A/N: I'm so sorry I had to split this chapter into two because I was s t i l l in the middle of writing it but I've already skipped last week's update so I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any more but initially, the preliminary round was going to be in this chapter but it's getting way too long and I still can't finish it... ;-; I'M REALLY SORRY!! This little part will have to do. January weekends have been full of New Year visits and other chinese customs -dead- which will continue until chinese new year which is the first week of February so I don't exactly have much time to write ;-; 

Plus I've been trying to work things out with the Baked Love hard copy and because the COVID situation in the US is worsening in certain states, mail service has been quite the problem and the printing house has been slowing down too ;-; SOB.

As such, the Baked Love release date will be delayed again. I don't know for sure when, but I will keep everyone updated on Instagram. Thank you for waiting and being so patient and supportive! 

Enjoy.

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He was on his way back to the firehouse when it began to rain. The others had gone home after an evening's worth of winter-wonder-fun but Leroy had taken a bus back to the station after watching the backs of Zales, Vance and a snowflake recede in the distance—heading for the tube. He'd lingered a moment more, staring at the spot the other last stood. A spot that left traces of a winter chill, warmed by the hug of a soft fuzzy scarf around his neck. There had been no need for a candle.

Still, thought Leroy, he was cute. He'd turned up the collar of his shirt and the hood of his jacket to brace the cold, making his way past the guardhouse and into the engine bay. Drenched. He wasn't worried about Chicken. He knew one of the crew would've brought him in at the sound of a storm but still. He'd intended to clear his room and bring his boy with him back to his apartment by the end of the day. Things weren't exactly going according to plan.

He stopped by the common room first, checking in on shift B and throwing out some goods Jaeger and the team had snagged at the Christmas market. Chicken had welcomed him on the couch.

The lot exchanged a couple of jabs before letting him off, pointing out his clothing that was soaked and hands that felt like ice. He headed up to his private dorm and grabbed a couple of station shirts he'd left on a rack to dry, rolling them up and stuffing them into his duffel bag before gathering all his things and getting ready to leave. There wasn't much.

On his way back down, he checked the time and sent Rexi a text to check in on her and Annie, knowing that it'd just be a couple more days till she'd be home as long as her check-ups came through with a green. Along with the text came a mandatory snap of his middle finger.

Back in the common room, shift B had themselves piled up around the couch with blankets and coffee—the packaging of butter cookies he'd brought back from the Christmas market abandoned at the counter. Empty. The TV had some music going on; just the standard holiday tunes over an aged sound system, and over at the other end of the room was Parker standing in front of the unstocked fridge. He hadn't expected him to notice.

"Cox. You got your shit?"

"Yeah."

"I thought your apartment had a hole in it."

"They got that fixed."

Parker snorted. "Should've told chief to put me on clean up. Would've made that hole in your kitchen look like a fancy big door for you go through." Leroy rolled his eyes, turning to leave. Someone sneezed. He turned to look at the couch.

The end of the shift was the station's standard five-thirty in the morning. The magic number that had the skies red at the crack of dawn. He glanced at the time on his phone. More than six hours to go. Parker had not left his spot from the fridge.

"You find anything yet?" Leroy asked. Some extra salt on that wound; a firehouse tradition. It was his crew member's turn to have a go at the eyeroll.

"Yeah yeah, the fridge isn't some magic box, I know. Just thought we'd have leftovers from lunch." And then he gave up, dragging his feet back to the couch where the blankets were.

By this point, Chicken was at the door and ready to go—gazing up at his owner with wide eyes and a wagging tail. He felt something.

The feeling made him think of the snowstorm he'd seen today, all bundled up by his side that had felt strangely out of reach despite their physical proximity. The feeling was a scent; the scent of flowers in the cold, brewed tea in a cup, fireworks in the snow.

Leroy did not know if the world had a word for this: stranded between the two extremes where one could only watch as things came to a standstill and the teeterboard no longer moved for the only place that he was allowed was in the middle.

There, he sat.

