[Vanilla]

We turned the bend onto the street I'd seen only just yesterday and immediately—or essentially within two seconds of walking with Si Yin going on about her butler and her favourite ice cream flavour—I sensed something off. It all came together only minutes later, when we arrived at the doorstep of the parlour and understanding hit the back of my head in the most brilliant manner. The parlour was empty.

While the store was lit by warm lights and there appeared to be a single staff member at the counter with stacks of receipts and a clipboard in hand, the tables on the first floor were quite unlike the scene of chaos I'd witnessed only a day earlier. I checked the sign. They were open.

"I may have the worst memory ever but like, didn't you say this place was a crowded mess?" Si Yin turned to me with a raise of her brow, cupping her hands around the sides of her face and pressing her nose right up against the glass.

"Well," I began after a pause. "It was that way yesterday. I'm quite sure of it."

My companion shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. At least there isn't a queue, right?" I gave the time a quick check, noting it down just in case the information proved somewhat handy to my readers or should I ever come again and wish to write in pea—but wait. I wasn't going to come again. I wasn't.

"And you're standing out there because...?" Si Yin was already at the door, holding it open for me with a blank look on her face. I apologized.

A brief glance over her shoulder and another one through the glass to confirm the absence of a certain person I was not in the best condition to see, I gathered the strength to follow her into the store. Tentative steps; furtive glances at the kitchen door by the counter.

The sole staff member on duty at the cash register greeted us with a cheery grin, placing the stacks of receipts and papers aside and giving us her full attention. "Would you like any recommendations?"

"The place is cool. Why's it so quiet at this time? I heard you guys were packed yesterday," Si Yin completely disregarded her question to ask, eyes scanning the menu items listed above the counter. "Also, what's 'Ice cream of the day'?"

"Oh, yesterday? You mean, late in the afternoon like four to five? I guess peak hour and non-peaks make a huge difference," she laughed. "I work on non-peaks 'cuz I just hate crowds but like peaks pay better. And uh, we have special flavours depending on the season and it changes by the day, so. It's apple cinnamon on Thursdays."

At once, I was feeling completely disappointed that I'd left this out of my radar, having so naively believed the marketing tactic that seemed to promote the most basic flavour to ever exist on the planet. I had the sudden urge to note down every flavour of the day and add it to the review on my blog.

"I'll leave you to look at the menu while I find us seats upstairs," was what I said to Si Yin, who could not seem to take her eyes off the display case. She turned to me abruptly.

"There's literally no one here, Vanilla. You don't need to be 'finding seats'. Come on, look at all these options! Should we share a bowl? A split? A chocolate waffle bowl? A mo-chi waffle-thing?" She dragged me by the sleeve, visibly impressed. "You're not going to get a drink after seeing all this, are you?"

I thought about it for a moment. Well, since Leroy isn't here...

"Would you like to sample some of our flavours? I recommend the butter pecan or our very special blend of Matcha 'cuz we use top-quality ingredients to make it rich and soo very creamy—just the right balance of bitter and sweet," the staff behind the counter reached into a tub of intense green and gave us each a generous serving on a wooden tasting spoon. Then, the butter pecan.

"Thih ih imhamely gooh," said Si Yin with the spoon still in her mouth. "Whah' hhe compohhishioh?"

A tad bit embarrassed that we were sampling so many flavours without really deciding what it was we wanted to have, I could only nod shyly at the staff behind the counter and quietly appreciate the amazing flavour profiles they had. Thank goodness the server seemed enthusiastic enough to entertain the numerous questions Si Yin had.

"So for our butter pecan, we use an all-natural custom blend of—"

Concentration was most certainly not the bane of my existence. In fact, as someone who prides himself on never sleeping in class and being able to read epistemological texts for seven hours straight, concentrating would be the last of my concerns. Yet, the moment I, on edge and perhaps jittery with nerves, heard the swinging of the double doors to the kitchen and turned to see someone emerge from behind them... my mind went blank. Pausing momentarily to stare.

