A/N: Thank you everyone for your recommendations in the previous chapter! ^^ I shall watch all those anime you mentioned hehe. Although I'm currently laying off on the personal entertainment because I'm trying to find a part-time job (???writing??? earns?? nothing???) before school starts and it's a little difficult with the COVID situation ;-; 

If you're following my Instagram, you'll notice that I'm now a Wattpad Star :'DDD I have been for the past two weeks or so, but I haven't really quite thought of how to break it to you guys. Thank you for your endless support. I mean, how can I express that enough, aside from, as I have always done, conveying it through my words? After all, that is the bond we share. Words. 

Thank you, and enjoy.

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

[Vanilla]

The power of a single, oblique slanting line—the slash—a likely representation of exclusivity between that which was on the left of the separation and the right. It hadn't struck me then, in that instance, what exactly it was the results had meant but the case was different for Birchwood, who, amidst the groans of frustration of those who hadn't made the cut, up and left the backyard moments after taking in the rankings displayed on the screen.

Chef Allan, the host of the live broadcast, had went on to give a brief explanation of the rubrics before moving on to the schedule for tomorrow and just like that, they'd ended the announcement.

The first thing I heard was Chen cursing under his breath, raising his gaze to Jean Mercier, the school's number five, before nodding in the direction Birchwood had left in. Sighing loud. Though even a fool would have understood that as a cue for non-conversation, I was anxious enough to go up to him despite the sour, heavy mood that had descended upon most of us.

"Sorry, um. I know you must be troubled and all... I mean, most of us are. Half of us didn't make it through, of course, but, um... what does the...? Does the number fifteen thing with both our names means that we're safe? As in, that our scores were tied and that we passed, together?"

"Yeah it's a tie but," Chen was having a hard time directing everyone back to packing up the place. "Ultimately, it's an either-or. Either you advance, or Birchwood does and honestly, it's not something very rare... last year we had three people tied for finals and the drama... man. All because the officials leave the final decision up to you guys. Some people host private one to one's for fair play. Others either back down or talk it out."

Needless to say, I had reason to suspect a dysfunctional grading system the interschool hadn't made transparent even up till this point in time. As a matter of fact, how was anyone to believe that I, a mere tasting spoon stationed at a fruit-cutting dessert table, was given scores equal to that of someone else who'd led the entire set-up team and saved the children from a nightmare of diabetic buttercream?

Albeit the requirement of some additional prompting by myself, I hadn't personally fixed the princess toast or had the interpersonal and leadership skills to ensure that everyone else was on task and assigned something adequate. This was a team segment, very much unlike the previous individually-focused round one and I couldn't help but attribute her lowered scores to the childish opinion of a certain overly-conservative judge.

And if so, this was nothing short of injustice.

"I should go talk to her."

"No." Chen's hand was on my shoulder before I could go after Mercier and speak to Birchwood on his behalf. "I've never seen her walk off like that without a word so I don't think she's going to be in the mood to talk about anything. Leave her to us. There's time after the bonus round tomorrow so you guys can talk then."

What he said was, indeed, nothing short of the truth. And upon further consideration, several texts I'd read about social convention had also mentioned the importance of not speaking to someone at the right time, which was apparently as important as choosing the right time to actually speak. In fact, I too, did not recall ever witnessing Miss Birchwood leave a scene without some snarky remark or arrogant comeback, apart from our short conversation at the waterfall during the cross-year segment.

At the same time, I had the strangest feeling that even if I were to frankly and politely reason her through the weighed possibilities of the pros and cons each of us could bring to the third and final rounds of the interschool and arrive at the rational conclusion that she would be the better pick to stay since everything was only going to involve challenging and complex culinary techniques I wouldn't be able to execute, her spirits would remain the same.

"Vanilla?"

I started at my name, turning to see Lotus with a jar of freshly-made chips and a small, handicraft picture frame made out of coloured ice cream sticks with a polaroid photograph of us in the middle. "You can have this," she said, handing it to me whilst cradling her previous snack jar.

Incredibly moved, I'd reached out to accept it with a bow of my head but instead, she'd leapt forth with open arms for my torso and for the first time in my life, I was hugging a child who wasn't Miki. Somewhere in the distance, I spotted a certain idiot watching us from afar and had the vaguest impression he'd perhaps encouraged her to do so just to prove something I knew not what. As though I'd magically turn into a sentimental darling!

