A/N: I'm sorry for being half an hour later than usual! ;-; I had this written in one and a half days even though it's about 6k words but I made it through (with quality, I hope) thanks to the zoneeee hahahaha! I hope you enjoyed Xander's Diary #3 on Inkitt :> It was hilarious to write. I'll be writing Chip's Diary #1 and Flight School Adventure #6 (?) for next Thursday's update (yes! It's a triple update next week) and it's basically in line with the global stay-home-notice/lockdown period. In which you get to see what the characters do and how they cope with it, just like how you may be doing the same :')

I'm so sorry I haven't been able to reply to the comments from last week's chapter. The usual few (you know who you are), especially. I did read them!! And gush over them!! Hehe. Thank you for your support as usual.

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

[Vanilla]

"Your man's looking sharp," was all Si Yin had to say through a pair of binoculars she had produced from her bag before the start of assembly period; which, today, consisted partly of the headmaster's speech, followed by an official re-ordering of the school's top thirteen students on the ranking board. With the rest of the school seated comfortably in red cushioned seats, nearly half of them were falling asleep. "They're kinda just standing there, huh. Pretty boring. Oh, the Birchwood girl's got this really nice crown braid thing."

The thirteen of them were up on stage, standing in a line a couple of feet behind the announcer's podium, waiting for their segment and mostly just staring into blank space. I felt oddly empathetic. Leroy had texted me near midnight, an hour after I'd arrived at my apartment and fallen asleep on the bean bag and it was the first thing I'd woken up to this very morning, leaving me rather anxious and confused.

I fucked up, it said.

My immediate instinct had been to give him a call and then, because he wasn't picking up, send a series of texts asking if he was alright. It was only after I'd given my academic inbox a brief scan that I understood what this morning's assembly period encompassed, which gave some insight into why he wasn't exactly responding to my text messages.

Admittedly, Leroy wasn't the kind of person I'd peg as easily flustered. For him to be thrown off by something completely beyond his expectations and actually use those words felt nearly surreal, and if anything, I couldn't stand seeing him on stage, quiet and alone, unable to wholly appreciate the new title he was about to receive.

On the outside, he looked just about how Si Yin had described him as. 'Sharp.' Which, frankly speaking, felt like a term for icicles and the cold, more so than candles and flames.

We were dismissed at the stroke of half-past-nine, held up by sleepy students funnelling out of the auditorium at a crawl. Si Yin had shooed me towards the general direction away from the door, assuring that she had next period's Chef Lindy 'all covered.' I thanked her for reading my mind.

"Hi. Are they backstage? The thirteen," I asked, going up to a photographer at the front of the stage with my media pass. He nodded.

"You're the writer on duty? Need a camera for the interview?" He was about to walk me down the side of the stage to the back of it but I told him, upfront, that I wasn't the writer he was looking for and then hurried off backstage.

I spotted about half of them through the curtains as soon as I was making my way down an unlit corridor, speaking in hushed tones and appearing mostly irate. I was thoroughly surprised by the odd desire to see someone seated deeply in my chest since, if this were any other person I was looking for, I'd probably given up at this point and left a clearly unhappy group of people to themselves. But I came forth.

"Hi. Sorry. I don't mean to interrupt, but I'm looking for—"

"Vanilla?"

I heard his voice and turned at once, relieved. The look in his eyes was unusually guarded, making it particularly difficult to observe the size and brightness of his flame, perhaps due to the lack of lighting. I let him take the lead down the rest of hallway after thanking the group, following him out of a side exit before finally asking if he was quite alright.

He stopped in his tracks, leaning against a wall by the stairwell. Meeting my gaze. "Can I lie?"

"W-well," I blinked in return, mildly surprised. "Lying is... it's not against any rule. It's unfortunately a part of being human, or so many will say. But you know I prefer the truth, which is... what I'm trying to say—that you're allowed to hurt me and that I will not hold it against you if you do because I do not wish for there to be an obligation to lie in order to protect my feelings. Though exceptions are allowed, in which case if you're willingly making the decision to lie, then yes. You can."

