The boy had lost the sound of company when he could no longer hear its creak.

The other side, empty and absent

Of balance he was bound to seek;

It left him quite alone

Indeed.

=======================

[Vanilla]

"You two should have babies," said Si Yin the moment we ran into each other at the campus gate, her text and log books bundled together by a book strap but seemingly in ruins. "You're book-smart. He's street-smart. Imagine the kind of kids you'd have: Naruto-Einstein."

Mentally exhausted and having had little to no time for recovery yesterday evening, I'd taken some time to register Si Yin's presence and whatever she was saying in her usual bubbly voice. Truth to be told, I had myself to blame. After all, my 'superior' intelligence had somehow led to my choosing of dinner with Leroy over a productive evening in the library browsing archives and coming up with new angles for my article. Yet, thanks to the former's disarming words and effective smiles, I'd spent the entire evening thinking about what he'd said. That, and the fact that the administration office had given me a call to inform me of granted access not to campus accommodation, but to other facilities like the lodge pools, gym, study rooms, and common kitchens. Just to acknowledge that I'd set a new record on the test.

"First of all, I don't know who you're talking about." I held my student ID over the card reader and waited for the beep. "Second of all, Einstein—yes, I know who that is but Na... Naruto...?" We took a shortcut up the General Foods Nutrition Center to the second floor of Roth hall.

"Who else would I be talking about other than your knight-on-a-horse? Anyway, Naruto's like, the symbol of big-hit protagonists in every Shonen-genre anime or manga who embody heart before mind or instinct before reason. Einsteins are the total opposite and insanely clever but usually the sidekick," she shrugged, casually dropping the bomb on my sorry self.

I held open the door to 'Kitchen 5' and checked the screen attached to it, scanning the updated timetable to ensure we were at the right place for Product Knowledge. "So I assume you're implying that I'm unfit for the role of a protagonist in any story," I pointed out, albeit light-heartedly. "And that people like Leroy tend to suit that sort of role."

Si Yin flashed a toothy grin. "I didn't say your knight-on-a-horse was Leroy Cox. You said it yourself." At this, I threw in the towel and decided against furthering the conversation for fear that I would only get myself into further trouble.

Fortunately, my companion was distracted by the several teaching assistants that our instructor had hired for the first lesson. Since it was another one of those joint classes (again, with Class 1A), several stations were already filled with students I didn't quite recognize, and others seemed to gather around the assistants who had with them a list of names.

"What's happening?" Si Yin tapped on the shoulder of an assistant by the pantry, lightening her load by taking one of the vegetable boxes she had in her arms.

"Thanks. Just place them on the stations without a box. Then you can head over to Rita for your station number and just settle there till Chef Marseille comes in. Stations are according to first names."

We nodded, doing as told only to be pleasantly surprised by the fact that our stations were only a number apart.

"I'm not beside you? How does that work," Si Yin frowned upon arriving at the station she was allocated to and realizing that she wasn't beside but behind me instead. Which meant that someone else would be sharing a station with me instead.

"Gather up front once you've reported your attendance to your TAs and don't forget to bring your logbooks with you." In stalked the tallest lady I'd ever met, crossing the room from the front door to the instructor's table whilst calling out to the rest of the class. "This is TF003 Product Knowledge by Marseille so make sure you're in the right class, either from 1A or 1B. We'll be diving right into our first chapter and as you all know, this is a course on produce information, where they come from, how they are harvested, how they taste like, how to pick the best—the list goes on. Today, we're looking at farm vegetables..."

Si Yin and I had gathered up front along with everyone else as Chef Marseille carried on with her introduction, launching immediately into the syllabus outline which she proceeded to scribble on the board while the rest of us urgently copied it into our logbooks.

Directly opposite the crowd and staring me in the face however, appeared to be Emily from the school press. The only other first-year student apart from myself. I hadn't noticed her during the previous joint class due to the kitchen rush in Culinary Techniques but now that we were acquaintances in the same club, well, I figured I'd give her a small wave.

"...to sort them by root, stem, flower and fruit, put all of that down in your logs before doing the step-by-step evaluation you would have known by now since they were all part of the preliminary readings you were supposed to read before class. Now go. Back to your stations, get out your boxes and start sorting. I'll move on only after everyone is done."

Emily approached me the moment we were dismissed, asking about my outline and the angles I was considering for the orientation camp story. Surprised and embarrassed, I told her that I hadn't had the time to go through the archives in the library (due to reasons we all know what and no, this wasn't a good time to remind me of the things that happened last night and how bold Leroy Cox could be when he was teasing someone).

"Right. Just remember it's due tomorrow," she said hotly, walking alongside me as we shuffled our way to respective stations. "All you have under your belt is that story. I, on the other hand, have to focus on landing an interview with Birchwood—she ignored my messages the entire evening."

I followed her gaze. Birchwood was busying herself at one of the stations, already sorting her vegetables and doing up her logs. It took me a second to notice that she was using more than half of the counter to do so—a counter that was, apparently, also mine. Brilliant. Station mates with another high-profile student who may not necessarily end up being my friend.

Doing my best to rid of all the negativity building up in my head, I returned to my half of the station and began to pull out the roots and stems from the box.