We bid Mrs. Tea and the teacher volunteers goodbye before some of the kids started emerging from the dormitory side of the orphanage (some in their pyjamas) and waving at us as we were making our way to the front gate. To many, it was a heartwarming farewell and perhaps one day, a possible return that would transform what was supposedly a mere crossing of paths into something more.

After loading most of the equipment back onto the storage truck making its rounds, the facilitators dismissed us on the spot and listed several transport options of which included a complimentary bus ride back to the campus. Mentally and physically drained from a day's worth of competitive spirit, I was prepared for a short fifteen-minute nap on the ride back when Leroy handed me his phone with Google Maps running and my address input in the search bar.

"Just two streets down," was all he had to say, gaze lowered directly into mine before I practically combusted. Needless to say, several key questions arose.

"How is that you know the exact details of my address? A-and you did not, just, extend an invitation to me, to my house wh—uaegh iit simply doesn't... it's almost eight o'clock and... and I mean, if two hours is enough... not that it isn't because two hours in the presence of an idiot like yourself can be highly taxing, for all I know."

"What about ten?" He suggested criminally, bag over his shoulder whilst holding out mine. "Or twenty hours."

I huffed, relieving him of my book bag and starting in the direction stated on his phone after returning Si Yin's star jump wave. "Are we talking about your term of imprisonment? If so, I believe the authorities are having a discussion about extending it at every illegal second of your existence. But... well I suppose they've authorized a momentary self-invitation to dinner, so." He fell into step, close enough for me to actually feel the hint of a smirk on his face without even looking.

Neither of us spoke about the elimination or our general sentiments towards the second round in the next minute or so we spent in absolute silence—oddly transfixed on the way our steps sounded so incredibly distinct despite being at the exact same pace, listening to the gentle hush of a chill winter evening. Dwelling in the comfortable presence of each other.

Several hundred feet down the street was a nursery of the animal shelter Mrs. Tea had told us about earlier this afternoon. The fairly decent-sized facility had a nursery out front that appeared to double up as a pet supply store where adopting families could make their purchases of pet food and toys. Display windows into the play areas of several puppies and kittens up for adoption was a failproof strategy to attract the attention of those strolling along the sidewalk.

Indeed, I was never really one to be distracted or swayed by marketing tactics appealing to one's sympathy and emotional engagement; as, after all, once identified, most were able to build a surprising immunity towards it. Unless one possessed the soft, gentle heart of an angel that was my godfather, the eyes of puppies and kittens were... they were...

I slowed and came to a stop, staring past the display glass and meeting the eyes of a small, harmless puppy that bore a striking resemblance to Berry—a stunning Siberian husky I remembered playing with in the park back when I was a child, often accompanied by Giselle, Xander's sister. "Oh."

My companion, now several feet ahead, had slowed before glancing over his shoulder at the involuntary sound I'd made upon making eye contact with the grey-white puppy. Embarrassed, I pretended to be observing a notice on the outside of the store. No knocking on the glass.

"So you do feel."

He was facing me now; eyes disarmingly soft against the light of a setting sun. I cleared my throat.

"Well yes of course. Unfortunately, I, too, am part of the human race and would therefore be as susceptible to emotions as any other human being would be. But if it's now you're referring to, then I'm afraid you're mistaken. I don't feel anything for them," was all I had established, eyes unconsciously drifting toward the display case that had caught my attention mere moments before. Then, continuing down the street.

Leroy waited till we were side by side before falling into step, glancing sideways. "Even pity?"

I held my breath. It was, by this point, fairly evident how we had our thoughts on the exact same page, hinting at a subject I had hardly explored on my own. The afternoon spent at the orphanage and interacting with the kids had entreated upon creatures deep, unstirred by the currents above, hiding in the dark.

"Well... pity," I repeated after him. Buying a second's worth of thinking. "Well there's nothing directly pitiful about not having any parents or an owner. Nothing about being an orphan should warrant any pity. I'd pity a victim of abuse or neglect and that applies to both animals and children but not a parentless young. One can have no parents and grow up perfectly fine as long as they receive a sufficient amount of care and concern. Vice versa—meaning, one can have parents but grow up utterly destroyed because of it. In any case, the term 'parent' itself is vague and ambiguous. To me, Uncle Al and Aunt Julie are as good as any parent there is, regardless of our biological status. Does that answer your underlying concern?"