I could see the candle in his eyes again as he laughed, low, and it eased the ache in my chest. "I missed you."

"... that's your lie?"

"No, dumbass." His gaze flickered before I felt him pull me into his arms. "It's the truth. Fuck, I hate being number one."

"Number two," I corrected, oddly intoxicated by the physical contact we were sharing in broad daylight.

"One for culinary majors."

"Ah, yes." I said dryly. "Everyone must hate you more than they already do."

He held me at shoulder length, only to present his indecent finger soon after. "I'm serious. Not everyone falls at my feet."

"Well, most people do," I pointed out. "It's a lot of pressure, to be keeping up with expectations whilst defending your title. And yes, you like winning. I do too. Everyone does, at some point. It's nice to be the strong one without any apparent weaknesses but that is unfortunately not how it works in reality. People can be number one even with their vulnerabilities and weaknesses. Besides, if you come to dislike your standing any more than you already do, we could stop the AB tutoring and get you a fail grade aaand you'll drop ten ranks tops!"

He pinched my nose while I was laughing and made me sneeze. Then it was the usual to the forehead before a conclusive kiss. Mildly flustered by the last part, I gave our surroundings a quick survey.

"Where do you learn all this?" Leroy's expression was a cross between a smirk and a frown. We started down the stairs together.

"Books." I provided some vague answer that would make for a roll of his eyes. "They can surprise you. Change your life, even."

*

Every kitchen, classroom and experiment lab in the school came armed with their very own emergency phone box attached to the wall behind the instructor's desk, which, on certain days of fortune and luck, would interrupt an otherwise 'boring' theory session with a shrill ring.

It came in the middle of homeroom period, which Chef Palmer was obliged to answer after settling administrative matters (travel declaration forms for the upcoming winter break). She'd put the receiver away within seconds and called for Si Yin and myself to report at the auditorium right away. Most of the class had been reduced to private conversations and chatter, which felt mildly reassuring considering the fact that we would have otherwise drawn much unnecessary attention.

"We're not in trouble, right?" Si Yin asked in sheepish laughter, rolling down her sleeves and straightening her ribbon. "Why are we going away? I like free per—I mean. Homeroom."

"It's a briefing for W-interschool participants," Chef Palmer pulled up an email on her laptop and gave it a scan while we stood idly by her desk. "Apart from the thirteen, class representatives are nominated by default... ah shit I missed this out last night 'cuz I thought it was just a delay announcement. Sorry about that. They called because it's past reporting time and you guys haven't turned up. I told them you're on your way."

"Oh. Hold on, but we weren't exactly inform—" Si Yin and I were promptly shooed out of the classroom before I could finish, even pointed towards the auditorium just in case we weren't set on departing just yet.

"You know, this is kind of, a hundred percent her fault...?" My best friend sped down the stairwell at a pace I could not afford to keep up with. "It'll look sooo bad on us when we arrive! Like, everyone else is there and we barge in, that kind of thing. Oh, and did I ever agree on being the sub representative?"

"Well, your name is technically under the class' vice president position," I told her, slightly out of breath even though we had a couple more blocks to go. We passed the corridors of the administrative block, making our way down Roth hall before crossing the connecting bridge towards the Marriott Pavilion auditorium.

And by the time the two of us had arrived in one piece, Chef Lindy was waiting outside the main entrance with a clipboard and a pen, repeatedly tapping the latter on her chin. "1B? You're twenty minutes late. Might as well be removed from the list," she teased with a roll of her eyes, giving the list in her arms a glance before nodding at the door. "There's a stack of papers on a table in front of you once you're in. Take one each."

"Yes, Chef Lindy. We're terribly sorry."

"Yeah but it wasn't even our fault." I tugged on Si Yin's sleeve to cut the conversation short and she gave in with a sigh, groaning once before following me past the double doors.

"—siette Vide and the Culinary School of Shanghai. The 150 participants for this year will each receive a welfare bag during their complimentary stay on campus consisting of school souvenirs, food vouchers and marketplace coupons. As you all know, this is a great..."