"So," I nearly jumped out of my skin from hearing her voice. "You're a blue."

Turning, I met her gaze briefly before glancing down at my blue-striped tie. "Um. If you're referring to the fact that I'm majoring in food journalism and business to become a critic then, yes. I am."

She seemed to have lost all interest in having a conversation the moment I opened my mouth to speak, whole-heartedly ignoring my response as though she hadn't been expecting one to her possible rhetoric. Stiff and awkward, I couldn't have stood staring her in the face and waiting for her to register my reply so I returned to sorting the vegetables in my box while listening to Chef Marseille's brief overview of tomato types.

"Sibelius: 'Pay no attention to what the critics say. A statue has never been erected in honour of one.'"

I blinked, turning to Birchwood. Naturally, I hadn't considered the possibility of her speaking to any first-year—let alone, myself. Unless prompted or obliged or at least under circumstances consisting of factors beyond her control, I would have assumed she'd keep to herself. The last thing I expected was for her to initiate a conversation. Or, well, if she considered it a conversation at all.

Either way, having mean and ridiculous comments directed at critics (or generally myself) was neither new or intellectually exciting. Having spent most of my childhood with a renowned critic, I'd seen the kind of things that people put in the mailbox. That, and the fact that my uncle was a loner with no friends except my godfather. But, um, technically he'd be family, wouldn't he? Never mind that.

"Well, I don't necessarily disagree," I began, hoping to dispel the heavy air. "After all, the best critics don't do what they do for attention. Therefore, they don't necessarily need to be paid any. Which therefore means that they don't necessarily need to have statues made after them."

This, unfortunately, seemed to provoke her. "You're annoying aren't you," Birchwood scoffed, rolling her eyes as she sliced up a red onion and scribbled something in her log book. Good going Vanilla. You always know how to make things worse than they are already are. "People tell you that very often?"

On the bright side, at least we're moving on from disregarding the work of critics to disregarding... well, me.

"Not really, no. But I can tell when they want to say it," I ended up saying without proper thinking. "It's up to them whether or not they do."

An instant chill of regret had me trembling in fear and adrenaline, making it difficult to maintain a proper grip on the knife so much so that I had to put it down and pretend to write random words of nonsense in my logbook. All this while Birchwood fixed a narrowed gaze on me that I wanted nothing else to do with—possibly lasting throughout the rest of the entire period.

'Miraculous' would have been the word to describe the speed at which I gathered my belongings and left the station at the ring of the bell, grabbing Si Yin's arm on the way out so that she wouldn't ask any questions about Birchwood in front of Birchwood.

"Stop stop stop stop stop," her pixie cut ruffled and disturbed. "I saw what happened. You should've let me at her! That deceptive, doe-eyed, blonde little bitch insulting you for no reason while she acts all high and lofty in front of everyone else."

We emerged from the kitchen along with the rest of the class, checking the general timetable for next period's venue. "I'm sure her anger was directed at critics in general, Si Yin. Not myself." I reassured after ensuring that Birchwood wasn't anywhere near us. "Also, I couldn't possibly have done anything to offend her since this is practically the first time we ever—"

Heading in the opposite direction were a bunch of sophomores making their way down the corridor towards us, loud and slightly disorienting. Disorienting because I'd caught a glimpse of someone familiar and there was only ever one sophomore who pervaded my bad sleeping habits and last evening's bout of procrastination.

Leroy was accompanied by several other culinary students and a bunch of pâtissiers walking beside him, although seemingly distracted by something on his phone. On instinct, I'd slowed down and tried to blend in with the rest of my classmates, doing my best to look like an inconspicuous wallflower but approximately thirty feet away, he looked up from his phone and straight into my eyes.

Good god. I panicked, averting my gaze and fiddling with the folder in my arms. An unfortunately vivid memory of last evening's embarrassing escapade fought its way into my thoughts, leaving me slightly warmer than before.

"How can you possibly think she doesn't hold anything against you?" Si Yin had yet to notice my strange behaviour with her eyes fixed on Birchwood, narrowing as soon as she came into view. "She's literally—ohmygod. The girl's making googly eyes at those people."

I followed her gaze, observing as Birchwood undid her ponytail and let her perfect mass of flowy hair cascade down her back for, um, reasons. She'd gone ahead of the class to make a beeline for the sophomores coming down the hallway and I naturally assumed they were acquaintances.

"What are they, seniors or something?" Si Yin hissed under her breath. "I have so many questions and zero answers. Wait," she blinked all of a sudden. "Isn't that—"

"We're going to be late for class," I said, tight-lipped and fast, averting my gaze so that I didn't have to look at Birchwood speaking to my childhood friend in a possibly romantic manner since public display of affection was generally uncalled for in my world of... um, of platonic relationships. If relationships were something I had in the first place.

At this, I lowered my gaze to the folder in my arms to give my timetable a second glance. "Oh. Oh wait, your," I peered over at Si Yin's. "Your timetable's different. I forgot I was the only critic in the class, I... I'm this way," I turned in the general direction of the west wing, completely lost. "I have Culinary Journalism next."

