[ let's be real, the cake probably tastes like his good intentions, if it could metamorphose into something vaguely edible: filmy with granulated sugar, bloated with leavened yeast. basically, it's not fit for anyone's consumption, and attempting as much would only earn them a one-way trip to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped.
but maybe he should get a consolation prize for tenacity, dug up to his elbows in flour, a smear of cake batter congealing beneath his right eye while he disposes of the cracked eggshells, frowning in compunction while vietnam clears off the rest of the runny gunk and does damage control on his self-esteem. ]
You did? ... I should've been lighter with it, though. Or maybe used a fork? Although I ended up dropping it in a pot of boiling water last time ...
[ hanging his head, he peers at the printed instructions, scared to pick it up and hold it out to the light lest it combust into flame. it was a reasonable precautionary measure when it came to makoto's (lack of) prowess at making food that wouldn't give people ulcers. ]
I'm sorry for wasting the supplies, Vietnam-san. A lot of people have tried to help me cook in the past, but I'm no good at it. I shouldn't have overestimated myself with a recipe like this.
[ it's a cake, not rocket science, but the point still stands. ]
[Oh no, he's too sweet, and that's just alright for her. Well, not in cake form, but right now it's fine. It's probably making her a lot more easier on him than she should be because she's weak to cute. UGH.
While they have a moment to talk about this as she cleans off all his hands clear of egg, she brushes off some flour and wipes the batter stuck on his face, now that she's noticed it.]
I did, but yes, you only need to be lighter. Sometimes a few taps, just to warm yourself up. A small crack, just enough to having your fingers slide in.
[And there! He is now clean. Or at least as clean as she can get him without having to dunk him into water and soap. It seems this pause is good for him, now he can look around again, at the book, and think about what he does next.
But not feel guilty, he doesn't need that.]
You need not worry. Not everyone gets it perfect the first time. Even chefs who create recipes must experiment before they get it just right. You only need to practice. I won't leave you to endure it all alone.
[Even the most simplest of recipes can end up being difficult when one has no skill. Or confidence.] Do you want to keep going?
Oh! That makes sense. I should've toned it down, but I was so nervous it'd squish in my hand like last time.
[ you know, considering his abysmal ineptitude when it comes to handling anything that even evokes the image of fragility. makoto might be a gently guy, but he has a tendency to take things to extremes when he really gets invested in the endeavor (see: video games, gou's ludicrous training regimen around the islands that nearly ended in tragedy). makoto smiles very mildly, only to blink and freeze, startled, when she draws a towel over his cheek, which comes away with a sizable amount of batter. in these circumstances, he'd normally be the type to taste-test the concoction, but something innately wards him off from trying out his gloppy, unbaked creation just yet (either out of fear for how horrible the chocolate cake will taste when it comes out of the oven, or the desire to win vietnam's good favor by showing her he doesn't give in, even under indomitable odds).
read: please notice him, senpai ... ]
Y-Yes, I think that would be best.
[ meekly bowing his head, he leans over with every intention to scan the cookbook's instructions prior to suddenly wrenching back to glance sideways at vietnam, eyes brimming with an unspoken plea for salvation in these dire, dire times. if the cake turned out to be potentially life-threatening in nature, he's already compelled to eat it all himself, if just to keep his good friend from throwing out the powdery mess and/or having to partake of a lumpy abomination that wouldn't even pass as an edible confection, much less as bargain-bin pastry-shop material, by the time he was through with the recipe.
Mm, nervousness does make us over-think it. When you believe that is the case, take a moment to breathe.
[Better said than done, sometimes she doesn't even do this outside of cooking. But they are in her kingdom right now, and she knows he's a very gentle spirit. But to be an effective sportsman, she knows he's passionate as well.
She apologises very quietly when seeing how she surprised him by removing the batter from his face. He looked like he's walked through a kitchen warzone, and there's a chance that his cake is going to be a weapon. He can't taste it. At all. She'll do it, because she's stronger when it comes to strange foods...
