 'mmm's.
"What does mint taste like?" I ask.
"You forgot? Whoa. Err--well--like. It's kinda... cold, and spicy at the same time. Sorta. It's like...whoa. Hard to describe."
"Seems like most things are."
"Yeah, well. Sorry I can't describe it better."
He frowns in thought, but then gets a mischievous smirk and jumps down from the counter.
"Hey, Björn, hop down for a sec, I wanna try something."
He giggles as I slide down off the counter--literally giggles. What could he be planning...?
His plot is revealed soon enough, because he grabs my tie and pulls me close.
"Uhh, lean down here," he says clumsily, almost as an afterthought. Hanna is not a master of thinking things through.
Hanna lets out his trademark 'gnee' as I take the initiative and scoop him back onto the countertop, which makes him at least a little taller, and makes this at least a little less awkward.
He smiles hesitantly before he grabs my tie again and pulls my lips to his in a clumsy kiss.
I am surprised to discover that my taste buds are still in working order. Predictably, his lips taste like mint {which I can't believe I had ever forgotten the distinctive taste of.}
"Galahad," he murmurs when he pulls away, his eyelids fluttering. My favorite name so far, and the only one he's ever used more than once. It seems as though he knows what he's doing here.
"Hanna...?"
"Was that... That was so unprofessional. Investigator don't just kiss their partners like that," he says uncomfortably.
"Not usually."
"I'm sor--wait, are you being facetious?"
"Maybe."
"So you're saying that was okay."
"Pretty much."
"So you're saying you wouldn't mind if I did it again."
"I wouldn't mind."
He smirks maniacally, and I scoop him up again, which he seems to enjoy, because it earns a quick peck on the lips, which turns into a longer, slower kiss.
I find myself liking the taste of mint more and more with each passing second.