I'd peered up at him upon finishing only to flinch at the heart of a hand blocking half my vision. Bracing myself for the usual forehead treatment, eyes scrunched shut and feet coming to a standstill, my expectations were wholly subverted by the touch of fingers in my hair. Gentle.

He was reaching over with the most unusual look in his eye. A small, softened flame that nearly resembled a tear.

It was in that moment that I realized Leroy might have been referring to himself all along; that he was, at this point in his life, the farthest away from anything related to a family and possibly even asking if pity played any part in the affection I had for him.

"Just so you know, I don't think you're worth pitying. That sort of emotion is reserved for the weak. And, well, I have reason to believe that you are not. Weak."

The flame in his eyes flickered once. A smile.

"Overestimating my abilities again?" "Unfortunately, yes. Ah, the crossroad. Should we head to the grocery store for some ingredients first or, um, would you be alright with microwaved ready meals?" "You still have that chicken korma?" "Well, I've been saving it for an occasion." "Is this the occasion?" "W-well, maybe. Yes. There's also creamy garlic chicken tagliatelle, if you'd like. And butter chicken. Oh, and a chicken risotto. Brilliant. You must be exhausted. This way, neither of us have to worry about cooking or cleaning the dishes. H-hold on, you're not staying the night, are you?" "I'm leaving if we don't do something sexy tonight." "Ah. You may leave now." "I was kidding." "I know," I couldn't help but laugh. "Me too."

We stopped at a light, waiting for the green man and Leroy turned to me at once, as though significantly surprised by my honesty. "... about the leaving or that we're not doing anything exciting?"

Should there be a grade for conversational aptitude on the report cards I had, over the years, grown increasingly unimpressed by, it would have at least made my younger self invested in pursuing improvement in the fail grade I would have otherwise been assigned. As such, having had years of experience avoiding difficult conversations, I'd made a deft escape from embarrassment by deliberately proposing something else for his attention to narrow in on.

"If it's something exciting you wish to be doing, I have board games," I offered, clearing my throat to dispel the heat on my ears. "Classic Monopoly and chess. Whichever it is you prefer. I'm pretty sure I've already established the fact that I do not possess any form of entertainment in my apartment."

"You can entertain me."

"I am unfortunately the least entertaining person to ever exist," this, I was fairly serious about. "I don't quite know how I am supposed to do that."

*

Leroy was the kind of culinary expert with a strange, shocking capacity for mediocrity; producing stunningly fragrant, impeccable dishes one minute and settling for microwaved pizza in the next.

Thanks to the handy microwave Aunt Julie had sent over, we had a private feast of chicken. The chicken korma he'd apparently been eyeing since the last time he came by had been dubbed 'a steal' and the biryani rice I'd heated up to go with the butter chicken, too, he'd ingested without question. Dinner was palatable; or so I'd often settled for, alone in my humble abode without an ounce of culinary skill.

We spoke about the qualms of treading carefully around Chen whenever he was in the kitchen ever since he'd been under pressure to perform as well as Tenner did; Si Yin's efforts to become a better team player, and Birchwood's apparently-regained confidence upon learning about Leroy's attraction to a member of the male species. Otherwise known as myself.

"She thought it was Chen," he'd laughed, amidst generous chunks of butter chicken.

"Well," I'd sipped at some water to hide my amusement. "He is fairly good-looking according to the standard conventions set by both Western and Eastern societies alike. You two would've made a decent match."

His response was to select a non-verbal form of communication from his fortunately limited vocabulary and thus present the indecent finger, accompanied by another one of his criminal smiles. "Who tops?"

Ah, my reaction had been a tad slower than I'd expected it to be, an encounter with a familiar term! I'd read about this somewhere, online, and assessed its decently sound reasoning although overall iffy about citations and altogether a tertiary source that hadn't a clue what proper justification and evidencing meant.

"Just to be sure you understand: one's sexual position has absolutely no relation to their identity and no human being should be caught up in labels or stereotypical roles," I had to establish. Before opting for a dashing tease. "That said—him, of course!"

Leroy had altogether stood up, the legs of his chair scraping across the floor before advancing with the look of absolute, unlawful, i-illicit, behind-bars possible amusement unimaginable for entertain, I escape must and so cleared the table and and and dismissed, banished him to the bathroom for a shower whilst searching for something he could wear.