"Ohh," was all she said, eyes still fixed on Birchwood. "I don't know what I have but like some enrichment module about coming up with new ways of cooking or uh stuff like that but hey, isn't that your Leroy-knight-on-horse—"

"Not another word," I warned, checking her timetable for her. "It's Culinary Enrichment and Innovation. Just follow everyone else and you'll get to the lecture hall. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

Unfortunately, my companion didn't seem to be listening. "Yeah but what I'm saying is—"

"Hey."

I paused. Then turned.

"Good... morning," I managed, nearly breathless. Leroy had stopped me in the middle of the hallway in front of the entire class, leaving them to shuffle awkwardly around us, staring, to continue down the hallway to the lecture hall. The rest of his friends, along with Birchwood, stayed further behind. "Um. Going to your next class? I have culinary journalism next and I have no idea where that is but I'm sure I'll figure it out."

Si Yin, who remained by my side was bubbling with excitement and I could tell from the way she was trying to keep her mouth shut by sinking her teeth into her lips. Oddly enough, Leroy did not seem to notice her presence and was leaning over to catch a glimpse of my timetable. "WSR-31... third floor of nutrition centre. Down that way and up a level."

I nodded in thanks. Then, unable to keep myself from looking at Si Yin's anticipatory introduction face, proceeded to direct his attention to her. "This is Si Yin. You've met her twice and I mentioned her—"

"You can call me Sylvia and I think we've met before like a hundred times and Vanilla talks about you all the time that I sometimes think he's has trouble admitting he likes talking to you but please give him some time. I think I said the word 'time' many times."

I stared at her. And then at Leroy. Who appeared mildly amused. "That's—"

"Wrapping up?" An unfamiliar face popped by, resting his elbow on Leroy's shoulder as he met my gaze and then paused. His frowned. "Oh hey. Aren't you that guy who broke the tasting record yesterday?" He seemed doubtful; as though he'd heard of some magnificent legend and had been dying to meet said legend only to be thoroughly disappointed by, well, the real deal. Another one of who I assumed were Leroy's acquaintances (or friends) gathered round and soon enough, Si Yin and I were surrounded by sophomore culinary students who looked a tad more intimidating than they should be.

I found myself having some wishful thoughts: of which included Miss Birchwood luring everyone else away with her charm, but she was apparently nowhere to be seen.

"You look... shorter in real life." "Yeah they have you in pictures on that article yesterday..." "Facebook? Instagram?" "Anything you wanna tell us that we haven't heard about from this guy yet?"

The last question had me completely lost—confused between actually answering it and letting it be. Leroy telling someone else about me. Me. What does he even say? That I was a boring playdate from his childhood years always dressed in suspenders? Si Yin, by this point, had taken up the role of being my personal aid and answering every question with her usual enthusiasm. I, on the other hand, resorted to hoping that Leroy wasn't feeling the extent of embarrassment that I was experiencing at present.

Either way, I wasn't used to being sized up or inspected. Not when I wasn't picking a general knowledge fight with kids my age which I um, tend to win.

"This guy doesn't do social media," said Si Yin on my behalf. "He does have a food blog though, which is totally cool and honestly deserves more attention since he's this good at describing flavours and remembering them and people should get to know how magical his tongue is." I nudged her in the side. She nudged me back.

I forced a smile. "I'm not that good. Um, and, I... I have to go." I made the unfortunate mistake of glancing at Leroy and nervously noting that he had been staring at me the whole time. This, they picked up at once.

"Cool, cool. Where you heading? We have AB next, so, we're that way," the guy resting his elbow on Leroy's shoulder pointed in the general direction I was supposed to be headed. Leroy didn't even seem to notice the additional weight for some reason, and I was too embarrassed to look at him again so I did the most intelligent thing I could do.

"I'm that way too."

Everyone exchanged looks. Including Si Yin. And although it was barely two minutes ago that they met, I was already beginning to suspect she was in on something I knew not what.

"Okay great. So. They can bring you to wherever you have to be and I'll just be going after our classmates before everyone disappears and leave me behind," my companion declared, successfully leaving me in the hands of six, seven complete strangers and one childhood friend who, um, was mostly confusing. I raised a hand to stop her— "Bye Vanilla. I'll see you at lunch and uh, have fun," was all she said in a whisper before disappearing down the corridor faster than the wind.

I watched her go. Stunned.

"Mr. White?" A girl with short, wavy hair started me towards the west wing. I observed her yellow-striped tie and her arm that was suddenly linked with mine. "Luisa Rosi. I saw you did really well with that lotus yesterday. Pity about the banana. So you happen to have any secrets?"

"No." I heard someone else answer in my stead before tugging me in another direction, away from Rosi. Leroy.

I searched my mental drawers for something within our scope of conversation but safe enough to steer clear of anything that had to do with myself. "What's AB?" Not bad, Vanilla. Not bad.

"Worst foundations course in this school." Alright. More Leroy-friends who sound fairly nice to hang out with which is why he hangs out with them in the first place instead of, well, a boring intellectual. "Stands for Accounting Basics which you'll definitely be taking next year since it's a core module for all majors but also the worst 'cuz none of us can do math. Especially this guy." He jerked a thumb in Leroy's direction, and I was, for once, thoroughly amused.

