[Vanilla]

The decision to allow us both some space apart had been mine. I'd perhaps responded to Leroy's baring of his heart in a way I hadn't quite expected myself to be responding. The odd quivering of one's bottom lip and the cold, numbing touch of a winter breeze at the tip of one's fingers were not signs of sadness and fear but reluctance and disbelief—characteristics far beyond my capacity for understanding.

It was after moments of silence in the midst of the soft falling of snow in the night, the brief, fleeting waves of heat from the electric appliance that Leroy came to terms with my lack of words. My inability to fill the air with something coherent in nature was, for all intents and purposes, an unbelievable phenomenon he may have struggled with. I hadn't myself quite been able to express the entirety of what happened then, but it was in the pause that he proposed some distance.

My immediate reaction had been to turn the offer down since we'd nearly always taken to resolving an issue by laying everything out on the table and communicating effectively about them—but I'd stopped myself upon quickly realizing how different the issue was and how it , logically speaking, would've required a different approach.

Leroy had walked me back to the infirmary, where I was able to inform Chen and the rest about having spoken to him but revealed nothing more. Despite the warmth of the room and the cup of tea I was handed by the school nurse before bed, the chill in my fingers and the stiffness of the heart refused to part.

Having noticed my inability to fall asleep, the nurse had been kind enough to allow a single visitor into the room who had apparently rushed over as soon as she'd heard from Chen and Tenner.

"Vanilla? Where were y—oh my god. You look like you're freezing." Si Yin had placed both hands on the sides of my cheeks only to realize that her fingers were much colder than the surface of my skin. Physically speaking, I was fine. Not in the greatest condition, with regard to yesterday's terrifying experience in the freezer, but, still. Fine. "Oh. You're okay. But you look... honestly, you look kinda... I don't know. Like."

"Cold?" I finished, not exactly certain if I'd chosen the right word. She nodded anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed and topping up my mug of tea.

"Uh, so... you found your man? He's okay? You know we were all pretty shocked when he started firing back at the Pierre guy and when I say fire I mean like F-I-R-E there was smoke and flames and he burned that guy to bits! Oh and everyone else was just too stunned to say anything 'cuz we were all like, nervous about the judging and stuff since we were all in the middle of it but so when he left the room everyone was like silent for a whole hour or something and then Chen went after him and Tenner went after Chen because ev-er-y thing was just falling apart and then Pierre even said something about 'don't you dare leave the room' or something like 'if you leave now, I'll personally ensure you get fired—I mean, expelled' or something like that. It was huge. Oh yeah, Leroy's chef's whites are always so clean even after making, like so many dishes in panic. I don't understand how that happens.

"So, anyway... Chef Allan was super in panic and he was like having this argument with Pierre but then Pierre got the headmaster involved and they paused the entire thing to deal with the situation but, like. I mean. They can't expel a scholarship holder, right? It makes sense to cut Li and Meyers off 'cuz of what they did to you, but I mean. They were stupid, for sure. But it's your man we're talking about and the school sponsored all of his education here and, like, his dad, for sure... I mean. They wouldn't want to offend him and like, if he does get expelled, don't scholars have to, like, return whatever funds they technically used? I don't know. Probably just a few couple grand but, I mean..."

She'd turned to me upon finishing her blow-by-blow update and it wasn't going to attribute my disinterest to the content of her speech but the fact that my mind had, quite simply, been unable to dwell on things other than its immediate concerns of, well, him.

And quite honestly, I wasn't even sure how or when I'd began to shed the spare tears I never knew I had.

"Va-Vanilla? Wait. Hold up. What's... why—did something happen between you and Leroy? What's going on? Do you want to lie down? Should I tuck you in bed? Am I just being boring right now?"

I shook my head, patting her shoulder. "Oh no. No it's... I'm not bored. You're most certainly not boring as well. How strange it is to be... crying, for no particular reason at all."

"That's not strange. That's not weird," Si Yin nearly slapped me in the face. Thankfully, I'd placed my glasses aside. "It's called having feelings. And feelings are like, the norm for humans, you know. And I mean, sometimes I feel like you aren't, you know, and sometimes you feel that way too I mean have you heard yourself answer a casual question, but point is—you are! Human. So like. You're allowed to cry for no reason." She then reverted to a state of gentle pity, reaching over to pull the covers up to my chest. "I'm always open to listening, so. I mean... if you don't want to tell me stuff, that's fine. I'll just be waiting."