Senpai notices him too much already...never leave senpai...don't get sick...
He wants to keep going, so she only nods, acknowledging his decision before watching him study the book once more. No wait, that was fast, he was looking at her. It was an emergency. He needs her.]
Of course! [She didn't say that too fast or slightly louder than usual, what are you talking about. Only she did, as she grabs his arm and looks like she's too ready to show him. Not just one step. Maybe the next few steps too. She doesn't want to see him look at her with such sad eyes, and if this will help!]
I suppose I need to crack the eggs first... [Hold on a minute, she can help him here. She picks up an egg, and taking his hand, puts it into his palm.] Please excuse me... [Directing his hand to the brim of the bowl, she proceeds to try to lightly crack the egg. Or, well, make him crack it.]
[ there's no way he's sacrificing her over confectionary goods. if one of them is bound for the hospital in order to get their stomach pumped, it's makoto. he's six feet tall. he can take this trial and persevere.
and besides that, she's painfully, painfully sweet, so it'd give him an aneurysm to hurt her even unconsciously. his gaze might be morosely disconsolate with this latest attempt at learning how to make some edible all but imploding in his face, but the fact that vietnam's with him is enough to heal all wounds. haru nearly ditched him during their last attempt (he'd set their meal on fire, but it hadn't been intentional), so the fact that she was weathering through the storm to finish this doomed task revitalized his moribund sense of motivation thus far.
... ditto his last compliment. she's like some kind of angel?! he wouldn't be surprised to find her with wings with the consistency of silken gossamer and a white-hot halo wreathing her head. it'd be the most normal thing in the world to find out she was a celestial being all along. it'd also double as an explanation for her boundless patience.
at first, he jolts when she slides the egg into his hand, something so fragile that he balks at the prospect of trying again, but then her hands around his and his mind stutters to a
halt.
mirroring a scene possibly riffed out of a vietnamese soap opera, his face goes scarlet, only exacerbated by the softness of her palm laid against his knuckles when she helps him crack the shell.
the egg yolk lands in the bowl with a swish, the yolk perfectly unbroken.
and then he's staring, trapped between blushing and impulsively grabbing another egg to repeat the process. ]
I-I, um ... it's gotta' be gentle then, huh? [ his response is mired in hangdog sheepishess. ] Do you think you could show me again?
[This is the last thing she wants?! For him to e stuck in hospital and have his stomach pumped?! No, she'll get through this for him!
Like how she'll help him defeat this mission, accomplish it, even with something that is very much a disaster. As long as she doesn't abandon him in this task, he will rise above it. He's strong like that, and she believes in him. That and also she probably does whatever he asks.
He might be thinking that she's an angel, but it is not because she is a kind and generous soul (though she is to an extent), but that she goes out of her way to give more to Makoto. There's just something about him that makes her want to do everything for him. Is it the way he appreciates her? Perhaps. Either way, he has her wrapped around his little finger in his own way (though she'd still kick him out of love if he does something stupid.)
It's a pity that she's missing out on his frozen reaction while she concentrates on showing him how to crack an egg. That and because he is so tall, while she's looking down towards the little egg, she wouldn't be able to see him anyway. Not until the egg has been successfully cracked and there it is, floating happily in the bowl.]
Yes, you just need to be gentle. [She's turning her head up, nodding as she does so, wondering why all of a sudden he's read. I-is it the task? It has to be the task, right? He's asking her to do it again...
Though the more she thinks about it, the more she starts blushing herself.]
O-of course. [She'd show him again if he wanted her to, he's determined!! And so the process is repeated, where she cups and takes his hands into hers, guiding them again as she helps him crack this second egg.]