It did not hurt to sit. Neither did it heal. And seeing him today felt just like that—in the middle. Just, sitting; in a space that allowed him the stillness to think and take things in. A stark contrast to being the one sitting at the end of the seesaw and hearing the creak. It was in that silence that he understood.

He understood, and perhaps also congratulated himself that this was not the same person he was seven years ago. This was him acknowledging and coming to terms with the fact that he really was going to be okay without the one on the other end; that he had a family, a second one, and a job he actually liked and cared for.

And yet here it was.

Here was the test.

Was he okay because he was simply distracting himself from the kitchen or was he truly at peace with the person that he'd become? Leroy found it in himself to admit; the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with had not and would not change. But it was sitting in the middle, in the midst of fallen leaves—red and crisp underneath his feat—that made him realize: something else would not change.

"What's in there?" He said, nodding at the fridge. Dropping his bags at the door. Parker turned, shrugging as he neared the couch. "Two eggs. Half an onion from this afternoon. Some bacon, I think. And a bunch of other shit. Not much."

The person he will necessarily spend the rest of his life with—that person will never change. "You ready for a feast?"

And that person was no one other than himself.

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

[Vanilla]

It was thundering in the distance when I felt the phone in my pocket buzz. Once. Twice. Three times and I knew it was no ordinary text but an actual phone call and I reached into the pocket of my coat to check the caller ID.

Glancing at it ignited some form of indignance—exasperation, even—considering the many other factors that would not have warranted the call on a Saturday evening I'd just spent at a Christmas market with delightful company. Needless to say, picking up calls like these were the entire reason I was often regarded by business partners as the epitome of a workaholic.

"Good evening Mr. Cooper," I sighed, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk with the intention to make things short. "I hope your weekend has been nothing short of enjoyable."

"Same to you, Mr. White. Let's uh, skip all that and jump straight to the matter at hand." Cooper was the spokesperson of a major stakeholder. And for him to be calling at a time like this on a Saturday evening suggested instructions by a superior; or perhaps more specifically the director himself. I knew the latter personally—his wife was quite the fan of my writing. "We need you to understand the importance of this production by Siegfried Cox."

"Rest assured, Mr. Cooper. You may convey this to your director: I am always at my best. Still, I find it troubling that you refer to this entirely by name. Cox is merely a co-producer on the show. He's just a name they need up on that credit list."

I resumed my walk down the street, approximately eight minutes away from home. The skies thundered above once more. And along with that came the odd squeaking of something down the alley to my left, just a couple of steps ahead. I paused.

"Exactly my point, Mr. White. I don't think you understand what having his name on the credit list implies. The people on screen have a huge opportunity to make it even bigger in the culinary world and Mr. Caelum will ensure that. Our director has heard from him personally and... I'm sure you understand the impact of your performance on future clientele?"

I nearly scoffed. The last sentence was really all I heard because the diner up ahead had warm lights filtering out onto the sidewalk and the tempting scent of chargrilled peri-peri chicken but that was not the point. Merely out of curiosity, I'd stood at the end of the alleyway and squinted at the darkness to make out the source of the squealing, accompanied by the squawk of ravens. Two of them, by the sound of it. Not the most unusual sight in a common alley.

"I'm sure my performance in the production would have an impact on GLACE's future clientele just like everything else I do, Mr. Cooper. I have no doubts about that." The squealing increased in frequency, seemingly urgent as the ravens landed on a waste disposal bin overlooking a stack of cardboard boxes. "The preliminaries are in a week and a half. Perhaps I could reach out to your director on Monday to speak about this in detail? Wouldn't want to waste any of your time on a... Saturday evening."

I had my reservations. It didn't take a genius to make a couple of intelligent guesses at what was inside one of those cardboard boxes and the initial intention had, of course, merely been to send the ravens looking elsewhere for supper.

"I can tell you're not convinced, Mr. White. Doesn't matter. We know how you are and trust me, we don't wish to go out of our way to upset you either. I'll arrange for a short call with our director on Monday afternoon. How does that sound?"