I thanked her, nodding but not quite sure how else to express my gratitude. "Maybe it's best if I spend some time thinking. I'll be fine." She'd patted me on the shoulder as I sunk into the bed and, with gravity's aid, prevented more tears from flowing down my cheeks. "Thanks for coming... I'm sorry about the competition. You probably would have done so well without all that... the interruption."

"Doesn't matter, really. I mean I've got years to come and Pierre honestly deserved whatever Leroy said to him. He's too conservative to be a judge on any tournament and, like, someone had to put him in place, right?"

I sighed. "Oh but at what cost? Good god. Leroy's absolutely hopeless."

Si Yin had laughed and pulled the rest of the curtain separating my sick bed from the three others. "Rest well okay? Violet was out there for a good minute or two by the way. Which is a lot, you probably know. Chen's still going on about killing Leroy once he's back for sticking his neck out and uh... some classmate of ours came by too. I forgot his name but I thiiink it starts with an 'A'. Okay, sleep. Now. Bye!"

I'd waved and let my hand rest limply along the side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling where the lights were dim. The nurse was speaking to someone over the phone, voice barely audible behind the curtain, and I could only hope that she hadn't informed Uncle Al and Aunt Julie about what happened last night since... well, knowing my uncle, he wasn't exactly the best at resisting panic and one thought too many.

Next was my attempt to fall asleep.

And as expected, it was no surprise that my mind found itself dwelling on matters of the heart that was him and the many truths that a future together seemed to entail. It did not, and does not take a genius to observe the mental struggle of pain and hardship Leroy was experiencing at present, perhaps somewhere in his room, or in the shower, eyes closed, thoughts dark and his candle—flickering.

It was in the thinking of this that I gradually drifted down a hole that was a dream; the deepest, darkest sort, that rose high above my head and deemed climbing out of it an impossible feat and so down the rabbit hole I went.

There were thoughts within thoughts and words within words but nothing consisted of an image as frightening as talking caterpillars or painting the roses red. It felt, instead, very much like paths being chosen as I wasn't sure if it was me, on the trolley or the train, or walking with my very own feet, but I was choosing between forks and splits and it had almost seemed never-ending­ but then came the very chance of a dead end.

I woke to that.

Not quite remembering the paths or the forks or the splits but just—the end.

One must understand that not all ends necessarily entail some form of grief and tragedy. Sometimes, all roads converge to one; and that one road leads to an end that we will inevitably have to face and though, as probability stands, there may or may not have been multiple different means to arriving at such a conclusion, I had to admit, the decision seemed almost clear as day.

Leroy must leave.

Premise one, subject is not happy. Evidence one; constant turmoil, temper, anger. Justification for E1; can be explained by pressure from his father, financial anxieties, expectations from the school, responsibilities of a partner, the pressure of hiding all things negative from the former. E1 thus necessarily supports P1. Premise two, subject does not like what he is doing, slight overlaps with E1 would be: Evidence two; only willingly cooks for his partner, does not appear to particularly enjoy classes or competitions in the absence of his partner. Justification for E2: over-work, repetitiveness, boredom as implied by his childhood routine, and explicit mentioning of his dislike for cooking. Premise three, subject loves his partner. Evidence three: everything. Unexplainable. Assumptions made: subject only cooks for his partner, or is the only person he enjoys cooking for; subject is not happy despite the presence of his partner.

Conclusion: subject is torn between his love for his partner (P3) and his dislike for what is often associated with his partner (P2) and therefore is unhappy (P1). Solution to conclusive claim: P2 must be dealt with.

Should P2 be dealt with effectively, the truth of P3 faces the likely possibility of standing whilst changing the nature of P1. And because subject's partner is in pursuit of an academic excellence he is fond of, rationally and reasonably speaking, independent of his emotions, he cannot leave. Therefore, subject must. Leave.

He must leave.

He must.

He must.

Leave.

Let him go.

Let go.

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

"Please allow Mr. Leroy Cox to resign as a student without having to bear the financial and contractual obligations and responsibilities."

I was standing in the middle of a lavish, carpeted office that was heavy with the scent of birch. There was little feeling in my feet.

"Mr. White," he sighed, adjusting the angle of his office plaque, placed on the side of his desk. "You seem to have... misunderstood. Mr. Cox is facing expulsion. Not resignation, or a mere 'quitting of school'. As a scholarship holder, he has violated the... the moral integrity of our contract. We do not tolerate cases of violence or humiliation of culinary instructors!

