A/N: There's a short explanation of the previous chapter at the end of this one just in case after reading thing chapter, you are still confused about the text messages. I've used a flip phone before and know how text messaging used to work, but I'm never sure how young my audience actually is (I know for the Baked series, readers are considerably younger like some are 11 or 13 even) but just in case!! 

I was wondering why the previous chapter didn't seem to get much of a response compared to the previous one, and thought it might be due to it not being as interesting? Maybe? Hm. I don't know. I always try my best regardless!

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[Leroy]

They had ice cream and I assumed it had been a while since he had it. The flavour he liked. It was like they knew I was coming and decided to put every tub by the aisle I'd found the nail clipper in; the expensive kind that was at least three times the price of a usual tub but they were having a one for one promotion, so. I wasn't the kind to miss out on a good deal.

In the elevator back up to Annie's floor, a nurse recognized me and pointed out the odd sizing of the ice cream tub. "Those look like they're for babies!"

I told her they were cutting cost and she laughed like it was a joke. We got off on the same floor but she went down a different hallway. There was something happening down the one I was headed for. You could tell from the voices.

At the end of it was Annie's room so it was easy to tell when the doctors were over for a visit since no one else would have to be wandering around that area. I ran into a nurse speaking over her shoulder, a clipboard in her arms. She sounded calm enough for everything to be okay, going as far as to reassure the one I'd left Annie with. From the door, I sped through the key markers in the room—heartrate, tubing, bed, drip. Nothing came out of the assessment.

"Something up?" She was coming out of the room so I stopped her for a bit.

"Oh! You're Annie's son," the nurse angled her head to glance past the door and back into the room. "I was wondering if you'd gone and changed your entire image or something. Your fellow visitor called for assistance when he saw that she was tearing but you know that sort of thing, it happens all the time." She smiled and it was apologetic, but I wasn't the kind to be bothered by pity.

"Yeah. Thanks."

She nodded and then excused herself, heading down the hallway. I peered into the room. To register the scene required some time and effort; I wasn't expecting him to be open and familiar in the span of fifteen minutes or so, let alone holding Annie's hand and seated, like he usually would, unbelievably straight in the stool. Just him sitting on it gave the impression of a velvet armchair instead of hardware store plastic.

His eyes were slightly red and he was sniffling, so even at a distance, I could tell he had been crying. The reason behind this wasn't something I could connect the dots to since he didn't come across as an emotional kind of person. More rational than anything else. Things like heightened emotions from being in a hospital didn't seem like something that would affect him.

Annie remained still in her bed, as she had been. Eyes closed. He was holding on to her hand like it was a bird with a broken wing, nestled in both his hands, cupped and careful. This entire thing seemed to have absorbed him completely and he only appeared aware of my presence when I stepped into the room and removed my coat, draping it on one of the chairs.

He reacted to this by standing up and turning around to hide his face, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and pretending to be cleaning his glasses. I waited.

"That took you awfully long," he said after taking his time, which I gave as well. "Your mother appeared to be reacting to something I'd said because, as you know, I am a poor conversationalist, and had begun to cry. I'd assumed it was a sign of waking but the nurse who came in had told me otherwise..."

I removed the nail clipper from its packaging and left the rest of what I'd bought on the edge of the bed. "I see you missed me."

At this, he turned around, averting his gaze and sniffing once. Quietly. "I don't see how you could have inferred that from whatever it was I had been saying but admittedly, you aren't entirely wrong. Please take over. You're an idiot but charm is your saving grace and I would prefer not to have your mother in tears, comatose reaction or not."

It wasn't as though he'd said something uncharacteristic or dishonest, but I could not help noticing the way something was amiss from the general atmosphere and tone of his voice. He continued to criticize his own conversational skills until I heard it; the occasional trembling words, like leaves in the wind.

If he was hiding something, there was reason to be.

I wasn't going to pry it out of him. Whatever it was he wanted to say, they were his choice and the least I could do was respect that, after sating desires of my own. Wanting to know how he was doing. If he was okay. And then the rest, was greed.

Offering the option. Hoping he'd take it. Fingers crossed.