"Oh, it's your shift now?" Our server fiddled with the wooden tasting spoons, hiding them in the pocket of her apron. "What time is it, actually."

"Half past three," said Leroy, gaze resting on me. Thankfully, I'd averted mine just in time.

"Ohmygod it's already this late?" She reached into her back pocket for her phone and upon glancing at the time, appeared as though she couldn't decide on continuing to serve us or taking off her apron. "I'm so sorry. I've got cram school to attend and..."

No surprises, Si Yin was the first to interrupt the chaos by skilfully adding a dash of oil to the flames. "It's the guy who carried you all the way from the racetrack because he's in love!! I-I mean," she had pointed at him through the display glass, stunned, before pausing and covering her mouth with both her hands.

A second later, she was back to staring at the menu as though nothing had happened, pulling out her wallet and appearing to do math with her fingers. The odd sequence of her actions however, successfully diverted our attention away from Leroy and allowed his co-worker to speak to him privately.

"I'll take over," he said, clasping the leather harness of his apron behind his back. Our server thanked him in a flurry before dashing upstairs, apologizing to us as she did. The moment nearly directed my gaze to the other person behind the counter but thank goodness I was able to catch myself in time.

Additional thanks to my companion, who immediately decided on a 'Crunchy Apple Surprise' that was ranked second on the waffle bowl selection. "By the way, uh, Le-roy," she squinted, reading his name off the tag on his apron, "oh yeeeaah... that's your name—yeah, uh. Can I further customise waffle bowls? Like, add additional toppings and stuff? I want some salted caramel."

"The order's a mix-in, so we fold it into the ice cream on granite," he seemed a tad surprised by the flavour combination, nodding nevertheless. "So it works."

"Salted caramel does go well with the apple chunks and cinnamon," I said to her, aside. "But you're sure about finishing an entire waffle bowl by yourself?"

Si Yin shrugged. "That's me. Also, we're supposed to be celebrating today, remember? I'll treat you to like, anything you want on the menu so go crazy." She whipped out a card I've never had the privilege of seeing in my entire life and for a moment there, I wondered what sort of math she was doing on her fingers moments before. There was nothing to count.

I was about to politely decline when I noticed my companion's gaze resting on something over my shoulder instead of directly at me. Making the mistake of following it, I was met with a pair of eyes that were resistant to any sort of reading.

"And your order?" Leroy said, and perhaps it was partly due to the slightly (imaginary?) intimidating tone that I felt instantly anxious, stammering the first question that came to mind.

"W-well. What is your house specialty?" Okay, I mean. Not entirely off the board, at least. The question invited a smirk on the edge of his lips.

"Vanilla ice cream."

"I do not believe you," I said calmly in return. "Besides, I've had that yesterday. While it was good, surely you do not expect me to have that again."

Leroy's hand hovered over the screen, holding my gaze. "People have habits. Some go for what they like. Again and again."

Si Yin did not hesitate to agree. "He's got a point," she leaned over to whisper, nodding vigorously.

There was nothing I could say in return except admit defeat and brush the topic aside, knowing that he'd eventually put me on the spot either way. I cleared my throat, turning back to our new server.

"Um... I'd prefer to try something different." Again, I glanced at the beverage menu stuck to the countertop and, after ticking off the first 'Café Latte', went for the drink right below it. "Chamomile tea please. It's too cold for ice cream," and just in case I was asked the same question, added, "it's almost healed. My tongue."

Si Yin turned to me with an expression of disbelief, narrowing her eyes and opening her mouth to differ when another staff member emerged from the kitchen to join Leroy, directing her to the next cash register to make a separate payment.

"Oh that's okay, we can pay together—"

"Please let me pay for my drink. I'd rather we leave the treat to, um, birthdays. Does that sound socially acceptable? I've read it in a novel once, but only because the protagonist didn't know what to get his friend for her birthday. I foresee I wouldn't either, so. Let's leave it to next time," I reasoned quickly, feeling particularly embarrassed to be treated by someone of the same age.