Alas, the results were unfortunate. He was out in a minute and the only options I was able to present him were three oversized, stretched T-shirts I could no longer wear without them slipping off my shoulders at every miniscule movement I made. Lo and behold, the idiot's first instinct was to hold them up close to his face, bunched up in his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"They smell good."

I was flabbergasted into infinity. "W-what does that..." I watched him settle for the darkest shirt, slipping into that before dropping his towel and thank goodness he was clothed under that.

He was quiet for the next minute or two, despite my repeated attempts to extract a full explanation of himself. As I was gathering my toiletries and pyjamas into a basket, I caught him bunching up the neckline of my shirt he was wearing and raising it to his nose. The next thing I knew, we were staring right at each other and he, unembarrassed and completely unfazed, proceeded to lower his gaze.

I followed it before experiencing quite the fright of my life. Whatever that was in his underwear, I could not comprehend.

"Wha—! How?"

Leroy poured himself glass of water as though having a substantial erection in someone else's apartment was all part and parcel of mother nature. I was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with combusting into ashes of embarrassment.

"It has your scent," he said, as matter-of-factly and casual no human being could manage in a situation like this. "The shirt."

"Aashghidjadgwjdknaijwd!" I hastened in the direction of the bathroom and spent some time reflecting on life decisions in the shower before emerging refreshed, rejuvenated, and naïve enough to believe in a Leroy Cox who'd reflected on his words and actions. Instead, he was standing right outside the door with the spare toothbrush I had (after purchasing a set of three that were on sale), comfortably joining me in the bathroom where the hair dryer was.

Alas, a single, sweeping glance over the general lower half of his body ensured that a certain part of him had remained unfortunately active throughout the fifteen or so minutes I'd spent in the shower. Brushing our teeth over the same basin; staring at each other in the same mirror, I nearly shriveled up from the deadly combination of second-hand embarrassment and otherwise romantic tension.

We climbed into bed in silence and, after setting my alarm for seven in the morning, switched off the lights. I'd left this to Leroy who'd slid in after me and was closer to the bedside lamp than I was. He remained seated up on the bed while I made myself comfortable under the covers, not quite reaching for the lamp as I'd instructed him to be doing.

"Is everything alright? The switch is right by the—"

"Can we kiss," his gaze lowered to mine, tone shockingly neutral and calm despite the bold nature of his request.

I'd paused. "Do you hear yourself?" Then, after a sigh and straightening up in bed, "fine, here." I leaned over to plant a fleeting one on his lips.

His response was to groan, visibly irate. "Tease."

"What is it now?"

"How long has it been since we had a kiss like our first?" Leroy held my gaze; a still display of a candle flame. "Or the previous time we were in your bed."

Almost immediately, I knew what he meant because there was simply no effective way I could banish the detailed, burning image of our first time by the pool and at once, I was red under the light. "W-well. Indeed, we haven't... though it isn't that we've necessarily had the time nor the place to be indulging in such frivolous activity although, yes, I do admit a certain degree of... desiring that extent of physical contact, which isn't, not, desirable."

I could see the gears turning into his head come to a stop before rebooting its function and then somewhat coming to an understanding of my roundabout, embarrassed way of saying that I, too, shared similar sentiments. The next thing he did was offer to let me initiate.

"Ah," was all I could say in response, startled. "Well it's not that I won't. Or that I haven't thought of doing so. But I was hoping to observe subsequent instances since, um, clearly there appears to be some technique to all this and, despite scouring the internet, I have absolutely no clue how extended, long-period kissing works. What I'm saying is that I'll learn from you. By paying attention, of course."

He laughed. Low and amused. "Observing?"

I felt his fingers on the back of my neck, stroking down from the hairline of my nape to the bare skin before coming back up in a circular motion. He leaned in; head angled to the right and as always, the proximity made me freeze.

"You go the other way," he explained, guiding with the fingers he had on the back of my neck. "So if I'm left, you go right. Vice versa."

"Oh! How convenient," was all I could rejoice before he closed in completely. Quite underhandedly, he'd used the fingers supporting the back of my neck to m-massage the acupressure points below the base of my skull and illegally so, I was momentarily liquified into... into a... goodness, he must have studied this.

There was simply no other explanation.

I was somewhat eased into a state of relief and had unconsciously, like our first, allowed him to part my lips with his tongue. "You're weak here," he brushed the back of my neck, "and here." His tongue slipped in and, angling upwards, brushed the roof of my mouth. I nearly yelped and bit down on instinct but resisting the urge had instead reduced all that into an embarrassing whimper and by god, was I done.