"O-oh," he made a sound of surprise when I held out the plastic bag of ice cream tubs, sitting by Annie to trim her nails. "Ice cream? Well it's been some time since I've had... oh. Oh it's," he was staring at the label on one of the tubs. Rum & Raisin. Eyes lit like a pool on a midsummer day before swiftly trying to hide his excitement by clearing his throat. "It's a... how much was it? I'll pay for my portion."

"Dumbass," I reached for his forehead. He let out a startled squeak. "What did you guys talk about."

"... nothing much," he said after recovering, oddly reserved. Not quite looking me in the eye either. You would have realized by now how easy it was to tell if he was hiding the truth, let alone blatantly lying through his teeth. Yet, it was precisely because I was aware of this—that he wasn't the kind of person to lie—that I understood the gravity of the situation when he actually decides to. Altogether, it was unsettling.

"Really." I couldn't see why he'd choose to lie. It wasn't like him to hold back on the truth, ugly or painful.

"Of course," he was looking down at his tiny tub of ice cream and uncapping it, peeling off the plastic and taking out the complimentary wooden spoon. "Oh. I might have mentioned the ghastly state of your mathematical skills. I understand how that would have warranted a good minute of tears."

I laughed, leaning back and giving him the finger in a lazy attempt to protest. Eyes wide, he pushed it aside with the kind of look he'd give to a porn mag before hurriedly sitting down with his tub of ice cream and digging into it quietly. I returned to trimming Annie's nails, briefly remembering the previous time she'd reacted like this—tears streaming down her face. It had been months back, when I'd stopped by for an hour and was telling her about the busy week I had. Nothing special. Even complaining about her husband never made her react in such a way; a constant refusal to show any sign of waking or agitation.

"Do you... um," he was looking down at his ice cream while speaking to me. I waited. "Are you perhaps, maybe... I was wondering how you managed to get in contact with my uncle for the birthday surprise. You would have required a phone number, at the very least, to coordinate a Skype call or sorts."

The glance he gave was angled upwards, sideways straight at me and the word he was so found of using became solely applicable in a time like this. He'd called it 'disarming'. Part of the problem was that the weapon rested in his hands.

I wasn't expecting him to point it out. Details were often overlooked in the heat of the moment and for him to have traced it all, back to some point of contact, felt almost characteristic regardless. I had to think fast.

The sentence repeated itself three times in my head before actually triggering some form of an answer.

"There's something called Facebook." Nope. Nope, but could have been worse. "Si Yin's got your info, apparently." Halfway through I'd realized a fatal mistake of calling myself out since technically, I wasn't the kind of person who'd be on social media either. Si Yin was my next best bet.

This got him looking visibly startled. "I-is that so? Well she did mention something about... knowing where I live and who my relatives are..."

I broke eye contact and he looked away just as I did, going back to his ice cream. Leaving the conversation like so and allowing it to sink quietly underneath the surface of his waters was the option I picked out. Either way, I was finishing up Annie's nails when I told him to pass the tub of ice cream I got for myself, nodding at the plastic he'd left on the bedside table.

He removed it from the bag and was handing it over when he paused; staring at the flavour.

"You must be joking," he stared, wide-eyed at the label. "Vanilla? As expected, your taste buds have issues."

I peeled off the plastic and dug in for a first taste. Firing back had somehow become a habit. "It's called having cravings." Average. Crystal percentage was nothing impressive are far too light for the rich, denser mouthfeel that good vanillas had. Even so, it managed to taste bland. The brown, black specks were probably fake.

"For one to crave such a... a plain and boring—"

"You've tasted the one at my workplace." Just stating the facts. "You like it."

He became visibly embarrassed by this, blushing to the tips of his ears. It was nice. Dusted red. "H-how did you..."

Realizing that the only reason I'd known this information could only be explained by the fact that Si Yin had sent me a link to his blog, I opted for the truth. This one wasn't so much of a challenge. "I read your writing."

The expectation was for him to feel terribly embarrassed, and since his face had already been the shade of peaches, it didn't take him much to exceed them. The next thing I knew he was indignantly stuffing his face with ice cream and giving himself a brain freeze. Getting out a thermos of hot tea, I poured him half the cap and held it out. He gave me a look before hurriedly accepting it out of obligation.