[ the top of her head is brushing against the column of his neck (strands of her hair tickling his throat) as she's perched between him, his arms jostling about her, vietnam's palms soft on his calloused knuckles. it's a precarious condition, not physically, but on some mental schema that comes with sustained proximity (how she goes bright red when he does, the benignity of nearness outgunned by his sheepishness). she shouldn't have been embarrassed in the first place, but he is, so maybe she is, too, and it's —
he sucks in a careful, panicky gasp, afraid to breathe out in case she leans too far back and they end up paying their respects to the mortification of a close (deadly) encounter. the pads of her fingers press to the bones of his wrist, stilling his nerves; he's too distracted with the motion that he goes stock-still for a full fifteen seconds after the second egg's been cracked, the shell paper-thin in his hands, the film of the yolk nearly translucent on his fingers. ]
A-huh. Yeah, that's ... gentle. Yeah. That was kind of, um. Really intense.
[ even his ellipses are unintentionally hyperventilating.
clumsily, makoto crushes the pale eggshell in one closed fist, maneuvers around her to scour his hands of the gunk and retrieve two glasses of water.
there's no silvered ingenuity in his hands as he lifts a cup out to her, nothing bold and overwrought, but his tone is brimming with a strangely overelaborate strain, seizing up in rattled aimlessness. ]
Should we mix it now?
[ makoto's obviously no cooking mama, rifling through the drawers even though the whisk is already on the counter. he's not going to make it through this cooking session alive.
[After having noticed that there is some Awkwardness happening, Vietnam is now hyper aware of everything around her and Makoto. Things she normally wouldn't even pick up on, such as their close proximity, the way he's not even breathing...
Focus, she needs to focus! Which thankfully, she did once she guides his hand to crack the egg again. But is it because that she's touching his hand like this that he's tense? Because as soon as the egg falls into the ball again, he's still. Just not even moving. Her eyes are swimming, alarmed and wondering if she should say something. Should she remove her hand?
Thankfully he spoke first, but it didn't even make anything better as she inhales deeply. Intense. Ah.]
I-I suppose so. The control. It's intense. [WORDS. WHY ARE WORDS HARD. If he's not around or not looking, she can perhaps wring air in her hands because she could have articulated that a lot better.
Still, he moves and there's two glasses of water, and she takes it. Thank god for the cool feeling of water in glass all against her hand right now, because she just needs to take it easy, take deep breaths, they will be Okay.]
Yes, let us mix it--...
[They're so not going to be okay. Because they had already set out all the utensils already, she knew exactly where the whisk is.] A-ah, Makoto... [She reaches over to tap him on the shoulder before picking up the whisk. RIP.]
his grin dissolves immediately, fizzling out and shortly replaced with an operatic display of frazzled nerves as he nearly slams the drawer on his right hand. narrowly dodging the fate of rapidly swelling fingers and a shameful trip to the er by the margin of a millimeter isn't half as bad as admitting he's got no chill whatsoever. at the moment, things are not Okay. they could be Okay eventually, given time and enough culinary exposure to the finer arts, but that's never been makoto's forte. he isn't balanced with delicate artistry and savory cuisine, never spent longer than forty-five minutes in the kitchen without breaking something (random utensils, random body parts, his equanimity, the list goes on and on).
she trusts him, enough that he's got performance anxiety as a bizarre form of recompense. even haru didn't demonstrate this much faith in his (mal)functioning talent for butchering recipes beyond recognition.
vietnam's always been unique like that. kind. inscrutably kind. in reciprocation, makoto's guilt complex comes on a little too strong. ]
Oh! Y-Yeah. Of course it was. Ehehe, I knew that, I just —
[ when his head soundly thunks against the granite counter as he wrenches himself back upright, he doesn't acknowledge it. there's a punctured grimace, but no sound, which takes emotional disconnect to a whole new level: petrifying whatever audible sound of pain in lieu of casually retrieving the whisk from her and taking a stab at haphazardly stirring the bowl.
granted, the cake batter has taken on the consistency of calcified goat cheese, reeking faintly of crushed dairy products and one too many eggs, but he's taken vietnam's advice to heart. slow, concentric circles, gentle as long as he concentrates and doesn't abruptly lose his mind from embarrassing himself several times in her presence. once it blends into a doughy, shapeless mass not fit for human or animal consumption, makoto turns to her by way of inquiry. ]
This is the last step before he put it in the mold and bake it, right? Does this look good to you?
