A/N: There are a couple of POVs in this chapter! >< Hope you guys don't mind. I'm not sure when I will be updating again but I'll see what I can do...enjoy.

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[Nguyen]

As soon as Shin snapped, the rest of us got down to work without a single comment to give. Finn even awkwardly apologized under his breath and I was shook in general because apologizing was simply not something Finn would do.

"Alright, blindfolds on."

Liz clicked her tripod into place and fixed her huge-ass camera onto it while I positioned mine accordingly, standing a little to the left and closer for angled shots of food and faces. Shin was on standby with a serving of the first dessert in each hand, waiting for Liz's cue.

"Alright, here's the first one."

Shin placed the portions in right front of Finn and Evans, as written on the script. While the blindfolded participants groped around for the edge of the plate, Liz zoomed in on the dessert and took a couple of close-up shots while the camera was still recording.

"I can't find my plate."

"What's this? It's co—Finn!"

"What."

"That was my hand!"

Finn did not look apologetic in the least and I was glad that Liz had this all on tape. Beautiful. "Oh. Sorry."

"Okay, that's enough comic relief. Shin, give them a fork each and guide them to the food," Liz waved two plastic forks in the air, at Japanese boi, who'd collected them at once and did as instructed. "Don't worry I'll be cutting this out."

"Am I cutting something?" Evans brought the fork to his mouth. "Okay no, that's air."

"You know it's there when you feel a bit of resistance," Finn stated the obvious for his friend, reaching over to flick his forehead for missing twice so he had to grope around and settle for a cheek.

"But what if the dessert is so soft and fluffy that you can barely feel it?" Evans protested, indignant. "I know what I'm doing Finn."

Liz cut their banter short by straight up getting Shin to prepare a decent portion of the dessert on their forks (actually just Evans) and eating it at once. I was doing my best not to miss any nuanced expression on their faces but mostly just knowing that I could not afford to let this opportunity to sail my ship go to waste.

Evans sent the forkful of cake into his mouth, carelessly leaving cream on both corners of his lips. "Okay this is definitely a pineapple cake. It tastes exactly like pineapple," he began mid-chew, confident. "Wait, do pineapple cakes exist? This is new, right?"

"I like it," he concluded after swallowing, fork in mid-air, waiting to be guided to the next one.

"I hate it," said Finn in complete contrast. "The pineapple taste lasts forever, and I think I need some water." Shin handed him a cup by forcing it into his hand. Lol, looks like Japanese boi is still angry about what Finn had said.

Liz was back to prompting the two. "Okay, but describe the texture. Is it light? Soft? Crumbly? How sweet is it? What about other flavours, like sourness? More about the taste please."

"It's sweet. There's a lot of cream and—"

"Overwhelmingly sweet," Finn corrected. "Too fucking sweet. The cream is heavy. I feel like the pineapple thing isn't working."

"Wha?" Evans was confused. "Mine tastes just fine, Finn."

"Maybe it's your taste buds." The conclusion disappointed Evans thoroughly and wanting to do all that I can to continue the cruising ship, I suggested that Finn try the other slice of cake. He made a face of mild reluctance, but did it anyway. I helped with the guiding of his fork.

I could tell that Finn was confused after tasting Evans' slice of cake and he was not the only one.

"Finn? You okay?" Puffball was worried. "Say something."

"It's not...bad," he settled with after a while. "Yours tastes better. Try mine." Finn slid his plate over and it was the same thing all over again, testing my maiden heart.

"Woah," was all Evans managed after a bite. "I get what you mean. It's like when you get carbonara and regret it after a minute because it's so thick and like. Too much. Yeah. It's that feeling."

"Okay, so do you guys like it? Or no. Rate it out of ten."

They ended up deciding to separate the ratings for each portion of cake, even though it was from the exact same bakery. "Seven for Evans' and one for mine."

"What?" His friend appeared mildly taken aback. "You're so hard to please. I'm giving mine an eight-point-four and Finn's a three-point-eight."