We'd entered the hall as quietly as we could but as soon as the announcer looked up from his papers to present us with a marvellous glare, nearly half the heads turned. I quickly swiped two copies of the summarized briefing from the stack of papers Chef Lindy mentioned before eyeing the nearest pair of empty seats.

It did not cross my mind to give the surroundings of those holy available seats a proper survey. Regrettably, the situation turned out fairly eventful.

"You could have picked anywhere else," Birchwood hissed under her breath, folding her arms and turning away from Si Yin and myself.

I offered a sigh. "Good afternoon to you too, Miss Birchwood."

"Ohmygod you're so pretentious. Why are you even late? I thought you weren't the kind of person to be late. Why do people always disappoint the expectations I set for them?"

"I... never knew you thought so highly of me," was all I could whisper in response, mildly surprised by the compliment she was so obviously paying me. Birchwood scoffed.

"Yeah well obviously. I'm talking to you, which already says something. I don't talk to idiots, if you haven't noticed."

"I have."

"Okay good."

Our conversation ended then and there. Which, albeit rather short, had been one of the most pleasant experiences we've shared since the first day of school. Quite the improvement, I must say.

"...since we're hosting the tournament this year. Your assigned buddies from the other schools will be allocated to you by the end of the month by email... so check that constantly. I see some of our latecomers look visibly confused so I have no choice but to repeat the key dates I've pointed out earlier on. This Friday, the 14th of November, is the start of the month-long W-interschool training for the fifty of you. Details on the reporting time and place are all in the handout given to you. On Wednesday, 12th you will be moving into your allocated lodging. 13th December is the start of your winter break and 30th is when the students of other participating schools start moving in. 1st January will be the first day of the W-interschool and yes, your winter break will be cut short by a week, replaced by the tournament. Any questions?"

I frowned. This much, an idiot could gather just by reading the handout, which I just did in less than ten seconds. The dates were all marked out on the third section on the second page, which hopefully meant that Si Yin and I hadn't missed out on much.

"Did he say... free lodging?" Her eyes lit up as they turned to me, alternating between the words projected on the screen up front and the ones on the handout in my lap. She hadn't exactly looked at her own.

"Apparently, yes. They're providing us with a room each... it must cost a considerable amount."

"But we're just first years! You think they take requests? I like the Hudson apartments. I've always wanted a loft. And a cool roommate. I want a roommate."

I gave the handout a further scan, noting the additional information in small font about balloting and first years also being given a room since... ah, the training schedule. There were five AM and ten PM slots too. It made sense to have everyone move into the campus for the sake of having a stricter regimen.

My distracted, lovestruck heart had a way of directing thoughts into the unfortunate darkness lit by a single candle; in fact, I was thinking, searching, looking at the back of his head before the conscious mind could register that I was. Seated beside him was... Chen. At first, I'd assumed they were somehow obliged to sit in order (meaning number one followed by two and then three or four) but then number nine was seated right next to me, arms folded and legs crossed, glancing at her nails every now and then before opting for the act of endless scrolling on her phone.

"You're not seated with the top thirteen," I observed aloud, hoping I hadn't phrased it in a way that offended her.

Birchwood rolled her eyes, which was mild considering the many other things she tended to do. "You're not making any sense. We weren't told to sit together or anything."

I blinked, suddenly confused.

"Again, the school would like to emphasize on the importance of teamwork and forging closer bonds with budding culinary experts from all across the world, which is a great opportunity since you will be working with some of them in particular segments of the tourna—"

"I think I spot your man," Si Yin whispered a minute too late, pointing him out, seated a couple of rows down. "He's sitting with someone... who isn't... you?" She looked at me then, as though confuzzled by the alternate universe she was in. "That's not you."

"Well, I'm seated here," I said, oddly calm. Pleased, even. That they were getting along. "That's Chen in the yellow scarf."