[ he knows it looks bad. cake isn't supposed to clot up and smell like curdled milk.
so: the moment of truth presents itself. time to find out if vietnam values his feelings, being honest, or some unhallowed aggregation of the two aforementioned options more. ]
[If Makoto didn't make so much noise from just breaking himself, one could probably hear the exact moment when Vietnam's heart cracks into pieces from seeing his face lose its cheery expression and he Loses it. Still, she wasn't able to be heartbroken for long as he is hurting himself, and that is quickly replaced by pure panic.
What was happening? Why was he slamming his hands and himself into everything? It was almost like Makoto completely lost balance and control of his body and the world was out to get him. Who knew the cooking could kill you without fire, knives, or food poisoning.]
M-makoto! [She really wanted to check up on him, but the whisk disappeared from her hand and he was mixing.] Are you alright...? [It was slow and quiet, as she watches him stir, checking up on him, wondering why he continues when really he should probably take a few deep breaths before the kitchen explodes, and not from the cooking or technique, but from Makoto's unusual self-destruction.]
It is the last step, yes. [Well, he managed to get through all the steps now, at least. And that cake looks completely...unappetising. The consistency is clumpy, there's a strange smell. She's sure it may look passable after it is baked, but even then, the cake itself would probably be rock hard and they don't even know how it'll taste.
This is why she's going to do it. Without a word, she dips her finger into the mutant cake batter and then sticks it into her mouth to sample.
She still hasn't said anything once she pulls her finger out of her mouth. But at least she looks fine?]
[ his consternation has no lifespan. it's eternal. to be honest, he can't tell the difference between temporary embarrassment and permanent humiliation. he can't even feel his arms at the moment, having mixed the lumpy cake batter into a state of congealing putrefaction for twenty minutes straight. he could apologize for wasting about five pounds worth of cooking supplies in his failed endeavor to create a pastry that wouldn't give people an everlasting hatred of anything peripherally related to chocolate, but that doesn't amend the current hazardous state of her kitchen. makoto half-expects the walls to bleed from the atrocities committed in the room, surprise leeching out of him when the abomination passing for lumpy cake batter doesn't attain sentience and slosh out of the bowl. it wouldn't have superseded his general expectations. ]
On second thought, maybe we shouldn't bake it, Vietnam-san. It doesn't look very —
[ ... appetizing.
but whatever prospective grievances he could've voice die stillborn in his mouth when vietnam does the unthinkable.
... well, shit.
in that instant, time slows down and abruptly ceases to matter. he can only stare ahead into space, distantly horrified, when her lips close down around liquified poison (no use arguing semantics when her death is imminent), an inscrutable blankness to her expression. he's never been so unnerved by something so innocuous, but then he's never unintentionally caused the demise of a good friend before, either. there is no mercy for a cold-blooded killer, no matter their prior intentions. makoto's no exception to the rule.
when she finally retracts her hands, the momentary trance over makoto breaks, signaled by the clatter of the ceramic bowl he drops into the sink, whisk and all, hands prised against both of her wrists like he has any staying power on actions taken to their conclusion. he's not about to perform CPR for a misconstrued slight, although his panic ratchets up the scale, hitting a crescendo when he finally registers the full implications of continuing with a failed endeavor beyond what could be expected out of anyone, much less a woman who's never done him any wrong. ]
I'm sorry! I'm sorry. [ palms skimming up to her shoulders, he presses down, trying to detect if she's on the verge of a fainting spell, working through the motions of a 119 call in his head. the melodrama's liable to send him keeling over, too, but he has to stay strong. if not for himself, then vietnam, who could very well die from sampling the equivalent of venomous toxin. makoto shakes his head, expression faltering into derisive alarm. ]
A-Are you okay?! How do you feel? You need to tell me, Vietnam-san, so I know what to say to the paramedics —
[ there's no way he could be exaggerating this much. ]
[The way Makoto looked as he held that bowl, she's pretty sure that it would all end with him being upset, no matter which route she picked. She could compliment him for trying (and it's true, he worked very hard), and it would still have the same level of guilt as if she criticised him. Either way, there was no getting out of this.