None of us seemed very surprised by the odd decimals that Evans preferred or the decently low numbers that each of them had given. The three of us had taken turns to taste Finn's portion of cake and came to a consensus that a three was generous. This was ARCD's new pineberry cake, part of the rip-off 'angel collection'.

Next up was their meringues, and boy was I looking forward to this one. Shin handed them one each, wrapped in a paper towel after Liz had taken a couple of close-up shots and Evans did not hesitate to send a completely foreign object straight into his mouth. Perfect example of enthusiastic impatience but also a useful quality for...for taking other things with his mouth. Stop Nguyen, stop.

"I an't ell if ih a hoohie," babbled the boy who was a starter on the school's football team, who seemed to have no clue as to what the meringue was. I always had the vision (stereotype, admittedly) that jocks were stuck-up dudes with amazing bodies and perfect charisma—did I just describe Mr. Jaxon? Uh—but Evans was on a whole different level of derp. "Ey, Hinn. How 'out you?"

"It's a cookie, like you said. That, or a biscuit," Finn deduced after a bite, which, deliberately small, was already half of the meringue. Japanese boi and I turned to each other, exchanging the Asian glance of 'whOt in tArnAtiOn'. I've always tried to get Shin to recreate the 'nani' meme on my Snapchat but the one time he did it, it was so precious that I decided to keep it for myself. Yeeeah...I sometimes forget that I'm human and posses the ability to fall for someone else.

"Is this supposed to be something other than pure sugar?" Finn asked after finishing the meringue in his second bite, unlike Evans who had stuffed the entire thing in his mouth and was still chewing. "I can't taste any flavour other than sweetness."

"It's the pineapple thing again!" Evans cut in, clapping his hands together as though he'd discovered the secrets of the world (which he probably hasn't seen until he's read some of the hardcore shit I have, packed neatly into a box and hidden right at the back of my closet, so far back that it was in Narnia and my mom would never find it). "It's kinda sour this time though. Sweet and sour. Weird cookie but I like it."

"There should be bits of dried pineberry once you get to the middle of it," Shin explained, reading out the description from ARCD's website. "Burst of flavour."

"Ooh! So that's what the crunchy stuff was." Evans looked a hundred percent relieved while Finn was raising his brows so high, they'd already disappeared under the shade of his fringe. "Okay. I like it." He nudged his friend in the side. "You?"

"I hate it." At once, Evans was sad and confused.

"Why do we always have different opinions—"

"It's not my fault that everything's so inconsistent," Finn laid out, but I could also tell that he was somewhat picking a fight. "I didn't bake these. I just know that this can't be from Honeycutt's bakery 'cuz he wouldn't make the mistake of giving one person the shorter end of the stick. Maybe most of the cookies tasted good and I got unlucky. Maybe most of the cakes were decent, and I just so happened to get the one that had no flavour, but Honeycutt wouldn't allow that. He stupidly cares about everyone and that's why I'm pretty sure these weren't his."

I almost dropped my camera and gave the dude a standing ovation because woAH? Brilliant speech. Much truth. Shin looked quite as though he was ready to forgive Finn for his previous blunder but Liz, however, had other ideas.

"Sorry Finn, I have to cut that out because people would know you have some connection to Mr. Honeycutt and that's like, a loophole they could use to discredit our video, so," she sighed, chewing on her lower lip. "Try to stay on track—talk more about the inconsistency that you were going on about."

"Mine was good. Seriously, it was!" Evans was doing his best to speak up for his taste buds. "Sure it was sweet but I could taste the pineapple and the...the crunchy thing. It was sour but it balanced out the sweet thing really well and and and the shape...? Of the cookie? Was kinda cute. Poop-shaped, you know? Okay, not that kind—it's just, the swirly—dude, you know what I mean." He was trying so hard. A+ for effort.