Surprisingly enough, I wasn't the only one being entertained. His friends snickered and laughed and executed the perfect textbook example of a reaction to an inside joke. I felt something stir in my chest. A dreadful creeping that I soon identified as dull realization; in which seemed like the dawning of something I never thought I would come to see or at least witness from afar.

Again.

Leroy had friends. Many friends. And this wasn't something new or unprecedented—as little words as he had and as severe his lack of outward expression was, people were drawn to him. To see this up close was a first. I wasn't standing at my usual distance. Twenty feet away to the side or behind, watching his back and staring at the space beside him which I'd somehow ended up in and not quite knowing if I belonged.

And I should let you know; I'm okay with that. I'm perfectly satisfied just watching him afar and getting to speak with him once or twice a week. It was enough.

"He's never awake in AB. Which is honestly new since nearly every instructor falls in love with him on the first lesson," one of his friends went on before Leroy shot him a look. He didn't seem to care, moving from the subject's apparent sleeping tendencies in class to how they were so sure this was where his perfect grades were going to have to tank a hit. "We're betting on a C minus. Which would probably set him back at least eleven ranks."

I blinked, slightly taken aback by how casually he'd said this but fearing that I had mistaken their friendship for something else, I reined in my words. After all, what would I know about ordinary group friendships that could very well have been based on inside jokes and being alright with joking about each other's grades and betting on each other's failures? Sounds, um, fairly fun.

"Eleven ranks," I laughed shortly, unsure. "That would be... fourteenth on the ladder?"

He looked interested all of a sudden, leaving Leroy's side and coming over to mine. "So you're in on the bet?"

"No." Current-number-three was back to being my answering machine, taking my arm and pulling me over to his right. Truth to be told, I was miffed. And strangely concerned about the fact that Leroy's position was nothing close to stable but not that he particularly cared about it anyway.

"I answer to questions perfectly fine by myself, Leroy." He caught me off-guard with a flick to my forehead before turning to his friend and saying something in a lowered voice. I caught nothing.

"We're five minutes away." Rosi surprised by appearing back at my side, tilting her head to catch my attention. The signs above indicated the row of seminar rooms I was supposed to find, along with the lecture hall for the sophomore's AB class. "Just curious. How did you guys know each other?"

"Oh. We were playmates," I said rather forwardly—not quite knowing how else to put it since we weren't technically the best of friends but neither were we exactly friends either, so.

The reaction I received was unprecedented. Rosi couldn't stop laughing; the friend to Leroy's left had chosen an apparently unfortunate time to be drinking water; the two other sophomores walking in front stopped and turned and the people behind were trying to conceal what sounded like raucous fits of laughter. I looked around. Model-student-number-three was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and the edges of his lips hiding a smile.

Naturally, I was confused. "Why is everyone laughing?"

No one was in the mood to answer when Rosi started giggling after a while, which, admittedly, was one of the most contagious laughing I'd ever heard.

"In kindergarten," Leroy said all of a sudden, shaking his head. "Grow up."

"Like... playdates, playmates?" The guy who'd experienced some water-situation had a hand cupped over his mouth. "Do people still do all that?"

"It was eleven years ago so technically, 'still' would be the wrong term to use," I corrected offhandedly as we appeared to have arrived at the lecture hall where sophomores lounged outside in lazy reluctance instead of heading inside when they were already late. "So this is you guys."

"Tired, near-zombie states who spend most of their time in the kitchen and can't function anywhere else? Yeeah," I felt a pat on my shoulder. "But not as bad as him with math."

Two girls in green had stopped Leroy in his tracks, handing him a document attached to a clipboard and a pen. They looked surprisingly familiar.

"He can't be that bad," I reasoned, watching as they spoke to him while his friends began to filter into the lecture hall.

"You kidding? He can't understand how interest rates work," said Leroy's friend whose name I'd probably never know. "I mean, we all had trouble somewhere along the way but at least we pay attention in class. Plus, we just had our first assignment last Friday and Prof Qin failed him on that one. Heard he's going to give another today and a pop quiz next week before the camp." Shaking his head, he followed my gaze and seemed to give up on waiting for Leroy upon catching him occupied. "That's got to take a while, so I'm heading in. See you around." He waved.

Surprised by his gesture, my response was unfortunately delayed. Still, I couldn't possibly spend time moping around outside a second-year lecture hall when I had classes to attend myself, so I was about to continue down the hallway when the strap of my bookbag got caught on some... oh.

"I'm working today," Leroy had the clipboard sandwiched between his index and middle finger. As though it wasn't important enough for him to carry it in his arms. "Drop by?"

How was that even a question? I stared at his face, mouth agape. He's actively trying to make it hard for me to refuse! Look away, Vanilla. Look away!

==================

As you have probably guessed by now, I'd taken the longer route home which was, admittedly, an excuse to catch a glimpse of the parlour and give myself the benefit of doubt in choosing whether or not I should officially drop by—go in and say hi. Showing my face wasn't the problem. It was finding a reason why I should be doing so that wasn't shamelessly related to Leroy's request for me to drop by.

