It had been a grand total of two weeks since Leroy had left for London and two weeks since waking up to an absence of forehead flicks and the manners of an idiot. Vanilla Julian White had thus begun to exhibit the poor symptoms of a fool himself: of which included missing the warmth of Leroy's hands and the little fire in his eyes. He never once thought of bringing this up to the fool, knowing it'd only make things harder for the both of them. Si Yin had intelligently dubbed him stupid for doing so, and soon after, diagnosed him with the magnificent condition of 'lovesick'.

Fortunately, his first week of school after the winter break kept his schedule extremely packed besides ordinary curriculum. The little genius with a flair for writing and crafting perfect, solid arguments had received the recognition of fellow schoolmates for having brought the corrupt to justice. After all, it made everyone feel a little better about themselves, knowing even competitions as prestigious as the W-interschool could very well be rigged. Quite frankly, it was a sigh of relief for an environment so competitive.

Before he knew it, Vanilla was receiving invitations to interviews about him (instead of being, you know, the one asking the questions) and rushing through club meetings and activities after school hours all the way past seven o'clock in the evening. This did not include the alarming number of assignments his instructors, old and new, had decided to drop mere days into the new semester. In other words, they could not be completed without the sacrifice of sleep.

This was all made much, much worse by the time difference.

For the first couple of days since the start of school, the candle-snow pair had not been able to arrange for a proper Facetime call besides ordinary texts throughout the day. Leroy would be asleep by the time Vanilla was back in his apartment after school and in the earliest hours of the latter's day before class, could not reach the candle busying himself in the kitchen.

Admittedly, there were pockets of time in which they could, of course, arrange for a quick appreciation of each other's digital company over Vanilla's lunch break or Leroy's dinnertime but the inconvenience of the company of others (sorry Si Yin and Ariq, and sometimes Violet) unconsciously placed a cap on their intimacy over a call. This therefore led to Leroy staying up till three or even four o'clock in the morning on his end for their little dose of seesaw.

This occurred three nights in a row thus far.

Needless to say, it did not take Vanilla very long to arrive at a dilemma: naturally, having Leroy lose precious sleep for a sliver of indulgent small talk or everyday conversation would, after some time, take its toll on the candle's health and that was most certainly not an ideal trade-off. Either way, he'd hoped to think of something that would sufficiently, in a way, invigorate their sparse, precious moments of digital connection. And so he consulted the local expert in romance.

"Obviously, you gotta reward him with something," said Violet over lunch the other day, having brought a couple of her signature chocolate tarts along—improved after a certain critic's generous feedback. "You can't just hop on a call every evening expecting the same boring content and I mean like, knowing you, you'd probably go on and on about some nerd-ass talk after a day update and like, I'd be snoring after three minutes not gonna lie."

"A-alright, alright," was all Vanilla could come up with to defend himself, being confronted by a statement he couldn't refute. "It's flavor profiles and... and the weather there and museums but—okay, fine I see how it could be a little dry to some people but Leroy wouldn't... I mean... so... should we not do the calls?"

"No you dimwit!" Violet had made a grand display of the whites of her eyes; slowed for added effect. "Do the calls but like, include some reward or something to, you know, spice things up a little—sh! Don't speak yet. Can't you just let me finish because I just know from that look on your face you have something 200-IQ-ready but guess what, Vanilla? I'm at 201. Look, I know Leroy's dumb enough to think these calls worthwhile and he'd also probably listen to you go on and on about museums and the clouds or even grass for hours and hours but I'm just giving you my honest opinion. Plus, I've had twelve boyfriends. Who's the expert now?"

This had led to a spectacular pause between the two, one stunned into silence and the other waiting for a clever comeback. Moments later: "And how long did they la—" "Don't ask."

*

After a night's worth of deliberation and waiting up for Leroy's call supposedly after the latter was done with his night shift, the little genius had ended up falling asleep in the middle of his wait—waking to the soft chirping of birds outside his window and the truckload of sunshine slamming into his face upon the opening of his eyes.

A groggy second later, Vanilla was in a flurry of panic gathering his things and getting dressed while brushing his teeth before flying out of the door and zipping his way to the school gates. It was only after having made it to the morning assembly period that he finally checked his phone and saw the missed messages that were sent about four hours ago.

From: Just Let Me Impress You

Fuck

Sorry

I crashed after the shift

Slept till morning

Shit

Sorry

You waited?

He felt oddly relieved upon reading the texts and understanding the situation. In a way, Vanilla was glad that Leroy had broken his three-day late-night call streak by getting some good rest as soon as he was done with the day. And so he texted back as soon as the cohort was released from morning assembly and could finally make their way to respective first periods on their timetables. For the little genius, it was Marseille's culinary techniques—a whole level above Chef Lindy's fundamental knife skills and basic sautéing, stir-frying, and steaming back in the previous semester.