"He must bear the damages."

"Sir, technically, he hasn't broken the scholarship bond as it states here, on section 2.4 of the contract, that—"

"The bond has been severed. We are no longer associated with the boy and that is final. He was unable to complete or serve to the minimal degree, four complete years of education in our academy. I am sorry, but the financial costs must be paid in full. The annual fee for two academic terms amounts to—"

"Allow me to get straight to the point, Mr. Birchwood. Sir. It is not my wish to waste your time delaying any further. I'm here to inform you—yes, inform—that should you turn down what I have proposed, I will personally ensure that the current circumstance involving yourself and Chef Pierre, including the entire reputation of the W-interschool, will crumble into bits. And no, I am not to be persuaded. Do not even think about the clinching the champion title, sir, I am keen on nullifying this tournament and every instance of its future glory."

I was breathing hard, waiting for a response in the middle of a deafening silence whilst quelling the dangerous beat of my heart. The adrenaline pulsed in my temples and numbed the very tips of my fingers; rules and their breaking were not something I'd ever think of associating myself with and yet here I was, issuing verbal threats to the headmaster of a culinary school.

The door clicked open and he'd glanced over my shoulder in an instant. I turned to follow his gaze, registering a still and silent Violet Birchwood, allowing the door to close behind her. "What's going on?"

I turned away, unable to provide a concrete answer that wasn't charged with emotion. Headmaster Birchwood himself did not seem very keen on responding to his daughter with a forward statement of truth. Instead, he gestured to the leather couches adjacent to the shelves of culinary books published by various school alumni.

"Sit down, Mr. White," he said.

"No thank you. I am not in the mood for discussion. Sir."

"I merely wish to hear the rest of your proposal."

"It is simple," I stood my ground. "Mr. Cox is allowed to leave without penalty. Miss Layla Tenner will take over his spot in the tournament. And return to school."

"And the scholarship?" We were back to square one. "He hasn't completed his years. Making Mr. Cox an exception would be unfair to the rest of the scholarship holders."

I paused, unsure. "Well, if it's... the number of academic years he has to complete here in school as per the contract, I could... in some senses, be of use to the school without any additional cost. However you wish."

"What contract? Who are you talking about?" Violet had in the midst of our discussion made her way over to her father's desk, arms folded beside me with confusion on her face and bags under her eyes. Up close, I realized she was bare-faced.

"Violet, dear. This doesn't—"

"You're not making stupid decisions again, are you?" I was shocked to hear Violet say, challenging her father like he was her child. "That thing with Pierre, haven't you learnt your lesson? I told you, this isn't the time to be messing around. Vanilla. Tell me what's going on now or I'll kick you out of the room."

I'd nearly choked and coughed in her face before recovering in several blinks and proceeding to relay a concise version of my current proposal. I watched her eyes widen until she pulled me aside.

"You're begging for Cox to be expelled?"

"Excuse you," I could not resist the urge to correct her. "No begging was involved. And as far as I can tell, I'm the one with the upper hand. Leroy needs to leave the school at all costs."

"What?" The word barely made it past her lips. Her frowning was almost contagious. "Am I hearing this right? Did you and Cox argue or something? What, am I missing something? Are you leaving too?"

"No. I'm staying."

It was hard to look her in the eye; fearing the streak of some vulnerable, tell-tale emotion in behind the glasses that had, as always, protected the windows to the inside.

"Then you're okay with... with being apart?" She said after some time and her father, some distance away, stood up to take a call in the corner of his office. I did not respond to her question. "I don't get it. Don't you want him to stay? He's doing great for the school, right?"

"Exactly my point," I managed. Tight-lipped. "Leroy has been excelling as a pawn. I don't quite see how he's happy in all this. Leaving may not be the only solution, but staying is most definitely not the answer, especially in an environment so rife with toxicity for someone like himself. Violet—you don't understand," I heard the words crack like ice under pressure. "He doesn't even like cooking."

She could not register this. The school's top culinary student, a prodigy, a born natural with access to the best resources and personal training from the tender age of two—simply did not allow for dislike of the very thing he excelled at. I let her think, removing myself from her side to resume the prior discussion but again, she held me back.

"You're going to regret this."

In bated breath, I expressed something most dangerously close to a lie. "I've never regretted a single decision made entirely by my independent mind."