So she just went for broke.
It wasn't entirely terrible, for the level of terror she was expecting. She wouldn't even be surprised if it tried to bubble menacingly, but all she tasted was cake batter. It was some parts too sweet, a bit too much egg here, and there was a clump of unmixed sugar trying to make its way down her throat. But all the ingredients were normal ones. There were mistakes made, yes, techniques that need to be refined, but it's not going to kill her if the ingredients used were all exactly the same.
But she was silent because she was: A. Figuring that all out; B. It still tasted like death.
Not that she could actually tell Makoto any of that because he has been effectively distracted by her well-being. She's surprised by his sudden actions; taking her hand, taking her shoulders, and his expression looking scared and helpless, like she's about to pass on to the next world. Not that she can, she's going to be here a very long time.]
I am fine, Makoto. [She brings up her hands, still baffled by how he's already accepted that his cake batter was going to lead to someone's suffering , and crosses her arm over her body so she can hold his hand.] I won't get sick. It is not something that you will get sick over. [EVEN IF IT TASTES LIKE SIN.]
[ someday, he might just lose it, like his entire life has been an exercise in performance anxiety and the downsides of emotionally-compromising friendship. hands brazenly splayed on her shoulders, his breath culminating into something full of pins and needles. trepidation on the rise, grazing his breath. even her assurances write a haggard edge into his demeanor, the incising blow even as he (dramatically) stumbles back, (dramatically) staring into the bowl with its congealing batter. ]
But it's not good, right?
[ taking the plunge is the only way left. not even vietnam's common propriety can deter him as he sticks his pinky into the constitution and gives it a clearly hesitant try.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . .
.
minutes (and minutes) later, when makoto comes back to himself, he's brought to the earth-shattering realization of his ghastly concoction and what eating it potentially means for his friends. drastic times call for drastic measures, and it's only with the slightest flicker of remorse that he turns on his heel, heading for the garbage disposal. ]
It's gone bad. We have to throw it out.
[ makoto might be a little misty-eyed at the moment, accentuated by the crutch of slumping resignation, but the greater good trumps the possibility of shortening vietnam's lifespan by odds and ends.
don't try to stop him. he has to do this for good of everyone. no one else must ever be subjected to such torment ever again. ]
[Don't McLose it, Makoto, she still needs you! In fact, she wonders if she should try it again (despite it being over there by the sink) just to prove to him that she will live. No one will be in the hospital today.
He's convinced, but he's definitely moved on to the next important phase: how it tastes. Which wasn't even good, so she couldn't really answer that. She only remained silent as he hobbles over to the batter (did it just bubble?!) and then realised he was actually going to taste it.
Hold on, he's actually going to--]
No! [But it's too late, she couldn't even reach him in time and grabbed his arm just as he stuck his pinky into his mouth. She winces, on his behalf, knowing that he probably just saw a whole new chaotic world through a vision after eating his own batter.
She could only try to shake his arm to hope that he would come back.]
Makoto? [And then he returns. But his entire body language, the way he looks as he's moves to throw out the rest of the batter.]
No it's...do you not want to try baking it?
[Maybe if they drowned it in ice cream, it should be fine?] I am fine. [Never mind that she tried to stop him from eating it because she knew not everyone has a strong stomach.]
[ Too late?! He's going to McLose it all over the kitchen counter, and they'll all be forced to deal with the repercussions of allowing Makoto to bake in a domestic setting. It might've been fine if his hands weren't cursed, or if he actually had the good sense to withhold his posturing on the presumption that there was a type of pastry he wouldn't end up damning to the fires of hell.