Here I was, standing in front of the ice cream parlour, staring at the brand-new sign put up by the entrance in promotion of this week's seasonal flavours and a newly-concocted beverage that would've looked particularly appealing to social media users. It was pink.

I was about to convince myself to leave for fear that I was spending unnecessary money for a seat upstairs (when there were so many seats available in the first place) when my phone vibrated once and called for some attending to.

Taking a hesitant step away from the store, I gave my lock screen a quick glance.

_____________________

[Keith Tang (Press)]: Any updates on profiles?

[Keith Tang (Press)]: And why hasn't anyone turned in their nutgrafs and angle outlines?

[Emily. J Winter (Press)]: Done with orientation I'll send in a minute

[Emily. J Winter (Press)]: Birchwood's getting back to me by tomorrow

[Keith Tang (Press)]: Okay

[Keith Tang (Press)]: How about White

[Sharla. T Reyes (Press)]: Offered LC exclusive access to cross-year segment location rumours and considering examiners but he took the papers and walked away

[Keith Tang (Press)]: @VJWhite I see you reading the chat

[Dinh Thi Phuong (Press)]: I was with Reyes

[Dinh Thi Phuong (Press)]: LC didn't seem interested

[Tian Yi (Press)]: No update will send draft angle 2359

[Keith Tang (Press)]: @VJWhite @LiliNotLili @Douglanuts @WooTY @everyone

[Keith Tang (Press)]: ???

[Keith Tang (Press)]: @STRength @Phoenixx what about the backrubs we talked about?? The marketplace coupons?? Are you guys not cute enough????

[Keith Tang (Press)]: received @EmmyWins

[Dinh Thi Phuong (Press)]: Lili offered the coupons first thing in the morning

[Dinh Thi Phuong (Press)]: I even got Douglas to offer him a pillow during AB so that he could sleep better in class

[Dinh Thi Phuong (Press)]: LC rejected both

[Keith Tang (Press)]: I need good news people

[Keith Tang (Press)]: Someone come to me with good news

[Keith Tang (Press)]: @VJWhite outline received but stop ghosting

_______________________

Get this—it all happened over the course of two meager minutes. In which I'd frantically recalled my writing duties and mocked up a very brief set of preliminary angle ideas in front of the ice cream parlour and sent it to Keith just so he would stop calling me out on the group chat. Still, with access to the digital archives I'd bookmarked in my student portal after spending a free period in the library, I had been looking for an opportunity to send a completed outline and also start on that seven hundred-word essay on Culinary Journalism.

To say that I was experiencing some difficulty concentrating in my apartment was inaccurate. I concentrate perfectly well anywhere, at any time of the day, in any particular situation. It is important to note however, that there were particular places that tended to get a writer's creative juices going. That, and the fact that I might be craving some ice cream. Or so I say to convince you. And myself.

Giving my reflection a quick check in the glass, I braced for a flurry of muffled conversations and giggles bouncing off the walls. With the launch of new flavours and a limited edition beverage, the store was unsurprisingly packed; even more so than usual, when the only attraction of the store came in the form of a human being.

As soon as I held open the door for several students to leave and stepped inside myself, I met his gaze. It was a terrible mistake and a miscalculation on my part. The moment it did, however, I was all of a sudden inclined to ask about his concerns regarding giving the school press an interview. That, and if he was really as bad at math as friends said he was. The latter was born out of mere curiosity and the fact that I never really knew anything about Leroy as a student. He wasn't much of a reader back then and neither did I ever see him do his homework whenever I stayed over at his place after school, so.

To hear such things from other people seemed almost... well. Almost as if I never knew him at all.

He held my gaze from afar and the distance made it seem like he had the hint of a smile on his lips but a second glance confirmed otherwise. A trick of the light, then. Just my imagination.

Looking away, I joined the back of the line and worked my way across the display, eliminating the flavours that didn't seem intriguing and those that tended to give the mind too much sugar to work with. Plus, the line was long; which meant that flavour-tasting was not an option, so I had to work with the short description under each name and its general appearance.

"Next."

I was debating between the last summer seasonal flavour, CaraCranCrunch (handmade caramel biscuits folded in cranberry-based cream and made into a delicious-looking gelato) and the flavour of the day, Oolong, when the person before me completed their order within seconds and was heading to the collection counter before I could process what was happening.

The next thing I knew, I was staring Leroy Cox in the face. And then opening my mouth and forgetting what it was I had to say except the fact that I was here for dessert. He followed my gaze to the stretch of flavours on display.

"Finally getting some ice-cream?" He said, a devious smile accompanying provocative words that I knew better than to let myself be affected by—

"No," I ended up turning him down on instinct. "I'll have the new drink. Acai coconut refresher."

Disappointed in Vanilla Julian White and primarily the fact that I'd always prided myself upon the independence of a mind that refused to be swayed upon disturbance, I went through a temporary mental collapse. There. This was apparently non-existent within the field of my only childhood friend and there was no comprehending the reason behind it all.

"Never knew you could be normal and fall for cute marketing tactics," was all he said in response, tapping on the screen for my order after I handed him a ten. The cash register popped out and he put together my change, head lowered but gaze going up once to meet mine for a brief moment.