Alas, the most interesting and yet most challenging of classes.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket just as he and Si Yin arrived at kitchen hall nine, filtering in alongside their classmates before heading for their respective stations. Chef Marseille had her back to the class up front behind the instructor's station, mapping out basic instructions on the whiteboard while everyone else took their places.

Chef Marseille's classes were mostly combined sessions—meaning, they were carried out in large rooms to fit two classes in the same period. 1B often had theirs paired with 1A. Otherwise known as Violet's class.

From: Just Let Me Impress You

What are you up to

"The school's model student? Using his phone in the middle of class?"

The little bean, far too distracted by the unexpected digital company of his personal idiot who'd usually, at a time like this, be bustling in the kitchen of some restaurant (he wasn't sure where, exactly, but he knew his hours at he very least), did not see Violet coming from behind.

She'd peered over his shoulder before taking her place at the station beside his, raising a brow after successfully stunning Vanilla into guilty silence.

"It's just a text, Violet," he said quietly, gaze darting left and right before hurriedly sending a response that, unbeknownst to him, was filled with typos. "I'll put it away..."

"Pity," she scoffed. "I thought you'd finally made some progress with the... whatever it was we were talking about the other day. That's what you get for not taking my advice. Oh wow, it's squid today. God, I hate cleaning squid."

Chef Marseille's curriculum was infamous for its demonic standards and quality; this month was a crash course on handling seafood. Last week was crab and crawfish. Today, apparently, she'd written the word 'SQUID' in capital letters at the top of the board.

"Your phone's buzzing," nudged Violet who had her eyes on the screen of Vanilla's phone that had lit up mere milliseconds after he'd placed it aside. On the counter. Within his field of vision but also, any passing instructor. "Are you begging for Marseille to have it confiscated?"

"But—no, I—" "And who the hell is Just Let Me Impress You? Oh my god, that's like, so dumb a-and and cheesy and... oh my god it's Leroy isn't it."

Both turned to the buzzing phone on the counter. Vanilla was the first to snap out of it, sweeping his gaze across the room before slowly reaching for his phone.

"You're not thinking of picking up are you?" His companion hissed under her breath, eyes wide in disbelief. "Why is he calling you in the first place?"

"I-I have no idea. This is very unplanned. Well, clearly, it isn't. I not am ready. I am not really. Ready. He knows I'm in class, I mean, that's what I told him. He wouldn't call unless it's urgent, would he?"

"Why are you asking me?" Violet whisper-shouted in return, hawk eyes fixed on their instructor up front currently occupied with the attendance sheet. She fished out something from her Gucci leather-trimmed, coated-canvas tote and stuffed it into Vanilla's hands. "Hurry up loser. Marseille's gonna be starting any moment.'

Receiving Violet's personal pair of AirPods—even for something that'd last for several minutes—was a huge honor and so Vanilla collected himself, thanked his station companion, and hurriedly connected his phone to the device before finally picking up the call. His camera came on. It was the usual Facetime.

"Leroy?" The bean ducked out of Marseille's line of sight behind his counter, clutching his phone with two hands and whisper-shouting. "Is everything alright?"

"That's my line, dumbass," came the attractive, characteristic low of a lion fresh out of bed that simply did things to the heart of a deer. "What took you so long?"

"But I'm in class, Leroy!" "...that's not what your text said."

At once, the bean was scrolling through their texts and groveling in pain at the ancient code he's apparently sent. I me U nx lass.

"Oh good god. I sent that in a hurry and—I'm sorry. Well, I'm fine. I... just, it's culinary fundamentals. Marseille's class. You know how strict she is with phones in class." Mid-sentence, Vanilla noticed his next-door-station companion freezing up and sticking a hand under the table to give him the cue.

He thus removed one of the AirPods to avoid suspicion, straightened up, and placed his phone on the table in a blind spot from the instructor's table—resting against a knife block to keep the phone standing. Thank goodness their names started with V's; their stations were situated at the far back.

"You mean I get to be impressed by your... culinary expertise?" Came the rustling of covers from Leroy's end as he shifted in bed and propped his phone up on the pillow. Laughing. He sounded more energized than usual; and Vanilla was surprised to see him still in bed at this time of the day. There were a few possibilities, but he settled with asking later and simply assuming that he'd taken a well-deserved day off.

"You will see none, I assure you," said the bean under his breath but despite so, he was feeling oddly electric about their little secret. That, and perhaps it'd been some time since he'd heard the tease in Leroy's voice; something he realized he missed.

"Exciting. My expectations are high, Mr. White." "Oh be quiet. You've seen me dice an onion—it was a disaster." "Which was very exciting." "You may stop with the teasing now." "I can't see your face but I imagine you're very excited." "All of a sudden, your vocabulary takes a leap of faith and you're an expert with words! Shocking." "I get good when I'm excited." "And now you may Google for synonyms of 'excited'." "Thrilled. Elevated. Stirred. Ex-hi-ler... ex-ur-ber... high."