As an upside, it could make a good, unassuming poison. As a downside, there's no one in the world Makoto wants to kill, much less inflict bodily harm upon with pounds and pounds of distilled cream.
Her words are oddly comforting, in the midst of repentantly gazing back at her, completely disheartened by the current prospects of manually eating or tossing out the vile abomination before it contaminates anyone else's stomach. ]
Let's not, okay, Vietnam-san? If anyone else sees the cake, they might want to eat it, too, and that would be a really, really bad idea.
[ That one bite alone was prepped to send him to the afterlife, okay. They can't risk a third party inadvertently losing their life to misfortune that could be avoided merely by draining out the contents of the bowl.
Reluctance plastered to his countenance, Makoto hefts the bowl back onto the counter, quick on the uptake to rinse out the utensils with a thin stream of tap water. While he lathers soap onto the sponge, he glances back at Vietnam, shame set into the distinct way he avoids direct eye contact. ]
I really am sorry for wasting all of those ingredients, and your time. I can clean up the mess here, so don't worry about fixing up after me. I'll handle it.
[Makoto, you've managed to not McLose it! She believes he'll be able to make a delicious cake one day, if he didn't lose so much confidence over this mistake. Well, it was really a disaster, but those also count as mistakes one can learn from.
At least it didn't kill her!
He's so diligently cleaning after having thrown out his attempts, so she knows he's still keeping it together. He's not completely lost to the depths of despair so she hopes they can bake a successful cake soon! One that won't be a poison so no one will die. But with how his guilt is sinking in, it might not happen soon.
Vietnam steps up to him.] I think you still did well. You tried so hard. Everyone has to start somewhere. Don't think it all went to waste, okay? [She starts to rub is back, trying to soothe him, but suddenly stops and looks at her hands in horror.]
I haven't cleaned myself up yet, I just ruined your shirt!
[ Getting deranged and hysterical in Vietnam's kitchen wouldn't be conducive to anyone's good time, alright. She might have to call the cops on him, explain to all of his relatives and close friends why he had a mental breakdown over an amorphous clump of faintly foul-smelling cake batter and at least two whole batches of wasted pastry materials.
He hasn't even accounted for the thick veneer of baking powder and flour coating their clothes and smeared all over their arms, like they've started to metabolize into cooking ingredients themselves, one misstep away from turning into the nightmare of professional pastry chefs everywhere: amateurs. Horrifying.
Furthermore, this is exclusively Makoto's fault, and while he's grateful she doesn't pull her punches, it doesn't solve the present issue of the disaster site that the kitchen has become. Startling at the hand pressed reassuringly along his back, he nearly adds a bottle of vanilla extract to the mess, swiping up the bottle mid-fall and saving them from the tinkling crash of broken glass. ]
Don't mind me! I wasn't the one who ended up doused in flour.
[ You know, after he (nearly) freaked out and sent powder up in wispy clouds. Call him out for this terrible treatment, Vietnam. She deserves so much better.
With an off-kilter impulsiveness to his movements, he takes a wash towel and swabs what he can of her left arm, moving the next limb just as fast. ]
[She would never call the cops on him? Heck she would hide him for all of eternity until people would lay off him for bad killer baking too. Makoto is too important to her.
He's so on edge that more things could've been broken. Thinking about it, she really needs to get him to stop doing things.
Although she does appreciate the gesture of him cleaning her arms, so she'll let him do that for now. If she keeps telling him to stop, he'll feel worse for what has already happened.
It was only when her other arm was clean now that she grabs both his hands, even with the towel still held, to stop him.]
Thank you, Makoto. You are too kind. But let's go do something else for now. To just, get a real break.
One of these days, Vietnam is bound to be exploited for the very same reason she indulges hopeless cases like Makoto as his expertise pertains to edible cooking, but he's more than glad to take her offer up with a small, abashed quirk of his mouth. ]
Alright. Is there anything you were in the mood for, Vietnam-san? We should do what you want to this time.