Both Si Yin and I were clearly taken aback by this piece of information, so much so that it became our key point of interest throughout the rest of the briefing. After all, this was very new, and certainly not an unpleasant development—which I made sure to point out as soon as we emerged from the auditorium, together with Leroy, Raul and Rosi. They, too, were class representatives.

"They even had lunch together," said Raul in a heartbeat, to which Leroy responded with his usual finger. "Probably W-interschool talk. It's all about the strats you know."

I turned to a certain idiot with a teasing smile. "Who knew you could get along with someone other than myself!"

"Woah, woah I think that's a different 'get along' right there," Raul did not hesitate to cut in but a single glance from his best friend made it so that continuing necessarily came with punishment, leaving me mildly confused.

Either way, Leroy appeared to be avoiding the topic of Chen entirely and though I wasn't sure if it was due to embarrassment or general unwillingness to admit that he was wrong about his new friend, I decided not to probe. I noticed, however, his gaze resting on the general area below my chin and following it immediately, could not quite make out what he was looking at.

"Is my badge crooked?"

"No. Your tie's loose," he leaned in, reaching for it and in that instance, as though the tie was a part of the human body, I felt the warmth of his fingers and shied away at once. What an embarrassing reversal of roles!

"O-oh. Yes, we were, um. Late. And quite hurriedly making our way down," I excused whilst fixing my own tie, feeling the heat on my ears and the back of my neck. Ah Vanilla, you put beetroot to shame. There's your only talent.

I caught him smirk at my reaction before pulling back, returning his hands into his pockets. Si Yin took the opportunity to flash a devious grin my way, which soon developed into a rigorous back and forth of ridiculous faces before all of a sudden, an unknown force shoved past my right shoulder from behind.

I was falling face first before the registration of other relevant information but someone to the left had caught my upper arm just in time, allowing me to regain my balance and raise my gaze to whoever it was that did. How incredibly awful it must be to possess inhuman reflexes, a criminally attractive face and unmatched skills all at once. It therefore explained his complete lack of aptitude in math, which must be made extremely heavy in order to properly balance out a character like himself.

"Watch where you're going." A familiar voice, a foot or so in front of me by then, made in cold warning. I recognized it only after spotting the person beside him. Meyers? So then the one beside him must be Li from our class. Si Yin was shaking her fist at their backs but all I could register was how unrecognizable Li's face was.

He had an unholy bruise the shade of wine down the side of his face and up on his head, a gauze patch taped and wrapped around the circumference. It looked as though he'd gotten himself into a huge fistfight.

I'd turned to Leroy just then, hoping to reassure him of my wellbeing and that I was quite alright so that he wouldn't be burning in flames while people were shoving me around but peering up at him, I realized that I didn't have be saying a word.

He appeared oddly calm; the flame of a candle in his eyes still and unmoving... in perfect control. I retreated, mildly relieved but at the same time... strangely concerned that he wasn't his usual fiery self.

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

[Leroy]

I was with Annie in her room when he told me he got put in Cinnamon for Wednesday's moving in. Naturally, I was disappointed. He was, too. We were never the kind to drop emoticons here and there but when his text came in at ten in the evening, all I saw was 'It's Cinnamon, unfortunately :c' which made the whole exchange a hundred times cuter than it would've already been.

The whole of Monday passed in nothing less than pain. By lunch, Chen had the camera footage settled and the deal made with the three of them at the infirmary. I had my doubts about the whole thing—not to mention a stubborn unwillingness to lie—but he went on to explain that the trade-off was saving all three of them who were involved in the sabotage of their stall, which was the better offer just by considering the numbers. And just when I was beginning to think I could no longer stare at frozen lakes and summer pools, the interschool training forced all thirteen of us into full speed ahead.

I started to miss him more than I missed him over thanksgiving. Texts never seemed to be enough and calls were shorter than usual since both he and I had separate training regimens and schedules. Some days, he had to be up by five in the morning. Some days I was going to bed at one.