To my surprise, Si Yin bought the excuse after a moment's pause, saying that she found the trick rather useful since she, too, wasn't the best present-picker, gift-chooser, and wouldn't mind being treated to a meal as well. "Okay, so—I'll pay over there?"

The other staff member directed her to the next counter at her question, leaving me to, um, to fend for myself. Naturally, I was completely unnatural.

"Three-fifty for chamomile."

"Um," was all I could think of whilst fumbling for a note, finding the awkward silence more stifling than before. Nevertheless, it was essential that I got this out of my system or else all interactions (god forbid) down the road was going to be a pain. "I might sound a little repetitive, but I would... um, I would like to thank you for—"

Mid-sentence, he leaned over to close the distance, lowering his voice and speaking beside my ear. "I'm getting off in an hour. Wait for me."

*

It was perhaps my imagination, but I could for some reason make out the exact moment Si Yin was telling a lie—which really just encompassed the entire time she was talking about her butler who was supposedly on his way to pick her up.

"I'm assuming you're going to stay here and hog the best seat with your chamomile tea for another hour like all writers do?" She peered over the screen of my laptop, glancing downwards to catch a glimpse of what I was doing.

Barely half-an-hour after we had settled down on the second floor with her waffle bowl of apple surprise and heard the increasing number of students enter the parlour and fill the seats downstairs, Si Yin had lost all interest. To the girl who could finish three scoops of ice cream with a troubling amount of mix-ins including the waffle bowl in less than fifteen-minutes, I was close to boring. After all, the cup of chamomile tea that I would take nearly an hour to finish on ordinary circumstances—with a laptop by my side, that is—appeared almost untouched.

Nevertheless, I was offended. "I! I... I don't do that," I managed without clearing my throat in embarrassment. Window seats were precious. "Either way, is your butler... um. Around the corner? Actually, I was hoping you would join me for a little while longer as the staff member, well, the one you see to be familiar with, has kindly invited us to—"

"Oh no no no no no," she had her hands everywhere in the next moment, waving in the air and circling about. "I gave him a call and he totally said he'd arrive in five minutes." All clues pointed towards a single word: excuses. Si Yin had never once left my field of vision and she had certainly not made a single call in my presence since then.

I looked away from the screen of my laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Please, I'd really appreciate it if you—"

"Oh look! Sebastian's here," she proceeded to exclaim after glancing unconvincingly at her phone. It had been immensely obvious that she hadn't even taken a good look at the screen. "I better get going. See ya!"

Oh good gods of rolling pins. She can't just leave me here! I watched helplessly as she headed for the stairs and while doing so, noticed someone else come into view. Si Yin, in an unnecessary hurry, had come close to crashing into the person going up the stairs.

"Oh! Sorry, I... uh... I was just going to leave," she said amidst sheepish laughter, glancing over her shoulder with a wave. "You two, should, yeah. Go for it. Have a great time. Nice weather. Good stuff." There was not another second of delay before she took off, backpack swinging around precariously and ready to smack an unfortunate soul in the face with it.

Leroy's eyes followed her back, blinking as though unconsciously establishing her now apparent harmlessness. How he managed to deem her threatening in the first place was beyond my realm of comprehension. Only moments after Si Yin's footsteps clamoured down the stairs did he reach behind his back to unclasp the leather harness of his apron, taking it off in a fluid motion that was almost seamless.

Our eyes met.

Naturally, I turned away at once, pretending to busy myself with the screen of my laptop and the most convincing act of furious typing. Unfortunately for me however, I was all-too-aware of him closing the distance; crossing over to my end of the floor in slow, painful steps before dragging out the chair across mine.

"Busy?"

Vanilla, warned me to me, trapped in a mental state of turmoil. Compose thyself. "Not exactly," I breathed, unsure how else I was supposed to respond to a single-word question. Staring at the words swimming across my document wasn't enough to ignore the pair of striking ambers—remnants of a flame, embers—fixed upon me over the screen of my laptop.