"Mine's the complete opposite. No fruit, no flavour, no depth," woah woah woah Finn! Big words, man. Where did he learn those? "And we can't be sure it's not your weird taste buds speaking since you ate the biscuit whole and I can't try your portion to confirm it, so...no basis of evaluation man."

"Or, you could kiss him," I let slip by accident, albeit in a whisper.

Everyone turned.

I shrank away into the void. "N-no one said that."

*

We cruised through the next couple of dessert copies, all riding the popularity and craze of white berries, jumping on the bandwagon that Mr. Honeycutt and Shin had created, and some of them (I had to admit) were actually really good and were the exact same product that they had come up with—a tart.

Unfortunately, Finn and Evans were no experts in tarts and could not for their lives even name the pastry. Evans continued assuming that everything we were giving him was pineapple-themed because, as Shin had explained to me before, pineberries tasted very similar to pineapples and had an overwhelming taste.

This was all very good since we'd left the best for the last, and of course, served to differentiate the actual fruit that Mr. Honeycutt and Shin used instead of the ones that the copies did. While they looked very similar (both berries were white), the taste was on a completely different level.

"Wooaah," went Evans immediately after the first bite. "I don't know man. What fruit is this? It's like," he reached for another forkful of the dessert. "Okay, it's sweet but...the crust is...woah. This is the same kind of pastry from the ones before, right? The...what was it again. Tart? But the fruit is so...juicy? And sweet? But like there's no aftertaste or anything. It's so weird," he finished, digging into the pastry again.

"I think he means balanced," Finn finished for his boyfrie—I mean. Friend. "The crust is sweet, but I think something else was mixed in. Strawberry jam? I'm just guessing. So, it's a little sour but it balances out the fruit that's only slightly sweet."

"Yeah! Yeah," was all Evans could manage, seemingly speechless. "The cream though. So good."

"This can't be the same fruit that the others used," Finn was directing this at Evans. "The pineapple shit. I still don't think it's pineapple though."

Evans groaned. "Dude, trust me. It's pineapple."

They finished each of their tarts in seconds and I was devastated because desperate and envious me wanted the leftovers. Or at least something to gauge how amazing the original tart was. Anywho, it definitely looked better than the others as well.

"Right. So here comes the question," Liz the director cleared her throat, signalling me to get a little closer with the camera. "Which do you think is the original?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[Xander]

I shut the door of the cab and checked the time after confirming the address of the Stilton office, crossing the short distance in front of the building and emptying my mind. The fire inside was not something I could manage alone, without an angel's distraction. Filled with ire and frustration, anger and pain but along with it, worry and the odd but familiar fear of losing more than I'd already lost, I shut the heart away before stepping past the doors.

The first thing I did was to naturally head towards the front desk. Upon scanning the row of assistants, I knew at once that they'd wiped off the older staff and brought new ones in. In fact, the very one receiving me was a trainee, labelled by the silver badge pinned to her blazer.

"I'd like to make an appointment with Miss Trudy Stilton. Are you able to direct a call to her secretary's desk?"

The receptionist nodded twice, hurriedly flipping open an entire folder of extension number listings. "Miss Trudy Stilton, is that correct?"

"Yes," I said, waiting for her to ask for my name and reason of appointment. Apparently, it slipped her mind because she went straight to dialling the extension number and directing my appointment request to Trudy's assistant.

"Hi, uh. I received a request for an appointment with Miss Stilton?" She said into the receiver, unsure. I waited, ready with the standard set of answers to the questions I knew she would ask. The receptionist turned away from the receiver, using a hand to cover it.

"Sir, may I have your name please?"

"Jaxon-Honeycutt." She nodded, relaying whatever I'd said.

There was a pause as the receptionist took in whatever that Trudy's secretary was telling her through the receiver. Then, she paled. "Um. Sir, may I have your first name as well?"

"Xander."