It was the reason I'd hoped he was put in Cayenne. That and the fact that my last visit to his place had been nearly more than a month ago. Which meant that we hadn't done anything more than fleeting kisses for four whole weeks.

I get that the school needed us scattered and separate, mostly to entertain or interact with partner school students moving in before the tournament. Raul said something about it all being 'friendly', which I'm pretty sure meant something else. Chen was on the other end of the spectrum. He told me he wasn't here to make any friends. That there wasn't anything 'friendly' about competition.

Either way, November sort of passed in a snap. Because Cayenne and Cinnamon were all part of the spice lodges, we shared a study and a gym. The former was more like a reading room thing, and once, I'd passed it after spending an hour on the treadmill before advanced plating when I caught him reading curled up in a corner. My phone wasn't with me at that point, so I just stood out there behind the glass carving the image into my mind when he noticed he wasn't alone and quickly assumed a proper sitting position with his legs down... until he realized that it was just me and huffed with a smile, leaving his book on the sofa seat before coming out to say hi.

"You understand that what you just did could very well be reported to the authorities?" Like I said. Saying hi.

I'd teased by telling him I'd then never look at him again if he so wished. The slight panic on his face was nothing less than endearing. "That... that was not what I meant."

I then asked if he was free on Christmas for a party Raul suggested hosting. Vague plans were made the night before and he did say I could invite anyone outside of Cayenne, so.

"The second and third-years in Cinnamon haven't any plans for Christmas a-and it's really only been the four of us so I have been rather lonely as of late. Not, not saying that you haven't been providing any company. You have. In the form of text and calls but. Well, I've... I mean I have naturally come to miss your presence. Physical presence. Does that make any sense?"

I told him that I'd make out with him if I hadn't been running for an hour. But I had, so. At least he got the hint and blushed non-stop. "So you in?"

"Yes, of course." He seemed quite excited about it, which felt nearly contagious since the next couple of weeks started passing a lot faster than I thought; actually having something to look forward to made getting through hours of stupid shit a lot more bearable.

Plus, Raul had made it a point to cancel the random gift exchange thing we did last year and replace it with a compulsory 'get everyone something of whatever price but it'll be anonymous' kind of thing. It felt a whole lot more reassuring, since some people actually ended up with nothing during the random gift exchange and I for some reason, had four boxes with my name on it.

It's not a nice feeling, having to face the empty hands of others and look at your own. I prefer being on the envious, lonely side; not the one being envied.

The Christmas thing had him really excited. He and Si Yin had made their rounds in the new mall thirty minutes away, shopping for gifts like they were part of Santa's factory. Hands down, Si Yin would pass the test for an elf with that pixie cut and him, a reindeer. The small one. Tiny antlers.

"I grabbed a leather-bound Filofax diary organizer for Si Yin while she was away in the next section looking for Rosi's gift. She mentioned just last month about starting on a daily planner as part of a new year's resolution, so. And I got Raul a nice bottle of thyme-infused olive oil. I-I haven't quite decided on yours yet."

He told me one night while I was walking him back to his lodge, wondering if he was simply putting up a strong front despite the bags under his eyes just so that we'd have a conversation. He was clearly exhausted.

"Don't stress over it. Sleep early," I'd told him at his doorstep and was about to lean in for good, long one when his lodgemate stepped out for a smoke and greeted me by chance. I didn't even know them. I'd turned back to him but he was already embarrassed and shy so I let be, sending him in before heading back.

*

Fast forward to a week later, four in the afternoon, people were already starting to filer past the main door of Cayenne—which Raul had decided to leave permanently open. 'Just in case anyone's curious.'

"Welcome to the Christmas party for, uh, lonely people in lonely lodges. Because obviously, Cayenne is not lonely." No one was telling Raul to shut up, partly because they were all over the food on the dining.

We'd decided to have it potluck style, meaning everyone had to be bringing a dish regardless of the time they'd intended to spend at the party, just so that no one would end up pointing fingers at non-contributors or potential dish washers. Which was me. Last year. Because I hate cooking, remember?