Leroy jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Let's go?"

Catching a glimpse of the look in his eyes, I gave in. Not a second more was I able to stand having those eyes on me. Gods of rolling pins, please.

I was relieved of the tension when he stood and made his way over to the locker room on the second floor, presumably to change out of the parlour's uniform and to get his things. Surprisingly enough, the former presumption of the two turned out completely wrong. Leroy had not bothered to change out of the staff uniform.

"Your shift seems... unbelievably short," was all I managed to comment, following him down the stairs and into a crowd of students who'd gathered at the bottom. A good number of them waved him goodbye, with several going as far as asking when his next shift was going to be.

"I started at eleven."

For a moment, I thought I'd heard him wrongly amidst the chatter and dramatic parting from the store. "Eleven? But—but classes?"

He seemed to laugh, but a second look confirmed that it was all part of my imagination. "Only a two-and-a-half-hour lecture in the morning. Ends at ten-thirty," he gave me a sideway glance. "Didn't expect you to come again knowing I'd be there."

I coughed. "It's Thursday, Leroy. I assumed you were busy with club activities."

"We have ours on Fridays," he said as we turned at the end of the sidewalk, stopping at the light. "You join anything?"

"Well, I've submitted an application form to the administration office stating my preferences and such, but the deadline's tomorrow afternoon, so," I reasoned, gaze shifting awkwardly between the red light and my feet. Only then did I come to realize something that should have been painfully obvious in every other circumstance: Leroy wasn't heading to wherever it was he needed to be—he was just following me.

Assuming he assumed I was heading home and that he intended to walk me all the way to my place, well... I wasn't entirely against it but that didn't necessarily mean that I was for it either.

It took quite the feat to get the words past my lips. "Where are you going? Um, sorry I never asked."

He shook his head. "Back to school. I live there."

I blinked, nodding slowly afterwards as we crossed the road and neared my apartment building. "O-oh, that makes sense. Second-years do tend to live in the lodges," and because we arrived at a certain crossroad between the train station and where I lived, I made the quick decision to end the conversation and bid him an indirect farewell. "I guess we'll be parting here? I'm this way."

Unfortunately, Leroy had other plans.

"I'll send you home first," he said, casually turning the tables on me without a drop of hesitation, rucksack over his right shoulder and the other strap just dangling unused. "No more falling and biting off your tongue."

I, an embarrassed human, quickly deflected his comment by changing the topic. 'So-called', changing the topic.

"You make it sound like I'm doing this to myself," I opened my mouth to defend, "when in fact, a friend of mine has been telling me that she'd clearly witnessed otherwise. W-while it isn't entirely confirmed, and, well, I know that I shouldn't be spreading rumours or making strangers like yourself unnecessarily worried or, um, involved, at the very least, I guess you can ignore whatever I just said. Oh, and, um, I don't mean to call you a stranger but it's been a very, very long time since we met and I feel like I no longer am entitled to considering us close, or... friends, for the matter.

"A-anyway," I finally got back on track, "if you're asking if I'm feeling any better, then the answer is yes. Thank you for your concern."

I caught a glimpse of his reaction whilst looking at the ground—a strangely endearing sort of laugh, crossed with a smirk of amusement. "You never change."

"Apologies for being an undeveloped character, unlike you," I quipped in return.

He reached over to flick my forehead, laughing low. "I like it."

It didn't take much for me to pause, stopping in my tracks in the middle of an alley that was a shortcut to my apartment building. Returning his gaze, I somehow managed to stem the oncoming heat that was rushing to my face, turning away before it revealed everything inside. "As far as I see it, you're pretty much the same too."

"I can't tell," he sighed, breath leaving his lips in wisps. "No one's stuck around long enough to see."