Hoping the ravens would respond to my presence, I stepped into the alley and tapped my foot against a nearby bin. Heads turned. Paused. And then resumed the better activity of menacing their prey.

"Sounds... perfect, Mr. Cooper. I appreciate your assistance. I'll talk to you on Monday. Have a lovely weekend." "Same to you." I dropped the call and put my phone away, just in case I had the misfortune of fumbling with it and losing it in the darkness.

The ravens, perched on the side of a large-sized garbage bin, had their gaze lowered at the top-most cardboard box of the stack and one of them, in a single, swift motion, made a grab at its contents with its beak.

Whatever was in the box did not take this very well. In fact, it appeared to respond to their menacing with one of its own; squealing in a way that to itself, might have sounded like a roar. From the top of the box, I caught a glimpse of something reaching up to swat at the raven's beak.

Unsurprisingly, this only served to further agitate the ravens and as a result, had them aggressively intimidating the kitten with wide open wings and unhappy squawks. As a fellow bird-communicator, speaker, thing, I stepped in to mediate.

"There is no dinner here," I said to the ravens, a couple of feet away from the bin, waving my messenger bag around. "You'd have better luck somewhere else, down the back of the diner. Try there. They have grilled chicken, if that interests you."

It worked.

The ravens paused after taking one look at me and fled as I drew closer, sending the stack of cardboard boxes tumbling over by accident. The squeals turned into softer, panicked mewls and immediately, I was anxious—righting the boxes one by one in search for it. Needless to say, the alley was dark and cold. Gloves helped to a certain extent but the tips of my fingers were numb when I pulled out my phone and removed a glove to turn the flashlight on to aid my search.

Among the pile of overturned boxes was a black kitten, flinching at the light and scrambling a little. I put my phone away and relieved it of the obstruction over its head, stacking the boxes in an orderly manner before turning to the tiny thing.

It was uninjured; frightened, but not a scratch. Confirming this was my cue to leave the alley, stepping back and out onto the sidewalk and continue my journey home.

Lo and behold, said little one emerged from the shadows, padding after me on the dimly-lit sidewalk and mewling as it did. I turned in the direction I was headed for, and then back at the kitten. "Oh. What a... rare coincidence. You're this way, too?"

It stopped at my heel and with the warm light from the diner filtering out onto the street, I could get a proper glimpse of its tail that was trembling. I made a couple of steps farther down the sidewalk and it followed.

I sped up my pace by a decent thirty percent and then chanced a peek over my shoulder. Still, it was there—some distance behind, but admittedly doing its best to keep up. I could hear it for the next three minutes or so of walking, just mewling and padding along after me until we arrived at a traffic light and... well. As an avid follower of rules and regulations, I'd never cross a road at a red light. It did not matter if the road was empty.

This therefore allowed the little one to arrive, once again, at my heel—just huddling close for warmth. From my point of vantage, it was a thing of tiny destruction. Possibly frightened but with the qualities of determination and insistence, made it out to be quite the object of fear. It's stubborn nature reminded me of someone I should not be thinking about; and it being quite the fighter, too, judging by the way it had lashed out at the ravens despite having lost in terms of numbers and physical size. Although size was never one of his... n-no. Never mind. Not something I should be thinking about.

"Logically speaking, if you were birthed out in the wild and should a pair of omnivorous ravens come after you as your natural predator, so be it," I said to the little one at my heel. "Such is the way of nature and should you, a kitten, be menaced and attacked and, um, eaten alive then... well. So be it. Do you understand?"

The green man was up and I started across the road, halfway there when I realized the absence of mewling. A glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicions: the kitten did not know what to think of road-crossing. It was held up by the juxtaposition between the pavement and the roughness of the tar on the road, placing and retracting its paw and also wary of the one vehicle that had slowed to a stop while the pedestrian light was green.

I stared at it in disbelief. "A-are you not going to cross? After all those ravens and stubborn strength of yours, you're afraid of a road?" It mewled.