"Wh—alright, al... that's enough," I told him, catching my breath. "We have school tomorrow and should this continue, or... or escalate further, well. I'm sure we'd be losing a little more than an hour's worth of sleep."

The idiot's laugh was criminally attractive even without the kiss and now, after he'd seemingly had his fill, the willingness to let it rest somewhat returned. He turned to switch off the bedside lamp. "I'll be in the bathroom."

I nodded under the covers and heard him make his way across the room before shutting the door behind him. Oddly enough, I didn't need to reach under my quilt to register my all-natural reaction to the kiss we shared but knowing that we had much to be doing tomorrow, I scrunched up and thought about that awful cover letter I'd written to the Baker's Times for an internship application—tragically destroyed by the presence of a single typo.

*

It was barely two in the morning when I heard the constant, never-ending vibration of a phone and sitting up in bed, I'd spotted Leroy's—balanced precariously on the edge of my bedside table, seconds close to death. I caught it before it fell from vibrating in silent mode and squinted at the screen for a caller ID.

"Leroy... someone's... Leroy," I shook him awake. He sat up, hair resembling quite the lion's mane. "It's seven missed calls from the same number. You didn't save it."

The half-eyed idiot took the phone I was holding out to him and, after glancing at the unsaved caller ID, accepted it at once. "Yeah. Sorry, I was asleep. She okay?"

Someone was speaking rather urgently on the other side of the call but Leroy seemed relatively calm. It didn't look like he was going back to sleep any moment, so I felt for the lamp switch and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. Waiting.

"Yeah, I'll go. The first train's in three hours," he said, glancing at the digital clock on my desk, then, meeting my gaze. "Does he know?"

I paused, taking this in. He's going somewhere? But—before school, and the interschool, but, everyone would be wondering where he was. The first train... that would be five in the morning. Something must have happened to Annie. But the look on his face... it was practically unreadable.

"He said that?" It was at this that his eyes narrowed. "Right. I won't. Yeah... thanks. See you."

Handing him a glass of water as he ended the call, I waited for him to explain.

"She woke up," Leroy placed his phone back on the bedside table, taking a gulp of water. "But she's in shock, so they sent her to emergency... if she makes it, she gets transferred to ICU."

"Wh—" I could barely speak. "Shock? Would that be cardiogenic? Obstructive? O-or distributive?"

"Uh..."

"Oh, um." I saw a need to rephrase. "Does it have to do with her heart?"

"Yeah I think it's like a heart attack."

"A cardiac arrest, then..." I swallowed, increasingly anxious. "But she's in the emergency room now?"

He nodded, staring into space; then, sighing. The first thing he did after was to reassure me that he'd be back in time for the bonus round but having heard just how serious this could be, I asked if he would be alright if I went with him instead. That, surely, the team would understand.

He advised me not to, primarily because the nurse who'd called him had informed his father beforehand who, apparently, said he'd fly over and arrive in less than two hours. For some reason, Leroy did not appear very convinced by his own words but even upon further attempts at persuasion, he'd remained adamant on my absence.

We fell in and out of sleep in the next two hours before officially waking up at four in the morning. Leroy got dressed while I stood by the stove with a pot of water, boiling him two eggs for breakfast. Knowing him, he wasn't going to be in the mood to feed himself for at least the first half of the day. Then, after handing them to him at the doorstep, watched as he took the stairs and waved.

===========

Leroy Cox had arrived at the hospital moments after daybreak, finding his way to the ICU with the head nurse while she kept him updated on his mother's unstable condition. Siegfried sat alone on an empty bench outside the room, staring at the red light, lit, above the main door.

His son did not look at him as he stood, the farthest he could, from the well-clothed man. It was only approximately thirty minutes later, when someone finally emerged from the room, that the two came side by side to attention. They listened, and, after confirming that Annie's condition, though officially diagnosed as post-coma, would most likely remain unstable for the next five hours or so, Leroy could not help but ask.

"Could she move?" He managed. "Did she say anything?"

The nurse appeared mildly uncomfortable, as though put on a spot to say something grand and moving to put the family at ease. After all, they were just words to her.

"Little lion." She turned to leave with a bow of her head. "That's all she said, I'm afraid."