Stunned for the second time of the day, I turned to face him—not knowing what to say. Was that...? Did he...? It was his mother, for sure; something must have happened to her. Or was I merely misinterpreting his statement and reading too much into it? And most importantly... was it because of Uncle Al? Because of us?

"I... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... is, um. Is your mother...?"

"Not yet," he said, seemingly unfazed. Yet, the candle in his eyes seemed to flicker. "It's a coma. Since January."

January... that's about eight months! Frightened and concerned, I could not find the words to say. It didn't take much effort to recall his mother's smile, her voice. The way she welcomed every guest and customer into her diner and the look in her eyes when she handed us a bowl of lotus chips each; the roughness of her hands that worked so hard and the smell of the food she made—the scent of fried chicken, wafting out of the store. Crisp. The sound almost audible in the scent. There was no believing it.

"What happened?" I managed in a bare whisper, raising my gaze to meet his.

How strange it was; how awfully surreal I thought it all to be when we arrived before the building of my rented apartment. Oddly enough, I didn't feel the urge to leave the conversation standing at where it was at present. The most terrible point to pause or let be. Stop at. Fidgeting uncomfortably, I glanced up at the balcony of my room.

"This is where you live?"

Following my gaze, Leroy's eyes narrowed at the floors above. I nodded, chewing on my bottom lip. "It's a five-fucking-minute walk away from the parlour. Come tomorrow. And the day after that."

I froze, "wh-what! I... you can't, just..." having never felt so speechless at any point of time in my life. Yet, I was undoubtedly intimidated by the steely gaze he had fixed on me. "I. I suppose I might..."

Had I not known any better, I wouldn't have understood what he'd meant by having me around him. That he was, perhaps, eager to relieve the sheer expression of guilt and fear I had in my eyes back then—the guilt and fear that had continued to dwell inside me despite the years and years. A long, heavy spirit that harped and haunted every form of attachment following my childhood; the scene, though remaining a mere wisp of a memory in the back of my mind, blur, still clear enough to decipher the look in his mother's eyes as she faced a flurry of mindless criticism and threats of closed doors.

The starting of a conversation along the lines of this specific matter or topic would require more than just five-minute walks home, walks that were often filled with meaningless small talk and shallow emotions. Those were not enough.

That much, I was aware but knowing of something g on a different level of importance and knowing when to voice it were two very separate issues. There was a need to raise it up in a time that was right but just when would the right time be, if, never?

"Leroy, I—"

"Let me in sometime," he turned to say, leaving my words dangling in the air. There was nothing I could read on his face or see in his eyes; just a flame. Still and unflinching. "I'll make you something good."

Pausing and returning his gaze for a good long moment before it all began to settle in a corner of my mind, I soon blinked the clouds away and found the heat on my cheeks increasingly unbearable. Then came the urge to say something else to distract him from it. Preferably something of humour and wit.

"Being a good chef doesn't necessarily mean you get invitations into people's homes, Leroy," I coughed, clutching my book bag in a stiff and awkward manner as we stood by the sidewalk in front of my apartment building. "I... I wouldn't ask you to come over just because you're a good cook. I mean... there are other reasons... this isn't... I'm not that petty of a person—is what I'm trying to say."

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

While I could have spent most of the evening grovelling in my terrifying choice of words and devastatingly disastrous way of getting the message across (or conveying my feelings), I did not. For the first time, I observed a careful distinction between the way I acted in front of Leroy versus that of everyone else. Whilst effortless honesty and the absence of a need to rethink what I had to say about the truth remained largely present in everyday conversations, it was not the case when it came to him.

I'd only noticed this on my way to school the very next day, passing beneath the shadows of trees along the sidewalk to the front gate. And it was later confirmed during my first period of the day—homeroom.

"For each of your majors, you'll be given a course sheet to list and tick the modules you wish to apply for according to a ranking system. Rank them one to five and depending on the remaining available slots, will be allocated to your timetables, which are out on the student portal. The results should be out by Monday evening."