If possible, she seemed to pale even further at this. "Um, excuse me." She placed the call on hold before excusing herself to speak to another receptionist beside her, who'd been busy attending to another visitor. A couple of seconds later and I was already being stared at by the pair and being, naturally, whispered about. Apparently, the other receptionist (supposedly more senior than the one I was talking to) appeared to recognize who I was. Together, they came over.

"Mr. Jaxon," the senior receptionist began with an apologetic and slightly embarrassed look on her face. "You do not need to book an appointment to see Miss Stilton. It was a mistake on our end—please proceed to the lift lobby. Miss Stilton's office is on the twenty-second floor. There is no need for any additional arrangements."

"Why not?" I stared and she fidgeted uncomfortably under my gaze.

"Oh, as in," the receptionist didn't seem to grasp what I meant. "Appointments are only required if the visitor is a business partner. Or a stranger."

"Yeah," I frowned. "I know that. And we don't know each other, Miss Stilton and I."

Now, the receptionist was looking very confused. "Uh. Pardon? But Mr. Jaxon, are you not...well, um. Engaged to—"

"I'm married, but she's not my partner," I glanced at my watch and from the expression on her face, she'd seen the ring as well. "Sorry, I'm in a rush. Could you please make the appointment?" I forced the words through my teeth, impatient.

The receptionist jumped, fumbling with the receiver. "Yes, uh—definitely. Is there a preferred time I could...?"

"Could you arrange something within," I'd glanced at my watch for the second time in a minute but the sound of heels, awfully familiar, approached in a way that made the blood under my skin burn and boil.

Speak of the devil. Facing her head on, I looked up and started towards her. Naturally, keeping eye-contact with someone like that was impossibly difficult since I was constantly reminded of every disgusting thing she'd done to my husband—because of me. Then, I would have to further spend unnecessary energy holding myself back from the desire to raise my voice and spill lengths of profanity. Not a good idea in an office building filled with people on her side, ready to see things from her perspective more than mine.

"Xander," Trudy had the gall to say my name in a sickly-sweet voice. "You came to see me? Even though you're so busy?"

"Yeah?" I laughed, sparing her a look of disgust. "How nice of you to receive me as well. You must be so busy, ruining the lives of other people."

She laughed. "Yes! Yours, especially. Shall we talk upstairs?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[Chip]

I'd blinked at least three times when I first saw the hole in Xander's, um, b-boxer briefs. I was in the middle of packing for our two-to-three-day stay in the city for Mr. Yamazaki's invitational event, or what I'd termed the nice and happy bake-share when I noticed that Xander, Giselle and I barely had any new clothes (or, um, underwear, for the matter). While the underwear part hadn't been part of my main concern, fitting in and dressing for the event was kind of the issue at hand. Mr. Yamazaki's invited guests were established pastry chefs who were likely to have attended such events on an even grander scale, which of course put me in my rightful pebble position.

Mostly blaming myself for being a tad too fond of the dessert-printed pyjamas sets that I'd always unconsciously drift toward at the store, I decided to drop my husband a text to ask about his preference for new clothes. Including underwear.

To: Mortal <3

Attached: hole in undies.jpg

Xan! I'm at the undies section of the department store ( / ^ \ ) what should I get for u

Originally, I'd thought of getting him the same model and brand that the majority of his boxer briefs were but after wandering around aimlessly and giving every aisle a check, I couldn't seem to find the exact same model anymore. Thankfully, a sales assistant approached me and after confirming with the stocks, informed me that they'd no longer sold the same model.

"Aw."

He laughed. "We do have a new and improved version that's on sale right now though," he went on, doing his job (promoting, I suppose). "Comes in amazing new colours. Ah, but I'd recommend trunks instead of boxer briefs for you though. Every body type needs a different sort of underwear to look and feel good."

"Oh," I blinked awkwardly, laughing a little. "I didn't know that. But, um, well...I'm not actually buying these for myself." Uwa Xan! Reply my text! ;-;

"All cool," the promoter reassured, leading me to the next aisle. "I just need to know what sort of body type he is—whoever you're buying these for."