Vanilla nearly burst out laughing. Aside, Violet was appalled at the blatant romance she could practically feel radiating from the digital screen despite not quite being able to see Leroy or hear him. Good god, were they annoying.

"Alright people, stop talking. Put everything away. I don't want anything on your counters except whatever's been pre-arranged. Notebooks only." Chef Marseille came right at it without delay as soon as attendance had been taken and the room quietened down at once. Vanilla picked up his notebook and pen like the model student he was—only this time, he raised it a little higher to cover the bottom half of his face.

"We're making something you'd see on every bar menu nowadays. Crispy fried squid. The flavor is up to you—please don't try silly things like chocolate or peanut butter and jelly you guys are in your second semester, stop thinking like kids—and the ingredients are as listed on the board. First, I'll demonstrate how to properly gut and clean a squid. Keep your eyes on the screen."

Above the demonstration counter was a HD camera that had its view fed live straight into two large screens above the white board, angled in a way that allowed students a closer look at the instructor's movements with ease.

"I think you're about to witness the greatest disaster of on a cutting board," said Vanilla under his breath, into his notebook as he penned down every step of the way.

"What's on the menu?" "Deep-fried squid." "You're making me very excited." "Oh I'm sure that'll all disappear in the next couple of minutes. Goodness, this is embarrassing."

Leroy's amusement in his ear was unsurprisingly very attractive because, well, the man was known for his attractive laughter and leaving Vanilla very attracted and very bothered twenty-four-seven. Being attractive to Vanilla was simply his full-time job.

This attraction was further explored the moment Marseille ended her demonstration and sent half the counters to collect their ingredients from the pantry and the other half to retrieve relevant culinary equipment; then, vice versa. Vanilla had slipped his phone back into his pocket and then placed it at the bottom of his ingredient basket for Leroy's limited vision.

"Get some lime." "Lime? Where's..." "Turn right. Behind you." "Oh. Kaffir. How did you know? A-and and how are you seeing all this?" "The school's pantries have the exact same layout all around." "I never noticed."

And so did everyone else about the one AirPod in his ear or the fact that he seemed to be talking to himself; albeit most people were talking amongst themselves. Vanilla happened to bump into Si Yin at the chili corner while he was picking out a couple of shishito peppers (as suggested by the magic man in his ear) and even she hadn't quite noticed it.

"Hey hey hey," she'd stopped him with a hand after taking one look at his face. "Is it me or do you look suspiciously excited about squid?" She narrowed in, squinting just for added effect.

"I-I, well, um." Vanilla was a terrible liar. The entire world was aware. "I'm actually..."

"Knew you were excited." "Oh shut up."

Si Yin blinked. "Oh. Uh... okay."

Vanilla panicked. "No no! I did not mean you, Si Yin. I'd never say that. I just, it's... Leroy's..." he pointed at the device in his ear and his best friend had her jaw dropping on cue. Her eyes flashed a radiant beam and all of a sudden, she, too, appeared extremely excited about squid.

"Oh I get it, you're just super duper excited about squid, huh? Totally not, like, about anything else. The squid is just, mm, impeccable. Chef's kiss. Squid. Totally. Okay bye." She then excused herself to allow the couple some privacy. On the other end, Leroy expressed amusement. Vanilla could only manage semi-despair.

The next thirty minutes of preparing his squid (gutting, cleaning, washing it and then slicing it into perfect little rings) was perhaps the smoothest of culinary experiences in Vanilla's limited history of the like. Naturally, he hadn't expected the presence of a little chef in his ear to make so much of a difference. Leroy would be resting against that knife block—out of view—watching the snowstorm's station and every move he made, dishing out instructions and advice every now and then. This was all without the board of instructions written by Chef Marseille.

Indignant, Vanilla would make it a point to check the talented idiot's instructions against those on in his notebook. Sadly, this only further bruised his ego and proved Leroy's exceptional talent when it came to his natural instincts with food. Or rather, his knowledge of fundamental techniques.

"You hear that?"

Vanilla paused in the middle of cleaning the mantle of his squid. "Well um. You're in one ear so that leaves me one other ear to do its job but... no? Did I miss something?"

"...forget it." He'd dismissed with a laugh and left the snowflake rather confused for the next several minutes.

Mantle, tentacles, and fins later, Vanilla moved on to the batter for frying and, as per Leroy's expert opinion, an additional dip for Marseille's enjoyment. This was going to be Cajun-spiced fried calamari with a side of creamed shishito peppers for dipping.

Simply imagining the flavor combination in his head was enough to make Vanilla's tummy sound out in approval but he was never going to tell Leroy because one, that'd simply boost his already inflated ego; and two, he wasn't sure if he could eventually deliver something close to that level.