"The recent one was good," I told him. "Apple crumble."

His reaction had been to glance over, pleasantly surprised but alternating between the floor and up at my face. "Oh! Oh yes, um. The one from the school patisserie... you read that? I'd done it on a whim. The crumble was apparently seasonal and I didn't want to miss out."

"Couldn't read half the words in the first paragraph by the way," I teased, only because we'd made a mutual agreement on his being superior in academics in literally every aspect of it. "Googled nearly everything."

"I suppose you could do with more reading practice then." His mood picked up and he was clearing his throat, hiding the emotion he'd always been too embarrassed to show. "I was planning on doing a feature on the upcoming school festival. A listicle could work—fifteen must-try takeouts at the upcoming thanksgiving food market. Keith said it wouldn't make the cut unless the visuals were strong and the price points were low enough. I'd have to work on the curation, which means finding out what the other classes are doing and coming up with a list of interesting picks from their menu."

I barely understood half of what he was saying. The solution had been to read his eyes and connect the dots whenever he turned to me. I learnt it was my cue to respond.

"Like I said, Spanish street food. Paella, empanada and... some fried milk thing."

"Leche frita," he finished promptly, nodding and taking it down on the back of the recipe book I'd given him. "That's quite a range. Do most classes opt for more than two items on their menu? Is it encouraged? You'd probably need more manpower, I assume."

"We did five last year—Filipino cuisine—and I was on three items at once because everyone sucked."

He seemed torn between offering a look of pity and one of exasperation. "Well I'm sorry you had to do that. At least you're fond of showing off... there must be a reason Miss Birchwood asked you to be her partner in the tag team competition."

By then, I was done with my tub of ice cream and was waiting for him to do the same. The cup was insanely baby-sized and I'd started later than he did. He was the kind to appreciate every bite.

"Well? She did go out of her way to ask you, Leroy. I've heard how difficult it is to win her acknowledgement and praise."

"Yeah?" I snorted, amused by how nicely he'd put it. "That's why she's so stuck-up all the time?"

"Being hard to impress doesn't make someone a bad person," he went on to defend. "Mind you, she was bawling by the creak at the crack of dawn during the cross-year. Either way, I think you and her are particularly alike in certain aspects of your personalities. You're rather hard to impress, too."

I was about to break it to him, remind him of the millions of times I'd dropped him compliments and very clear signs of being mindlessly in love in his everything, when the weekend doctor doing his rounds came by with his equipment and clipboard in hand.

"You brought a cousin?" He looked surprised. "A friend?"

"Future husband," I corrected with a straight face. The doctor burst out laughing. I blinked.

Aside, my companion appeared visibly exasperated and flustered at the same time, going as far as to bury his face in his hands whilst shaking his head. It was cute.

"Right?" The doctor turned his attention to him. "I can never tell if Leroy's being serious or not. His jokes are great, though." Okay, but it wasn't really a joke...

Him coming in meant that it was our cue to go, but the standard procedure involved a nurse, who hadn't arrived just yet so I figured we had a little more time.

"Have you checked the report?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"All good?"

I nodded again, throwing the rest of my belongings into my bag and clearing the trash; giving Annie another glance. Ten months now.

There was knocking on the door and we all turned to it, watching a nurse update the daily check-up schedule outside Annie's room before entering.

"We'll get going," I told the doc, glancing over at future husband slipping on his coat. "Ben?"

"Mr. Cartwright should be back in his room by now, waiting for the community chef. I heard it's ratatouille today," doc laughed, clapping my back as we passed. It's funny how I can't decide if I want Annie here or not. Waking up and recovering meant going home eventually, which was ironically the last thing I wanted to be doing; considering how the hospital felt more like home than home itself.

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[Vanilla]

It was barely two o'clock in the afternoon by the time we arrived at the station we'd met in front of in the morning, having enjoyed a quick bite on our way back. Food trolleys needed some getting used to, for sure. The options given were terribly vast and being the proper decision maker that I was, I'd consulted the trolley lady several times before making a well-informed choice. One could easily tell just how often Leroy had encountered the trolley lady over the past couple of months simply from the time he'd take to pick out a sandwich. It felt almost routine-like, the way he'd point it out seconds after her arrival.