This time, I'd slipped under the radar with something simple and easy: Vietnamese netted spring rolls. The lattice wraps I'd found in the marketplace were just the trick to making them look deceptively classy. Someone else made beef lasagne, which was also kinda clever. Most of everyone brought their own version of party food—no-brainer, affordable shit that thankfully did not include alcohol because the last time someone added a bottle to the fruit cocktail, some girl from another lodge threw up all over our carpet.

When he'd arrived alongside Si Yin with his mini eggnog pavlovas topped with rum syrup though, I think most of us thought he'd brought it to the wrong party. They were obviously made with much more effort compared to everything else on the table so much so that once his tray of pavlovas made it to the dining, every ramekin was taken. Naturally, I wasn't very happy about it. I'd never had the chance to give his desserts a go, so this would have been my first.

Though after giving it some thought, I would've preferred my first to be something he made specifically for me anyway. So. I let it go.

The next couple of hours was mostly food and games, though we were sort of playing our own, in private—stealing glances every now and then, across the room, catching the other looking over behind a glass of fruit punch. I would wink. He would roll his eyes and turn away, which only served to provide me with a clearer view of his pink ears.

"Can everyone just join the line? Like, I'll hand you the boxes with your name and you can go off. That way, we're not crowded round the Christmas tree like a bunch of hungry zombies," Rosi shooed the rest of us away from the middle of the lounge so that we ended up making a line that snaked across the room.

The average gift counter was something like four or five per person, which wasn't too bad although there were about twenty people in the room. He was a couple of turns before mine, so I was watching him and crossing my fingers for a six. Or five. He walked away with three, looking mildly surprised and awfully pleased, unlike the others who'd received the same number he did.

"We got a winner," Rosi said to me when it was my turn, not forgetting to roll her eyes. "Eleven for you."

How the fuck does this happen? I'm not even nice to anyone, was all I could think after balancing the stack of boxes in my arms and heading over to the couch where he was. His eyes were brightly lit, gleaming in anticipation—fingers already hovering over the ribbon of his first gift. It wasn't mine.

"As expected, Mr. Cox, you are highly sought after. Those gifts look... well, they have very fancy wrapping don't they."

I turned back to the boxes all over my lap, not quite knowing what was fancy and what wasn't. The last time I received an actual Christmas present apart from last year's party was way back in nursery. From Annie. Then it was living with Siegfried, which meant no Christmas, so.

"Should we... start with the one who's got the most to look at?" Raul was rubbing his hands and smirking in my direction but I wasn't having any of that.

"No—"

"Yes!" "Fucking eleven." "Pick one." "Just open them, hurry up." "Oh and guess who it's from or something." "Oh my god yes."

Ah fuck. I didn't want to unintentionally offend people by getting it wrong either, since I clearly didn't even know eleven names around here to begin with. Most importantly, could I have a good night's sleep if I got his gift wrong? The answer: no.

The first thing was a Himalayan salt block and no doubt, I actually fucking laughed after opening the fancy-ass box since whoever gifted it made extra effort to disguise its true form. I'd seen it in restaurants and TV shows. Heck, Siegfried uses it over at his Michelin stars.

"Thanks," I said in general, then caught a gleam in Si Yin's eyes while sweeping the room. She then laughed out loud so everyone else turned to her and knew she'd given it away. "It's cool."

It was. Really. But whether I was going to use it felt like an entirely different story. I might have...? But with the cookbook done and nothing more to experiment and exams not exactly allowing for special tools like a Himalayan salt block unless stated, I hadn't any reason to be fully utilising something like this.

Not to mention, experimenting with food was never within my realm of interest to begin with.

Still, I thanked her.

"An...egg timer," I held up the next gift and the entire room broke down crying in laughter. "I really need this."

"As the school's top culinary major, you sure do," Raul clapped me on the back and almost immediately, I knew it was him. I gave him the finger and he did the same. All good.