"It's going to be your first, then," she snapped, tightening her grip on my arm. "I'm not telling you this because I don't want Cox to leave, or that I'm defending my dad or my ruined reputation because all that doesn't exist anymore, so it's not like I have any reason to be stopping you from whatever plan it is you have.

"So what makes you think he's not happy?" She went on, glancing over her shoulder to check on her father speaking into the receiver. "And you really think getting him out of school, scot-free is going to solve everything?"

"Of course not." We were arguing for the first time, rather irrationally at that. After all, over interactions had always been (at least for the past couple of months) Violet's expression of discontent and my passive assessment and acceptance of her words as part of her character. "Do you really think I'm that naïve of a person to think so simply about anything at all? The root cause of Leroy's problems is cooking. And me. Mostly me. I apparently bring out the worst in him. The very reason he does anything culinary-related is me and I'd rather he have nothing to do with the industry than suffer a life of expectations and pressure and hatred towards the very thing he excels at just to please a single person—"

"But it's the only thing that brings you two together, isn't it?" Violet was wielding her words like a blade. I felt the mental recoil. "It's the only thing he can hold on to. Don't give me that look, I'm just calling you out on your lies and don't bother denying that because Xu tells me stuff, so I know enough to know... some... stuff... but, yeah." She was hesitant all of a sudden. "You hate lying to other people, so why lie to yourself?"

I watched the words crumble into dust before my eyes and suspend in the morning light filtering through the open window behind the headmaster's desk. "I'm not."

"Stop den—"

"I'm not the solution to his problems." How strange it was to hear the sound of frozen lake that was breaking apart. "Sometimes, Violet, no amount of love and care and affection is enough to resolve an underlying issue and sometimes, even remaining by their side could complicate matters so no matter how much I wish I was the solution to his problems and how it hurts to admit that I am far from it, I am going to do so. I am going to accept that, perhaps for now, he may have a chance at happiness even if it means that we have to... be apart. From each other."

She was looking at me as though I was mad. The room was silent and Headmaster Birchwood was waiting at his desk, tapping his pen against the side of a black leather folder. Violet showed me to the door, mumbling something about persuading her father on my behalf. My immediate instinct was to decline her offer, but she'd given me a look that felt oddly... determined.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

It was Leroy.

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

When Leroy told me the exact words sent to him by the headmaster's office in a termination of contract email, the candles in his eyes were lit.

The vigour was heated and very much alive; glowing in the darkness of a hole I'd never really noticed was present in the first place. We were together in Cayenne, in his room, and I was seated on the edge of his bed, watching him toss the clothing in his wardrobe into a large, over-sized suitcase that came up to being less than half-filled even with his riding gear stuffed inside. I'd taken the liberty to, at the very least, roll up his five pairs of socks.

"He's not even angry," said the idiot, packing his cameras into a separate bag. It was Siegfried he was talking about. "They told him I wasn't part of the school anymore but didn't say a thing about compensating the twelve grand fees or whatever additional costs for my stay on campus. They're letting me go scot-free—it's fucking great."

"Indeed," was all I could manage, observing the spark that was bright and reflective in his eyes, on his lips. "And no more cooking."

"Yeah, I mean," he laughed, glancing at the culinary texts he had stacked in a corner, already messed up from the month earlier I had dropped by and tidied his place. "That's the whole point... having someone else tell him to give up on me becoming a chef is like, a blow in his face, so. He didn't even sound upset on the phone. Like, he's given up or something. Which is good." He sounded relieved.

"But—your mother?"

At this, he faltered. "Therapy. But... I didn't tell him about the taste condition. He thinks we're moving to London for some private training. And Annie's going to be there, so... he's paying. I guess. It'll work out."

I was stunned by his seeming optimism, a trait I'd never before observed in his behaviour, let alone speech and general disposition. "Well. I... most certainly hope so. And you seem rather eager, with all this unfolding."

He looked up from his suitcase that was half-empty. And straight into my eyes. "Yeah. I've been waiting for Siegfried to get off my back about... all this," he made a vague gesture towards the culinary books. "And... the book. Guess they're terminating the contract, so. It's probably not gonna make it to publishing but," he had the gall to wink, "means you have the only copy in the world."

"Leroy," I stopped him short, standing to level our gaze. "I'm not sure if I... well—quite frankly, you're being quite frightening with so much to say and... you seem awfully eager a-and and prepared to leave that I don't know how I should be reacting to all this."

The flame in his flickered once. Unsure. "What do you mean?"