I digress. This all had been to distract myself from the fact that I'd realized how close our first date was in coming to an end.

Admittedly, time had passed a little too swiftly for my liking, and I'd always imagined starry skies, completed by the warmth of street lights above whilst walking them home—not that I would have constant fantasies of what my first date would be like, per se. Just, well. High hopes, I suppose.

We came to a fork not far from the station and I'd turned to Leroy without quite looking at his face. The ground was comforting and fiddling with the straps of my tote bag kept my fingers busy.

"So, um. I guess I'm this way—"

"Can I stay over today?" I heard.

Looking up at once did not quite solve the mystery since it had never really been a habit of his to utilize the art of expression. And meeting his gaze was asking to be singed by flames. I had to physically reach up to ensure my jaw was intact.

"Leroy. I-is the word 'planned' ever going to... going to be in your already limited vocabulary?" I managed without breaking down, hoping he hadn't noticed the stammering. The processing and all took longer than usual. "Today is... today. That means now. A-and I'm not quite sure how I should be reacting. A heart attack is what you're giving me half of the time."

It was by far unfortunate that Leroy did not correct myself, nor did he appear to have any intention of taking back his words at all. He seemed to be waiting, hands in his pockets, staring down at me.

Standing in the middle of the forked road was not a very appropriate thing to be doing so I tugged on his sleeve until we were out of the way.

"Okay so firstly, the refrigerator is unstocked. Second, my bed is small. Third, there is absolutely no entertainment system whatsoever and you might get terribly bored and not to mention, my clothes are most certainly not going to fit you. My apartment is not prepared for an impromptu visit by you." I made sure to lay out before breathing deeply and allowing this to settle in that fiery head of his. The other reason was because it bought time for me to calm my nerves. "That said, I don't... I mean I don't particularly mind you staying over—"

"Let's go then," he cracked a smile, already starting in a general direction that took me a second to correct.

"This is not the way to my apartment building," I told him, falling into step. "Where are we going?"

"Shopping for underwear," Leroy said this as though he was stating the obvious, "unless you'd prefer I... put a hole in yours or something." I told him he was being ridiculous, and that underwear was, by its nature, stretchy.

*

We'd spent nearly an hour in the department store picking out his underwear only because I'd been so amazed by the several different cuts and designs that I never knew could exist in the realm of male underwear. In truth, Leroy had picked something out in less than five minutes upon entering the undergarment section and those five minutes were spent looking for his size. I never knew sizes existed for underwear. I'd always assumed they were stretchy for a reason and Aunt Julie had been the one who did the shopping most of the time.

By the time we'd arrived at my apartment with groceries for dinner and the brand-new apparel that Leroy had got himself, it was half past three. I say 'apparel' because even though my companion had so blatantly claimed that underwear was all he slept in, I'd insisted on the legality of it (illegal, strictly speaking) and thus suggested he bought a cheap, comfortable shirt to wear along with it. I'd stood my ground and told him I wouldn't leave unless he bought a shirt, even going as far as to offer my wallet just so he would have no excuses to buy one. "You simply can't do that. It is illegal."

"That's how much you want me to cover up?" He'd laughed before purposefully picking out something absolutely ridiculous: a black shirt with the words 'Impress Me.'

At present, he'd changed into it just as I was keeping myself occupied with the groceries, arranging them neatly in the refrigerator. "We could start prepping as soon as you're ready. I believe the soup takes about two to three hours for it to taste minimally decent."

"Two is fine. ABC's easy."

"And the rice?" I reminded him of the absence of a rice cooker and he paused. "There's only one stove too."

We ended up settling on a general schedule of soup, homework, soup again and then rice. As usual, Leroy never failed to completely side line kitchen owners by delegating the most insignificant of tasks their way. I was given potato peeling while he busied himself with the pork ribs and making of the soup stock. In the midst of mindless peeling, I brought it upon myself to part the clouds and get to the bottom of his intentions. A-after all, staying over while we were, strictly speaking, officially dating, was a far and unprecedented progression in our relationship. I figured something must have had happened with one of his lodge mates.