"I'm not buying it because it's pink," I protested whilst waiting for my change. "The flavour profile doesn't look like it'd disappoint. Moreover, it isn't ice-blended like every other drink cafés come up with nowadays so it piqued my interest."

He was smirking by this point. "I made it."

"Okay enough you've made your point goodbye." I threw in the towel, stuffing the change in the pocket of my blazer before waiting in front of the collection point and purposefully avoiding his gaze.

But also feeling the tips of my ears burn.

*

I was doing up a point-form outline of the research archives I'd gathered and categorizing them for clarity of ideas when I noticed that for the first time, I wasn't alone on the second floor.

Ideally, I would be. Naturally, writers liked their peace and the only company they could afford was either a cup of coffee, tea, or a slice of cake. That was it. Fortunately however, these three students (clad in our school uniform but without their ties and blazers so I couldn't quite tell what they were majoring in) were separated individually at different tables, quietly enjoying their ice cream cups and cones whilst using their phones at random intervals.

It only started getting a little strange the moment their friends joined them upstairs, splitting into groups and occupying the table directly across the corner table I sat at. Occasionally, they'd turn to look at me.

Okay. I must have something on my face by this point. I hid behind the screen of my laptop, glancing at the time and realizing that I'd forgotten to ask Leroy for the timing of his shift. Unbearably self-conscious, I checked my reflection in an inverted camera on my phone but found nothing deserving of attention.

Staring out into the street down below, I saw that the sky was near dark and that the street lamps were already lit; leaving me wondering if I'd somehow developed an immunity to hunger after those fifty-three food samples that soon had me shivering in fright.

I stayed for another fifteen minutes; finishing up my draft and giving it a final check before sending it to Keith with an apology. The students upstairs gradually left the parlour, stealing one or two glances behind their shoulder as they did as though I was a specimen at the zoo and they were expecting me to act up or do something when I was just being the boring caged animal that wouldn't entertain any visitor.

Thankfully, the stares didn't last long and soon, I was back to being comfortably alone.

I was about to start on the next assignment when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and of course, my awful heart had to start beating abnormally fast because silly me had somehow memorized how Leroy's footsteps sounded like. Footsteps.

Good god.

"Hey," he lingered at the top of the stairs, a rag in his hand and his rucksack in another. "You hungry?"

I looked down, giving my tummy a quick check. "Well... not really. Is everything okay?" The kitchen door below closed with a slam and for a moment, I noticed how quiet it had become downstairs.

"They want me to lock up." I heard him curse under his breath. "Which means I have to clean the entire place. The other part-timer bailed last minute." Leroy grabbed several cleaning tools from the staff closet, glancing outside. "It's late. You can go if you want to."

"Or, you could let me finish my drink," I gestured to my plastic cup that was nearly empty, knowing that we both needed the excuse. Leroy paused; as though registering what I'd said and the nuance behind it before having to convince himself that I really did mean what he thought it did.

"Thanks."

He let slip a laugh. Short, but unbelievably attractive which meant that looking away was necessary and—what was wrong with me?

*

To go from a luxurious entrée of pan-seared scallops drizzled with garlic thyme oil and beetroot puree to a cup of instant kimchi ramen within a day was almost bizarre to say the least.

Yet, here we were; enjoying (I daresay) a sinful treat of sodium and spice, piping hot as soon as they were delivered upstairs by Leroy himself—who'd prepared us a cup each. It did not cross my mind to make any complaints and neither was I against the idea of breaking Uncle Al's all-time rule of 'no convenience store food.' Contrary to popular belief, I was feeling inclined.

"Good, right?"

He filled the seat across mine, smirking as I sent the first couple of strands into my mouth. Delicious. That, or I was willingly allowing my sudden pangs of hunger cloud my sense of judgment.

"It's not too bad," was what I settled with, not particularly wanting to give Leroy the satisfaction of complimenting his taste in instant noodles. "Does its job, I guess. And you're done cleaning?"

He nodded vaguely, seemingly reluctant. "Mm."

"I can help if you tell me what to do," I sighed, knowing that his lack of response meant otherwise. "We're having cup noodles at half-past nine and you're saying you have more cleaning to do. Either there's a lot you have on your plate or you're lazing around."

Leroy gave me a look. "Fine. I'm left with the counter—it's boring."

"Well," I cleared my throat to indicate some form of interest in his apparent boredom. "If that's the case, then why don't you try something new for once? Like, I don't know, agree to an interview that you could give while doing the cleaning up after work so you'd have someone to talk to. Someone that isn't, um, me."

"Yeah," he snorted in response. "And give them the freedom to write crap about me."

I watched him return to slurping up the rest of his instant noodles, seemingly indifferent about the kind of food that went in his system. This seemed almost worlds apart from what he served on a usual basis; at least from personal experience, I would likely conclude. Although admittedly, the sample size for my deduction wasn't anything close to ideal.

"I know you may not... well, trust anyone other than yourself when it comes to writing about something private to you but," I set aside my pair of disposable chopsticks on a napkin. "I've met them. And I can assure you, they are ethical journalists. Giving them a five-minute interview would mean the world to them and I'm just stating the truth here. None of them have anything against you and I can't pinpoint a motivation to twist your words unless you're hiding something from me."