By the time he'd blended the dip and tasted a tiny morsel of calamari, fresh out of the fryer, he knew this was no ordinary recipe. Vanilla had never imagined it possible—with his extremely limited culinary skill and panic-hands that could never really get the hang of a knife—to produce such a quality dish within the time period set by Chef Marseille.

This was, no doubt, going to impress.

"This feels like cheating," he admitted to the chef in his ear after reaching for a second calamari ring and dipping it into the shishito cream. "I know it's only the second week of school but Chef Marseille knows the standard I cook at. She might get suspicious."

"Fuck that. You did everything yourself." "W-well, yes, but..." "Did you have fun?"

The question made him pause and think. And then, after moments of deliberation, premise-collection and claim-forming, he concluded with confidence that yes. This was very fun. And extremely rare.

Oddly enough, Vanilla did not feel very bad about the additional help he received from Leroy. Partly because the little chef in his ear was the very person he missed the most and certainly would not mind spending more time with and also because, well, technically, Leroy had never given him a proper cooking lesson either.

This was a first.

And so came the time for each student to present their dishes to Marseille the boss for grading. Vanilla had removed the device in his ear and left his phone at his station with the finger-cue of crossed fingers before bringing his dish up front for a grand opinion.

Marseille had taken one look at Vanilla plating, smiled wryly to herself, picked out the best ring of squid among the many others, and dipped it into the side of creamed shishitos. Moments of tasting and writing and silence later, she tried the elements separately and then, after a grueling pause, revealed his score.

"Eight-point-five."

It was the highest score anyone in the class had received thus far and even Si Yin hadn't quite come close at the rare eight-point-two she'd won moments earlier and everyone had clapped enviously upon Marseille's announcement.

This time, the room was ghost-quiet. Stunned into silence.

"Interesting flavor combinations. The kick from the shishito peppers. I'm not surprised you know about them, considering your pool of knowledge. The dip was a good idea. The acidity from the Cajun-style spices you included in the batter... or were they rubbed on the squid before dredging? It worked, either way. I'm impressed. You also have a decent cut of the mantle. Not as good as Xu's, admittedly. But the flavor sells."

It was magic.

Vanilla felt his heart swell, hearing just how someone else thought of Leroy's recipe and his attempt at it—something they created, together—it was electric. Dizzy with compliments and living in the high, he'd hurried back to his station at once and plugged in Violet's AirPods (both of them) to share the sizzling news.

Big mistake.

The snowstorm, blinded by the magic of the moment, hadn't quite noticed Chef Marseille following him all the way back to his station to stand, rather openly, with folded arms and a passive gaze, by his counter and witness the entire thing in all its glory.

This got the entire class turning their heads curiously, eyes fixed on the commotion and aside, Violet desperately trying to warn Vanilla of present-moment dangers. Her hisses and hand gestured had unfortunately gone unnoticed.

"What is Cox doing without a shirt on?"

This coming from several feet away, in the voice of the school's most feared and revered instructor, sent Vanilla flying into the air with shock and alarm. He froze on the spot; turning, very slowly, to face Marseille with her arms crossed.

"Oh god. Chef Marseille, I..." Caught off guard, the bean could not string a single sentence in his head. "I'm so sorry, I... I know using our phones isn't allowed. I am aware. I... these AirPods have nothing to do with it. Please don't—"

"Cox, put on a shirt for goodness sake!" Marseille paid absolutely no attention to Vanilla's grand, guilty apology; gaze fixed on the screen of his phone with narrowed eyes and this was when Vanilla began to hear laughter in his ear. "Is he hearing this? Am I loud enough?"

"Y-yes." Was all the bean managed. Stunned.

"Tell her no."

"He says hi..."

"That's not what I said."

"Oh. Alright then, tell him I said to put a shirt on." "No." "He'll do that, Chef Marseille. I, um, I assure you..." "Ask him how he's doing." "The squid's a solid ten, chef. You're wrong." "He says he's good and and um he apologizes for um. Disrupting class and causing a scene." More laughter on the other end. Clearly, Leroy was enjoying himself. This was a call he was going to remember.

"... that does not sound like him at all, Mr. White. You don't have to speak up for him," sighed Chef Marseille with a roll of her eyes. In a lowered voice, she reminded Vanilla to put his phone away before raising it again, as though speaking to the rest of the class: "I'll see the both of you in my office after class."

And so began the infamous rumors of a legendary Facetime call in the middle of class between model-student, star-critic Vanilla Julian White and unrivalled-chef, shirtless-idiot Leroy Jeremy Cox.

Most people were confused. Some, envious. Others, understanding.

And of course, Chef Marseille did not forget to ask for the recipe. It was the only reason she wanted to see them in her office.

Happy Valentine's Day.