He'd shrugged for a bit. "Didn't feel like going back," was all he had to say, skinning the carrots with his knife faster than I was going with a peeler and roll-cutting them before I was halfway through a potato. "They get fucking noisy on Saturdays."

I coughed and cleared my throat just so he would know what I mean without me actually saying it aloud. He'd rolled his eyes and given me the indecent finger then, all whilst cutting up his second carrot. I was barely done with my first potato.

"I've always wondered where this all came from," I told him, referring to the general idea of curse words and vulgar hand signs. "Your mother never came across as the kind of person who'd be fond of such language, and I'm pretty sure you started building such a vocabulary at an early age."

Leroy proceeded to snort, not quite getting rid of the smirk on his lips. "Stay in the kitchen long enough and you'll pick it up too."

"The kitchen?" I did a double take, pausing to think. "Easily I can think of examples that would falsify such a claim. My godfather's spent nearly three quarters of his life in the kitchen and I assure you, he's never said a single curse word his whole entire life."

"Then he's not human." Fair point. Ribs were thrown into the pot, followed by sectioned sweetcorn, carrots and dates. I was working on my third potato and Leroy was already cutting up the second one I'd peeled and added them into the stock.

"Think I was four when he first brought me into the kitchen," he went on and I found myself slightly taken aback. "That was after he taught me how to hold a real kitchen knife. With two hands." He hadn't quite identified whoever it was he was referring to but it seemed to him almost natural that I would eventually figure it out. I did.

"Real production kitchen, by the way. As in, the one in his restaurant. Not the one we had at home." He finished cutting up the third potato I was done with and proceeded to add that before placing a lid on top of the pot and cranking up the heat. "Flying fucks was the first one I learnt. But Annie told me off when she heard me say it, so we compromised on shit 'cuz she used it too."

All I could do was sigh since, well, I could technically see where he was coming from. "I'm glad my place remains outside of it all. The kitchen, I mean. The least I can do is speak and write in a refined manner, worthy of a critic."

"I'll teach you one day." Leroy had the gall to wink and I was very naturally beyond frightened by such disarming and illegal gestures and expressions.

We soon left the soup to simmer and fuse whilst the matter of homework and assignments were addressed. I had on my list a couple of essays due the week after the next but nothing particularly urgent except the headline drafts and curation I'd promised Keith, so I got out my laptop and began doing my research.

Leroy on the other hand, was a professional at distracting me. He pulled up a digital version of his recipe book (a neater, much better-designed version of the one he had handwritten and given to me) that was supported by one of the school instructors. It was under her guidance and encouragement that the printed version would be published among the school's exclusive alumni and student collection.

"Not sure when, but it's either going to be on Amazon or just the school bookstore." He seemed rather nonchalant and indifferent about all this when being a published author had been a distant dream of mine since I was three. Ironically, my author is particularly fond of projecting her desires onto me.

"All these," I was referring to the food photography that complimented every recipe in the book. "You did them yourself? That's what the camera in your room was for?" He didn't deny this, so I assumed. "They look highly professional... I'm thoroughly impressed."

Leroy wasn't taking this very seriously because the next thing I knew he was pointing at the words on his shirt and I was rolling my eyes. Naturally, I was feeling terribly excited for him, having gone through the recipes in a single night and then close read the very next day with annotations included. They had been expertly curated.

We spent the next hour doing individual work and were surprisingly focused despite having to split the tiny studio apartment into our own personal spaces. Leroy took the dining table while I remained at my usual spot by the full-length windows, on the floor with a foldable bench thing. I very unfortunately could not resist the temptation to glance over every now and then and because Leroy apparently possessed a similar weakness, we ended up meeting gazes three times. It was awfully embarrassing.

Our tables were about twenty feet apart and we were both plugged in to music but the second time our eyes wandered, he had the gall to wink and the third, he'd altogether stood up and advanced till I practically ran into the bathroom and told him to make the rest of dinner while I took a shower.

The last thing I saw was the finger.

Thank goodness I'd prepared my pyjamas and bath towel earlier on and placed them in a basket by the sink, or emerging from the bathroom after searching for cover would provide yet another layer of embarrassment. Fifteen minutes in the shower and I was out towelling myself dry, slipping into a navy blue, satin favourite of mine before unlocking the door and peering out into the room.