Leroy paused, raising a brow which was enough to startle me into realizing what I'd just said.

Embarrassed, I looked away and retrieved my pair of chopsticks. "A-although of course, it's up to you in the end and, well. I don't see why you shouldn't prioritize your feelings. Just a five-minute interview... or three. Nevermind, forget I asked."

Cue the bout of silence that had been missing in our conversations since noon—a primary part of our relationship that had existed since the beginning of time and continued to do so despite the absence of seesaws and video games and talk about Leroy's father. And his mother. And her diner. And good god there were so many things we had to talk about.

I kept my eyes on the red-hot soup steaming around guilty chewy noodles known for kicking in the neurotransmitters completely responsible for the quiet happiness and odd satisfaction stirring in my chest despite the stiff and unnerving air. Blowing on the strands of noodles was, in contrast to my companion's fast and rapid downing of his meal, calming to say the least.

That was before I heard the scraping of his chair against the floor.

"O-oh," was all I managed after looking up from my noodles. My intention had been to ask if he was done with dinner but judging from the way he'd dumped his chopsticks and napkin into the cup, stood and headed for the stairs, there was nothing else I could infer.

Leroy didn't seem to hear my odd sound of surprise. He crossed the room which put a good distance between us and somewhat eased the tension—relieving the knot in my chest which, albeit a plus, was not good for the heart when he stopped in his tracks all of a sudden.

"Like I said," he turned, smirking over his shoulder. "Ask me."

That was all he said before disappearing down the stairs and leaving me bewildered; flabbergasted; dumbfounded; gobsmacked into outer space just like Vaughn Alekseyev was whenever Dmitri Ford decided to invade his circumference of comfort. It was absolutely ridiculous.

I resorted to chewing on my bottom lip, devising of the several ways I could get myself out of this and the possible favourable outcomes that could stem from the next series of interactions depending on whichever I should choose. I looked towards the stairs.

Fifteen seconds. That was the total amount of time it took for me to decide that finishing up the rest of my meal and following Leroy downstairs whilst pretending to clear my trash was the most efficient way of getting my message across whilst somehow preserving the dignity I would soon give up in the next couple of minutes. A necessary sacrifice.

I went after him in a flurry without quite confirming the exact words I needed to be saying, descending the stairs at speeds I never knew existed in me. This was all going very well until the subject of my worries came into view—standing behind the counter littered with empty gelato tubs that needed to be wiped dry. He didn't even look my way.

"Um," I started off slow, inching towards the counter. "Accept... the interview?"

He spared me a glance; eyes amused. Nervous, I sort of froze, stiffening as soon as I placed my empty ramen cup on the counter and immediately placing my hands behind my back. Leroy turned in my direction, leaning against the counter before staring me in the face with a smirk teasing the edge of his lips. Waiting.

The audacity! I was given no other choice but to cave. Not with that gaze, I could afford to do anything else.

"Please."

"Please what?"

Needless to say, I was quietly furious; humiliated and embarrassed and unhappy to the tips of my fingers. Still aware that I was the one who'd gotten myself into all of this and that I'd practically presented him the opportunity to toy with an upper hand, I knew I had to stick with the path I'd started on and at least try to convince myself that this was all within my calculated expectations.

"Will you please do an interview for the school press? I'll facilitate it if you like and guarantee they don't twist your words in any manner, so. Please. I'm sure it'll turn out fine and everyone's going to love you," I forced out as quickly as I could—feeling the heat on my ears and, uncomfortably, through my glasses.

He closed the distance.

"I'll do it."

My eyes widened, precipitating a stir of hopeful anticipation in my chest. "Oh. Oh, that was unexpectedly—"

"If."

Cue the vanishing of every sliver of hope. I sank inside, groaning in frustration and groveling in my own naivety. "Conditions. Right, I forgot they ever existed and for you to bring them up at this point, why am I not surprised."

Leroy snorted, smiling all the same. He reached under the counter and produced his rucksack from one of the cabinets. "AB. I suck at financial analysis." Whipping out a textbook and tossing it across the counter in a lazy fashion, he sighed. "Teach me."

I picked up the text, blinking twice at the title. Restaurant Financial Management: Introduction to Accounting and Finance for Independent Restaurants. "It's basic distribution computations, Leroy," I said, flipping through the text. "And interest equations don't need that much thinking."

He raised a brow. "You teaching me or not."

"Alright, alright," I returned the book to him, slightly relieved and troubled at the same time. So even he cares about his grades after all. "I'll tutor you if you accept the interview."

Leroy poured himself a glass of water, downing it and half-hiding this devious smile that did not bode well for me. "Deal."

===================

Emily Winter found me the next morning even before Si Yin did, ambushing my poor petrified soul outside the station and ensuring that she had the whole of my attention within that distance between the station exit and the school. Needless to say, I was given no time to protest.

"Was that really all you offered?" She asked for the third time in complete disbelief, writing down the details of my exchange with Leroy. "He couldn't have just agreed to tutoring sessions when he could have used the money saved from accepting the marketplace coupons and facility fee other people offered him to, I don't know, hire someone more qualified than yourself?"