"I... all this talk about leaving and going somewhere else seems so oddly detailed and, well, I'd assumed you'd be a little more... um, how do I put this—unwilling? Uncertain? Not that I regard you in such a manner, but, any other human being would have been at least slightly upset about being expelled no matter the circumstance. I suppose you must really dislike being a part of the school."

He paused to stare. Searching. "Not the school, just. Cooking. Most of the times, unless it's for you..." He leaned in. "You okay?"

The question prompted an odd, sizzling in the chest that tickled the surface of still waters, sending ripples throughout. I averted my gaze after noticing in his eyes, the reflection of an ocean storm. Almost at once, there was a thundering in the distance and the sound of waves, crashing in the midst of a dark, wretched tempest of a mind.

So was the nature of the truth I'd thought I would've been able to escape. Somewhere, swimming in waters deep, was the monster of a frozen lake that refused to admit the yearning for a cunning, selfish desire—the want, the expectation of loss and sadness.

Unconsciously, I had been preparing myself to comfort a lion, torn and distraught over having to choose between his happiness and myself, of preferring to remain by my side despite an equally strong desire to leave the culinary world behind and start anew, afresh. I had hoped, at the very least, that he would've held on a little longer.

Selfish. How selfish and absorbed and insecure and how terribly, awfully human.

"London?"

The candles in his eyes burned brighter at the only word I could manage. "Yeah. You like it?" He returned to packing. "All the museums you'd ever want."

I held his arm. Something was wrong. "Museums? You mean, me? But Leroy, I don't..."

My gaze must have told him in an instant. He straightened up once more. "You're coming, right?"

I let the words hang. Nothing came to mind.

"No... no I'm not. I'm staying. I don't prefer this, for us to be apart, but I have my own reasons to stay and you... you have reasons to leave."

"So we're doing this," his index went back and forth between us, "long-distance? You're okay with that?"

I was in a terrible mood for calm reasoning. The storm approached. "Leroy, I must make this clear: my choosing to stay is a decision independent of our relationship—"

"Why?" He frowned. "Shouldn't it be the first thing you're considering?"

Goodness, Leroy! Of course it was, and do you think I'd actually arrive at this conclusion if I proceeded to allow myself to be blinded by my desire to have you around and tie you to the ground? "You're really not making this any easier."

"What?"

Oh god, that was not what I meant. "That was not... I did not mean to put it in that manner."

He was giving me his full attention now. Waiting.

"This is for the best. And yes, I don't mind us continuing this relationship five-thousand miles apart but at the same time," as long as I'm around, "you need to be pursuing your true passion and interests. Your happiness." You're going to put me first.

There was a knock on the door that broke the spell and called for an irate clicking of Leroy's tongue. He crossed the room and answered.

"Uh... someone's waiting for you on the por—"

"Tell him to wait longer." He slammed it shut before turning back to me. "Okay. My turn. Seems to me like you've thought this through. You're unfazed, or something. By the fact that I'm leaving. And that we're going to be spending who knows how fucking long apart."

"I'm sorry if I appear unfazed when I'm..." I breathed, "honestly struggling to keep it together, Leroy, because if neither one of us is capable of doing so, we'd both be on the same ship on fire in the middle of a raging storm."

He slowed down.

More noises were coming from the hallway just behind the door and they distracted, turning our attention away from the matter at hand. The moment of hesitance soon translated into urgency when his phone, placed over at the bedside table, began to ring.

"I think you should pick it up."

"Can't wait for five fucking minutes huh," he cursed under his breath, not quite bothering with a second glance at the caller ID. He picked up the phone. "I know. No, I'm not going anymore... Annie needs the therapy." Footsteps stopped right outside his room and yet again, knocking on the door. This time, I answered.

"You were expelled, Leroy. You don't get a say in staying here and unless you're okay with your mother going through therapy alone in a different country, you could live here on the streets."

Mr. Siegfried Cox did not look like the person on the cover of his culinary books at present. He had an air of jaded confidence and satisfactory exhaustion; like tiredness was a constant in his life that he'd somehow come to accept. He wasn't as tall as I'd imagined him to be, or as he seemed on television and photographs. Leroy's genes were a mystery, but a single glance at their faces was enough for a fool to be convinced of their shared blood. Just not the eyes.

"I'll figure something out," said his son, turning to me with a brief hardening of his gaze. "I'm not going anywhere. For now."