Students gathered in groups at once, congregating at tables and taking their course sheets along with them to discuss the classes they'd like to take. Together. Fortunately for myself, the only aspiring critic in class, I wasn't socially obliged to consult an exterior opinion. Which... was most likely the case even if there was another student of my major in class.

Tasked to choose the core modules we'd like to take during this semester of our respective majors, everyone was inevitably social.

"You... not gonna talk to the kids from other classes?" Si Yin peered over my shoulder, observing the course sheet that I'd ranked and filled within mere seconds of receiving it. "Like, what if there's group projects or stuff like that. It's gonna be soo tough finding people to group with when there's no one you know."

"I like to think otherwise," was all I said, calmly placing my pen aside. "Besides, it's not like the real world is full of acquaintances and 'people we know'. Eventually, we must work with strangers who we may come to dislike. Even so, it is only professional to give the best results regardless of the people we are working with."

My companion rolled her eyes, pinching my upper arm as I yelped in surprise. "You have many things up your ass, Vanilla. One of them is the truth. Is that why you'd be a good critic? Yeah, I think so aaand anyway, have you submitted your club application form?"

It had a been a jarring change in conversation topics and although I found myself taken aback, it wasn't necessarily hard to recover quickly either. Conversations with Si Yin were like such since the very start.

"Of course," I blinked. "Submitted them on Tuesday, remember? Which reminds me, the deadline's today—just in case you'd like to know since I haven't quite seen you filling up the form."

At this, she flashed a triumphant smirk, proudly claiming that she'd known this already and had applied for the equestrian club two days ago when I left the school before she did.

I. Was. Appalled.

Si Yin returned my blank and speechless expression with a raise of a brow, tapping her index on my desk as though trying to get my attention and I wasn't the one paying any. She then proceeded to wave her hand in front of my face before snapping twice. "Are you that surprised by the fact that I remember certain deadlines?"

"Sorry—the equestrian club?" My mouth hung agape. "You are lying."

"What?" She snorted, laughing. "Why would I? There's nothing wrong with some horseback riding. Also, rich people and horses go surprisingly well together did you know that?"

"No I did not," I said, refusing to participate in her antics. "Why equestrian out of so many other clubs? I thought you liked Southeast Asian Cuisine. O-or, the... the club that cares for the barn animals in their free time! Anything but horse riding. You've never expressed a single streak of interest in it."

Si Yin appeared to be re-considering her decision; that or trying to form a concrete argument that possessed some kind of persuasive power. By the end of homeroom, she'd settled with: "I want to be able to carry someone all the way from the racetrack to the infirmary just like what that guy did for you, so shut up and let me dream."

I paused, taking this in with the straightest face I could manage before breathing deeply and eventually telling her that equestrian activities start at three in the afternoon. On Fridays.

*

As was the first official meeting of the librarian community cum school press scheduled on the deadline of club applications, I couldn't help but lower my expectations of what I was about to experience. A measly eight-member batch of freshmen, along with seniors of the approximate number gathered in the smallest of club rooms with foldable chairs arranged to fit as many as possible.

It turned out to be a lot worse.

"You're the only other first-year who's applied?" I repeated, stunned—staring back at a bespectacled girl with her blonde hair gathered in a messy bun atop her head who'd introduced herself as Emily from 1A. She nodded, glancing at the screen of her phone.

"I honestly thought I was going to have to do all the work alone. The people at the administration office told me I was the only one who put this at the top," she laughed, pushing up the tortoiseshell glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose. "I turned it in on the first day of school. You?"

"Um, well I... thing's happened and I wasn't able to do that," I cleared my throat, looking around the clubroom that was even smaller than I had imagined it to be. "I submitted it on the second day."

Emily nodded in understanding before pausing and narrowing her eyes. I pretended not to notice, backing away slowly.

"You... you're that guy who got his tongue bitten by a horse!"