"Um," I began tentatively, feeling quite put on the spot. "He's...w-well...athletic? I'm sorry, I don't really know what body types there are..."

"Do you have a picture?" He laughed and I was increasingly nervous about buying underwear. Awkward but not quite knowing how to get myself out of this, I showed him my wallpaper.

The sales assistant appeared thoroughly amused. "That's athletic alright," he laughed once more, and I awkwardly accompanied his amusement. "I've got just the thing..."

Just then, my phone buzzed and I checked it at once, knowing that my husband had replied to my text.

From: Mortal <3

I'm fine with anything Angel. You know my size best ;)

I stared at the screen of my phone in horror. Th-this husband of mine! Indignant, I decided not to reply and was about to put my phone away when it buzzed again. Xander had sent another text.

From: Mortal <3

Get yourself some too, okay?

(hint hint: that black lace thing you wore last night knocked the wind out of me though, so)

Again, I didn't quite know whether it was an occasion for laughter or tears but pebble me quickly stowed my phone away and erased all traces of blush from my face before apologizing to the sales assistant and following him to the next aisle. In my defence, the black lace thing (more accurately put, a pair of silk floral lace boxer briefs that were, um, a little shorter than normal boxer briefs—I think they're called trunks...I think—and dangerously see-through) was given to me by Shea, my youngest sister, and had cost a terrifying double-digit for a pair of undies. One pair!

Either way, there was no way I was going to buy something like that for myself when I could so easily settle for the cutest pair of macaron-printed shorts that were a whole lot cheaper. A-ah, I am digressing.

"So we've got a set of three boxer briefs that are currently thirty off. Second box is at fifty, as long as you get the same model, so. Maybe one for your boyfriend and one for yourself?" The sales assistant suggested, and I stared at him for a good second, awfully shocked.

H-he knew?

"Eh! I, um. How d-did you...but actually, he's my husband, so. You were really close," I admitted, sheepish. "How did you know?"

He shrugged. "People don't usually buy undergarments for their friends. It's usually parents getting it for their kids but there's no way that could've been your son or father—maybe, but unlikely—and he was your wallpaper, so. It wasn't that hard of a guess."

Stunned, I, too, noticed how obvious it seemed. "You're right..."

"So, if you're looking for the sort that suits you," he didn't seem to dwell very much on the topic, merely moving on to promote other products and treating me like every other customer. "I'm thinking trunks. They show more leg but aren't too racy or breezy for shy ones like you."

"Haha," I laughed stiffly, in disbelief at how accurately he was reading me and just generally afraid at the moment. I ended up listening to his every word and getting whatever that he'd recommended, only because pebble me was the kind of person who found it hard to make decisions from my limited knowledge and resigned myself to the persuasive powers of every salesperson ;-;

I made two more trips down to the second and third floor to look for a nice blouse for Giselle and a casual dress shirt for Xander before heading home, happy with my purchases. Naturally, my pleasant mood lasted for a good, long moment all the way home until, as I was walking up the hill and turning into our lane, when I spotted neighbour Miss Rachel loading the trunk of her car with luggage. She, too, appeared to be preparing for her trip to the city to attend the same event that we were invited to.

I felt more uncomfortable than usual, all of a sudden. Watching her struggle with her luggage made me want to offer my help—but then I remembered Mr. Dempsey's words and...and the possibility of her riding the popularity of what I'd initially created...better not.

Quiet as a mouse, I made sure to stay hidden in the shadows (to unleash my inner ninja) and crossed my fingers. Please don't notice me please don't notice me I do not exist—

Topple topple. Something had fallen across the road and I glanced over to see that Miss Rachel had dropped a box of her things, scattering them all over.

"Great," I heard her sigh in frustration, and the look on her face made me worry. Gathering whatever that was left of myself, I approached her to offer a hand.