Siegfried shook his head. He appeared resigned. Worlds apart from how Leroy often described him as. "I billed the hospital in full, paid upfront for her physio and bought her the earliest flight after finding her a spot in the best center but you've done nothing but humiliate and disappoint me time and again.

"Do you think I like to hear about my son offending the culinary dean of a renowned school who happens to be the judge of a tournament he was participating in? You think I don't give a fuck about his scholarship contract being terminated and they want you out enough to waive the ten-over grand you were supposed to hand over before you leave? Come on, Leroy. Realize that being given a second chance at a sister school in London is miracle and get off that high fucking horse. You're leaving."

He'd ignored my presence completely, gaze sweeping over the rest of the room and frowning at the leftovers that remained unpacked. "We don't have that much time. You have to thank your instructors before you leave, too, since you won't exactly be coming back any time soon."

"Ah."

It hit, then. The iceberg. Something was about to sink and all of a sudden, things started to seem a little to real. Far too close to the heart, where the sound of company felt the loudest.

Heads turned before I could realize the urgency of the sound that I'd let slip. Neither of us had moved from our respective corners of the room and watching Siegfried pick up bits and pieces of stray notebooks, stationary and scraps around the room seemed almost surreal.

"Thanks for dropping by to help with the packing," said his father, directing this to no one other than myself. I couldn't find the words to start a conversation or, at the bare minimum, even express what I was feeling. "He's fine on his own now."

"For—for how long, exactly?" I looked up. "You say not any time soon so I'm assuming he's going to be in London for at least a year but... but now that I think of it, if it's just one year—twelve months or so—I'd be willing to accommodate or, um, for the lack of a better term, put him up at my apartment that is really just a five-minute walk from his workplace a-and without rent, of course, and perhaps monthly visits to see his mother or, or... because—yes, how long, exactly? By 'not any time soon' you mean a maximum of twelve months... I hope? Excuse me. I must sound completely absurd, I—I believe there is some form of miscalculation on my part."

Mr. Cox appeared mildly surprised by my outburst of panicked emotions, taken aback by a stranger's involvement in his son's personal life. He glanced at Leroy for an answer. Leroy was looking at me. I couldn't meet them. Those candles. All of a sudden, I realized just how silly, how indecisive and childish I was being, pulling out all stops in a moment of alarm.

There were traces of a smile on his lips. And a brief shaking of his head.

"Dumbass." He hall the gall to kick his suitcase aside, going straight for my head that was, in an instant, cradled in his hands. "Just say you don't want me to leave."

"Oh that is... that is so untrue and—oh you know I can't say that," I managed in a whisper, torn. "You... it's only going to make things harder for both of us. And no, those eyes don't work they way they used to, Leroy. I'm not coming with you and you know it. You know why I can't. You know what it means to put someone else before yourself. You know how hard it is to swim against the forceful currents of instinct for the better reason, a greater truth.

"And you know I wouldn't make any decision without purpose. You, of all people, show know best and I don't even have to promise," here it was, "how much I do not intend to waste my remaining years in this school without, at the very least, ensuring that no one else should ever have to experience what you or Layla did here. Because—because... well.

"Even if I were to be eventually regarded as the world's most mundane, plain, boring and uninteresting person to ever exist," I could hear the creaking, "nothing should stand in the way of a mind who just so happens to prefer truth as it is; cold and hard, or in the way of a person who opts for rum and raisin at the age of four or someone who prefers to race on peach beach in imaginary karts, picking up mystery boxes and tossing turtle shells at passing opponents."

The sound of company.

Siegfried had left the room, bringing along with him half of Leroy's belongings and we could hear him out in the hallway, going down the stairs. Curious whispers followed in his wake. Leroy's smile was now at the very core of his flame, in his eyes that I could finally meet. They were still; like a candle in the dark.

"Don't make me say it again," he leaned in. "What snowflakes look like up close."

I watched the flame dim as they drew closer; withholding its heat. Careful not to burn. "Maybe one day, you'll know what it means to like a flavour you can find anywhere else. Maybe you'll see what is complex is something that, at first glance, is simple. Maybe you'll meet a truth—that isn't just cold and hard."

He brushed his lips against mine and the creak was, perhaps, the loudest it had ever been before, then, being, the last it was ever heard. Against the fall, amidst the crunch of crimson leaves and the rustling of trees in an autumn breeze, I felt my end of board sink at the absence of a balance; the pivot, tipping; the permanence of a lowest point.