Then it was a whisk from Rosi. And fish sauce from Bank. And truffle oil from Nabila. Then a couple of people chipping in for a mini kebab grill—the vertical standing kind—which got the rest of the room going crazy with envy and then there was me, thinking: where the hell was I going to put this without space in my room or the kitchen cabinet.

I caught his expression when everyone else was fawning over the kebab grill. He looked almost nervous, now that I'd opened most of everything and hadn't gotten to his just yet. I asked if he was okay and he nodded vaguely, smiling a little before stating that everyone seemed to know exactly what I liked.

I found this surprising. Was that how it looked like to him? Because I sure wasn't feeling very understood. Frankly, I was starting to feel the disappointment—which, apart from the appreciation that everyone actually made an effort to get me something, at all, was honestly great by itself—surrounded by culinary tools and whatnot.

It's not their fault, in any way. It wasn't. I'd come to accept it: that I was, in their eyes, Leroy Jeremy Cox, top culinary major, and with only two years of official experience. Part of the kitchen. A chef. The label I was never really going to live wi—

It hadn't looked very exciting. The plain brown wrapping. No tape. Just paper. And to be very honest, my lowered expectations hadn't really helped with the suspense. Outside, it didn't look as enticing as the reflective, sparkly wrapping that the rest of the gifts happened to have but looking inside, it was instant—I knew who, exactly, it was from.

I glanced over.

"Woah dude. JBL?" Raul was the first to react, taking a closer look over my shoulder. "A flip five!" A wireless Bluetooth speaker.

I was starting to feel weird. Dizzy; confused, like I wasn't expecting the sudden transition away from disappointment and experiencing the high of something akin to relief but also, not quite.

"Who's it from?" Rosi asked.

I caught his eye and he promptly cleared his throat, looking up from his glass of water. "Well. You've always been been fond of listening to music plugged in but... so I thought, perhaps, sometime in the near future, you'd be more open. With sharing. What you're listening to."

The room went quiet. I thanked him then. "I like it." A little differently from how I thanked everyone else. Not because we were in a romantic relationship; or because he'd given me something different from everyone else. "Thank you."

But because it was then that I realized what exactly it was—some sort of undertone, some underlying message that he himself might not have even realized had been unconsciously conveyed.

The gift was an answer to the question I never had to verbalize.

Vanilla did not see me as the school's number one culinary major. He did not see me as the chef I did not want to be, or the heir to Michelin star restaurants, or the favourite of many instructors and the future of culinary progress.

He saw me as ordinary. As human; one who had interests beyond the immediate show of participation—one who could fail, one who was no product of perfection. Who played games and liked cup ramen and vanilla ice cream and listened to music on long train rides or study periods.

And for that to be the person he'd fell for.

Well, honestly.

I didn't know what else to do but spend the rest of my life with someone like that.

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

A/N: I've always wanted to have a character like Leroy. In a sense that he's good at something, but it's unfortunately not exactly what he's interested in. Being unsure of the path ahead, and whether you'd be accepted by the people around you if you made it clear to them.

Both Leroy and Vanilla are very oddly flawed. Like how Vanilla is an anomaly and can hardly function under social circumstances due to his obsession with truth, and how Leroy, though appreciating and respecting of honesty, fails to bend to the ice-cold boundaries that Vanilla has set for himself.

It's full speed ahead for the next couple of chapters, so I hope you're prepared :D now that I think of it... the end of part one might be coming around sooner than I thought. July, perhaps? Not too sure.

I hope you'll stick around.

-Cuppie

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

[Extra]

To say that Vanilla was pleased with what Leroy had gotten him was an understatement. He was madly in love with the pair of adjustable, dark leather suspenders—the slimmer kind, to match his physique—that were incredibly suited to his wardrobe. The fact that they were adjustable were an added plus, since it meant that they could last for the next couple of years even if he were to grow.

Quietly, awfully pleased, he'd thanked Leroy with a reserved nod, stating that he was, still, very concerned about the price.

"That JBL probably cost you more than a hundred bucks. Just shut up and keep it," was all the latter said, stealing a kiss. "Wear it to our next date maybe."