I turned back at the light that was on countdown and then back at the little one. A thundering of the skies and then, a drop of rain upon my cheek.

There was something about beings left behind that pulled at the strings of the heart. Sometimes, it wouldn't hurt to have a little other someone to care for such beings. After all, they had no one else.

"Oh you idiot," I sped back to the other side of the road I'd come from, picking the kitten up in my gloved hands and then crossing the road before the end of the countdown. "You really don't need someone like me to take care of you because, well, I'm sure you're perfectly fine on your own but. I suppose you could use some shelter during the storm."

Once home, I placed it at the entrance of the apartment and prepared a tiny saucer of water for drinking whilst running a warm, wet cloth down the top of its head and back. Then it was a minute or two of professional googling and finding other ways to clean it without being a frightening human.

It was after ensuring the little one was free of 'dark alley remains' that I introduced it to the same fleece throw that a certain other idiot had taken to during his short stay. I cleaned and refreshed the saucer of water before taking the bundle to the living room for some added warmth. It's mewling had reduced in frequency and it looked increasingly sleepy in the comfort of the warm fuzzy material.

I was on the internet for another ten minutes or so ensuring that I'd done everything I could before coming up with a list of shelters I could drop the kitten off first thing tomorrow for proper care when I realized a rather upsetting possibility. Black cats did not enjoy high rates of adoption compared to its counterparts. It crossed my mind how the little one might have to spend the rest of its life in a place where they kept all the other unwanted ones; and how some places would end up giving their lives an early end.

There were several other factors to consider: if I was going to be a decent owner at all or if the apartment was even kitten-safe or if my schedule would allow such an attention-demanding task but in the end, it would all boil down to effort and will.

I turned to the little one all curled up on the fleece throw, fast asleep on the couch by my thigh.

"You're lucky I have a soft spot for felines."

And lions. Especially lions.

I reached over with a finger to pet its head gently. "I suppose you're quite the lion too."

*

The entire period leading up to the preliminary round had me swarmed with things to do; while the production team scrambled for last minute meetings and briefings about the show, now officially titled 'First Chef', my every other thinking second was occupied by a stubborn, demanding little new addition to the apartment that was not to be judged by its adorable paws and warm amber eyes.

It took three visits to the vet, two at neighborhood pet store, and several online shopping sessions to transform the apartment into a feline heaven. That said, I'd emerge from the bathroom after a shower to see him wandering near the dangerous, off-limits-kitchen. And then there were the scratches on the bedpost that were thankfully hidden by the shadows and could possibly go unnoticed. The kitten was awfully fond of leaving its mark on everything including some of the bath rugs and cough pillows—anything but the scratch post. And the fleece throw it so loved.

While working remotely had its perks, I'd be involved in table reads with the other judges till one in the morning and dry-runs at the venue of the preliminary round the next morning; kept up all night to bottle-feed the little idiot that had its nutrition tracked to decimal places. All on a single spreadsheet.

The night before the preliminary round, I was exhausted and spent. There had been multiple changes to the program due to apparent additional nominees who had been making their rounds on social media during the program's campaigns—of course, I had refused to be involved. I mean, the last time I did get myself involved in one of those campaigns, well... the results were spectacular for the show itself but not so much for my mental health.

Either way, I was covering the final procedures with Florence and Raul, who were to join me for the shoot tomorrow as representatives behind the scenes when I looked up from my laptop to see an abandoned bundle cloth (his favorite fleece throw) on the couch and the tiny owner staring down the entrance hallway with his tail erect. Then he began to mewl at it.

I wrapped up the video call with a final word or two before heading over to front door that had all of his attention.

"What is it now," I said, following his gaze and side-stepping him to check if I'd missed someone's knocking or if the doorbell was faulty and there was someone at my doorstep. "Leo, standing there would only prevent me from opening that door."

I picked him up and held him in my arms before reaching for the lock. A mere second later, I was staring into the flame of a candle. Two. Two candles.