"It is up to you whether or not you believe me," I ended up saying, tired of repeating my story twice. "And don't make me repeat myself again, Emily. I didn't offer him anything. Leroy told me what he wanted in exchange for the interview."

She continued to stare at me in disbelief. "So... you're tutoring him after school today?"

"After his club meeting, yes."

Emily's face scrunched up in confusion and general incomprehension. I pretended not to notice and instead sent a text to the subject of everyone's mixed feelings to get to the bottom of this.

____________________

To: Just Let Me Impress You

Text: Question: how did you accept the interview and who did you contact regarding the terms which I hope you have not gone into details of telling

____________________

From: Just Let Me Impress You

Text: [Forwarded: You to Keith Tang] I'm doing the interview. You have White to thank. Conditions: he conducts the interview; he writes the story; he tutors me for AB.

_____________________

Good god was I going to have to lecture him on the decency of words more than anything else, let alone on accounting basics and interest equations. That, and I believe he'd just placed a heavy load on my shoulders by practically demanding Keith to hand me the exclusive rights to his story and that I conduct the interview. If all eyes weren't already staring my way, they were staring now.

"... leading with the possible first-year involvement in the cross-year segment. That, or I could go cheap and list out the rumoured places we're camping at this year and, or, the rumoured themes," Emily ticked off her fingers before turning to me as we arrived before the school gate. "Are you listening? I'm asking what you have for your outline."

I paused, fixing my mind that was a mess. "Sorry Emily. I had um, thoughts on something else. Well the plane tickets have to be bought soon so I'm sure you can find some clues over at the administration building. I sent Keith several angles but the one I'm keen on looking at is a somewhat recent trend—or rather, a potential one."

"And...?" She raised a brow.

"I'll be looking out for freshmen who could possibly rise up the ranks into the top thirteen just like Leroy at the end of his first year and cover their activities during the orientation camp. It could stimulate discussion on talents and call for more readership on op-eds about it because that's what most of the school see Leroy as. The youngest culinary student up on the board."

Emily stopped in her tracks as we were about to enter Roth Hall, staring me in the face before narrowing her eyes and clicking her tongue. "Fuck. Why didn't I think of that?" Without a semblance of any farewell, she bolted down the corridor and took a left through the door that led to the admissions office. I watched her go.

*

I'd collected my very own key fob (a tiny circular device that could easily fit into a wallet) from one of the campus accommodation officers after school, which was programmed to grant me limited access to lodging facilities that included swimming pools, gyms, common kitchens and study rooms. It was on a whim that I had suggested the last option in favour of our tutoring venue, which meant that I had to wait for Leroy to respond to my text asking for the name of his lodging just so that I could wait at the correct study room which therefore precipitated more waiting.

So here I was, sitting on a bench in the middle of the Anton Plaza, waiting for a text before I could start making my way towards the correct lodging. More importantly, I hadn't actually consulted Leroy regarding the venue of our tutoring sessions and whether or not he found the study rooms to be suitable was um, as of now, uncertain.

My own considerations, of course, were well-established. Somewhere quiet with proper chairs and study desks was ideal and I figured since the school was kind enough to acknowledge my record-breaking tongue and grant me access to such facilities, we might as well use them. All that was left—

"What are you doing here?"

I recognized the voice. Pitched and oddly lilted whenever she had something of opinion to voice, Violet Birchwood was standing behind my bench with what seemed like a brand new handbag over her shoulder, armed with narrowed eyes and a firm, unforgiving gaze.

"Oh. Hello," I looked around. "I'm pretty sure Anton Plaza's a public space, Miss Birchwood."

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Not when there's an event ongoing, it isn't. The student union's setting up an outdoor kitchen here in ten minutes, so I suggest you leave," she said hotly, turning away before stopping short and glancing over her shoulder. "What's your name again?"

I checked my lock screen on instinct, wondering just what was taking Leroy so long to reply when his usual responses took less than a minute or so. "I'll leave. Don't worry."

Birchwood was more confusing than I first made her out to be. A moment ago, she'd been so keen on chasing me away and seconds later, she was holding me back.

"I asked you a question," she seethed through teeth, nails digging into my upper arm. I winced. "Your name."

"I'm sorry Miss Birchwood but isn't my name unfortunately splayed across every article there is on—"

I felt her grip on my arm loosen for a moment and was relieved to wriggle free until I understood why she did. There was another hand on her wrist that had her arm fixed in an otherwise uncomfortable position and it belonged to no one other than, well, you-know-who. At this rate, I could never imagine myself being friends with Violet Birchwood since our relationship had kicked off on a rocky start and not only that, progressed to an immense souring of contrasting views. That, and everyone else somehow squeezing lemons over the mix. 

=======================

A/N: Hello Beans! I wasn't intending to update this week but my terrible time management has somehow made me write 8.6k words for this chapter and 300 for Flight School and I am a diSasSTrER HAHAHA. I'm not too sure if I'll be updating next week but if you're dying to know, you can head over to Instagram (hisangelchip) to stalk my schedule :') heeeheeeee. 

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I read your comments on the previous one and died at the sexual tension everyone was suggesting. You see, I don't know how Vanvan and Royroy got to this point of sheer aggressiveness. I just did. 

-Cuppie.