Leroy was setting the table, placing a bowl of rice and a serving of ABC soup for us each. Despite being the host, I was being utterly pampered by the guest. Tottering over, I slipped into the seat across him.

"This is... well I promise I'll be doing most of the cooking next time. I appreciate your hospitality."

I'd thought he would be snorting and pointing out my roundabout statements or proving his point by emphasizing on the two words I was having trouble saying but what happened next was completely irrelevant.

"Do you shave?" He was staring at my legs that were out in the open. Since, well, this particular pyjama set featured shorts instead of an ordinary pair of pants. I followed his gaze.

"For hygiene purposes, yes. Is something wrong with my legs?"

He continued to stare but I was hungry and couldn't resist the temptation of food no longer and so asked if we could start eating. He then snapped out of it and we had dinner in silence. This very naturally launched my mind into a flurry of possibilities, of which included the fact that shorts were childish and unappealing despite their breezy comfort, and that Leroy was not very pleased with what I often wore to sleep.

"I could change into something else," I offered for clarification, since I'd technically made him do something about his sleepwear as well. It would have been terribly unfair if I'd disregarded his opinion.

"You mean... take it all off?" He raised a brow as though the words coming out of his mouth were not part of a joke. I reached over the table and successfully dealt a blow to his forehead. My first official flick.

"Get yourself in the shower," I told him, "leave the dishes to me." He was surprisingly quick to cooperate, leaving his bowls and utensils in the sink before I showed him where the toiletries were and handed him a bath towel for his own use.

"Chamomile-scented shower gel?" Leroy wasn't about to let me off the labels on my bottles and I closed the door in his face just as he was beginning to laugh. And as though this was all a game and he was keen on having his revenge, the idiot decided to emerge from the bathroom minutes after in just the bath towel around his waist.

Just the towel.

"E-excuse you." I was physically unable to look at him. Physically. "Where in good heavens is your brand new shirt?" Clearly crisis-inducing. Though this wasn't exactly the first time I'd seen him without a shirt on—the one other time being back in his lodge, in the morning—this was the only time with glasses and with the only other garment being something highly inappropriate.

"Stained it earlier on," he claimed. I could practically hear the teased flickering of a candle in his voice. I kept my right hand up between us, shielding my eyes. "No apron, remember?"

"No use pinning this on me, Leroy. An apron is a luxury. Plus, you're the school's number three! You... you don't spill, t-this is... this is not, clearly, legal l I think you'd have to be arrested for..." I trailed off, stunned and quite incapable of speech. Halfway through, I'd made the mistake of being exasperated enough to chance a look at him but good god, was that not the best of ideas. 

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A/N: Apologies for the abrupt end but I realized I'd overshot the cap by a bit and then realized that if I continued writing I would land myself in quite a worse cliffhanger so I decided to just whoop leave it like this so until next week!!

That aside, I wanted to make sure everyone's on the same page after reading this chapter (?), so. Vanilla was looking at the texts in the flip phone (Annie's phone) from 'most recent' to the ones from way back, several years ago when Leroy and him have yet to reunite. So naturally it starts at the most recent event in the timeline and traces back to the cross-year, the taste test, him finding out that Vanilla is going to the same school, him recommending the school before he even applied for it. Leroy wasn't lying when he said that he was considering the specific culinary school--he would not have attended this school had Alfred decided that in the end, Vanilla wasn't suited for it. 

That said, some text messages were skipped and it is implied that Leroy has been telling Alfred about how Vanilla has been in school, looking out for him and taking care of him in his uncle's stead. Since years back, Leroy has already (with his mother's permission since she's only been in a coma for 9 months) been texting Alfred to know how Vanilla is doing. He's always tried to keep in contact without directly engaging with Vanilla since he never really knew how Vanilla felt about him after the incident with the critics and his mom's diner. 

Yes, that's it! This is why Leroy always seems to know more about Vanilla than he lets on and how he knows some childhood stories about him (stuff that Uncle Al would tell Annie, that sort of thing) and why, in his POV, he is the one telling the readers about Vanilla. Just a littttttlle observation and you can see this in his POV, always. 

Until next week!

-Cuppie.