I felt myself shrivelling up inside, crossing my fingers that the rumours wouldn't get any worse than this. "I'm sorry, but I think you've got the wrong person. My tongue was not bitten by a horse and even if that was the case, would it not be journalistic instinct to think it rather absurd for this to happen? Imagine any human getting his or her tongue bitten by a horse—or the fact that their mouths have to be inexplicably close to one another!"

She burst into laughter. "So you are that guy! I was just kidding about the horse. I know you almost passed out and Leroy Cox got you from point A to B piggyback style. Very fortunate by the way, most girls would kill to be in your position," Emily waved her hand around as though she was talking about the weather. "Not just girls actually. Would've made a very good story, don't you think?"

Suddenly very afraid of her sheer skill to lie through her very teeth and keep the straightest face, I sat on one of the plastic chairs. She drew up another across me as we waited for everyone else to arrive.

"That was not very nice," I stated, clearing my throat awkwardly.

"Not all Canadians are nice, Mr. White. Also, you speak very weirdly but I'm okay with that. We're kinda like opposites too, right? You run your truth, I run my lies," she laid out effortlessly with a shrug and I was, at once, further frightened.

"O-okay. I simply hope that does not translate into..." your writing, was what I wished to say but stopped myself by chewing on my lower lip. Good god, Vanilla. You sure know how to get yourself into trouble.

There was a knock on the door and in flooded (an exaggeration, if you don't mind) the senior members of the club, comprised of several students with two, three badges pinned to the collars of their blazers and a single final-year student.

"Ooh, freshies are early," was all one of them had to comment. I couldn't help but notice that more than half the club, including myself, wore eyeglasses.

After settling down in the tiny enclosed space, the final-year student stood whilst giving his uniform a quick fix, clearing his throat as though he was about to give a speech. At once, I assumed he was the club president.

"White and Hill, as the school press' head of publications, I'd like to thank you for signing on and selling your soul. If you haven't noticed, most of our members are currently absent. That, and the fact that due to there being more and more attractive clubs being created by students, we have, very unfortunately, fizzled out and are currently on the verge of being practically deceased."

"He speaks like you," Emily whispered in my ear and I gave her a look.

"Gone were the times people picked up our magazine like hot cakes—"

"Keith, that never actually happened."

"—and our writers flourished in never-ending stories, praise, attention and readership, alongside meaningful librarian duties and the best of reader-writer relationships anyone could ever hope for."

I raised a hand. "Um, sorry to interrupt. So. You're not the club president, is that correct?"

Keith adjusted the rectangular frames atop his nose. "Yes. That idiot's sleeping under some tree in god-knows-where. An excellent writer with wasted potential."

There was yet another knock on the door, turning heads and exchanging looks. It opened and a student popped his head through the gap.

"Hey um, is there a White in here?" Everyone stared. "I'm a student assistant from the, uh, administration office and someone's on the line, looking for Vanilla White. Apparently. It's about the campus accommodation he's applying for."

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

A/N: Hello Beans! Apologies for the late update. Anyway, it's not going to be 'late' anymore because I'm officially updating every alternate week :> Other weeks are going to be updates for Flight School (yes! I'm getting back hehe). I hope you liked this chapter. If you want to know more about my update schedule or what I'm up to, do follow me on my Instagram at hisangelchip.

Thank you so much for reading! Eep. Hehe.

It's so refreshing writing a character like Vanilla. I initially thought he was going to grow up to be a bit like Chip but then I realized I already had his character fixed in stone from the very moment he appeared in the Baked series. Vanilla is a boy of abnormally high IQ and has very unique taste buds. He's a supertaster and coupled with decent writing skills, would make a very good critic. Most importantly, he has that trait—a double-edged sword—that Dempsey, his uncle, might have somehow influenced him into cultivating.

I kinda realized that my little cuties in every series are actually surprisingly different. Chip, Io, Vanilla, Ace, AI... they are all so, so different. It just surprises me. I'm waiting to write some slutty bottoms HAHAHAHAHAHA. Will I ever??? Good god.

-Cuppie.