[ While he poses that fairly innocuous question on her, he scrubs away at the counter to the best of his ability, clearing out the rest of the flour and packages of ripped confectionary materials as casualties of their war on baking. If nothing else, they'd evaded a case of food poisoning. With any luck, they'll be able to end the day without either of them sent to the hospital for grievous injury. ]
But it's true, she'll get exploited for Makoto. Sure she's selective about who she is nice to, but once she is, it's so easy to do so. Makoto has her wrapped around his little finger. Just seeing him smile is already Enough.]
Hmm... [She could do all of this. Later. After he feels better. He's kind enough to make it her choice, but she knows it's because he still wants to repay her for her efforts.
But the point here is she's trying to cheer him up!]
Cat cafe. [That was easy.] Let's go to the cat cafe. I'll take us on my motorbike.
gives u all my ice cubes then??? every single ice cube now belongs 2 u :9
[ THEY CAN MUTUALLY EXPLOIT EACH OTHER, THEN ... THAT'S FINE, THAT'S COOL ... but since Makoto's susceptibility for Vietnam's kindness knows no bounds, he readily brightens up at the prospect. Stashing away the rest of the cooking supplies in the commotion of cleaning up, he nods in assent. ]
The one in town, right? I hear it just opened up, but I haven't had a chance to see it for myself yet.
[ A few seconds later, the rest of Vietnam's words breach his awareness. ]
Wait, your motorbike?
[ She's even a motorcyclist. At this rate, wonders will never cease. ]
[THAT'S FINE, that's probably what makes them happy? She dies at his kindness, he dies at hers...they only need to carry each other so that they do not end up collapsing somewhere because of the other.]
Yes. [She can quickly book a session! Which she will do on her phone now--there done. Thanks credit card.
That means that while she was so eagerly filling out the form so that they can go to the cat cafe (and lucky, since it's an odd hour, it's available!) she didn't notice that Makoto seems to be surprised by the fact that she can drive a motorcycle.]
Yes, my motorbike. A-ah, is it a problem? [She doesn't want to accidentally put him into danger.]
[ As long as one of their friends takes them to the ER, it'll be fine. Succumbing to kindness isn't that horrific of a demise to begin with?!
And wow, he was just about to offer up his own credit card, but seeing how quickly she's taken care of the cat café reservation, he's forced to relegate himself to the status of beleaguered mooch. When prompted, Makoto waves his hands, his expression just that side of flustered. ]
No, it isn't! I just thought it sounded really cool.
[ SO, SO COOL ........ he has no experience when it comes to riding shotgun on a motorcycle, but they'll cross that bridge when they get there (probably). ]
[That's true, they could always recover together! THAT COULD HELP, RIGHT?
Exactly, this wasn't about how he could pay her back today. This is a reward for him because he tried so hard to bake something decent, and failed. But the fact is that he still gave it his all. It's that kind of effort which deserves the world.
But really, she's afraid he might think it too dangerous! A motorcycle!]
O-oh! I see, I will give you a helmet! And drive very safe. [She says it like this will help. Well, it possibly could, anyway. When they get there.]
But yes, let's! [She leads him to the motorcycle, parked just nearby, and takes one helmet for him. She's actually a Bad Girl and doesn't like riding with a helmet, but she did make the effort coming here. Don't worry, she has two.]
Here you are. [She offers him the helmet, and will help him secure it.]
[ Please, Vietnam, you have better ways to spend your time than doing charity work for this incorrigible mess of a guy who can't get his priority sorted out long enough to make a proper cake. Acting upon experience alone, that can be only indicative of the worst things. His hands can't even make something sweet enough for human consumption ... huh ...
Still, he doesn't doubt her finesse on the road, swerving through traffic the ways pros on the set of Tokyo Drift veer through traffic at top-notch speeds. Committing to the endeavor, he follows her on the expectation that they'll both exercise some caution before going fast and furious through the streets. Locking the helmet around his head, he obligingly allows her to secure the straps and carefully fit on the helmet without incurring head trauma. Tipping the visor up, he takes a gander at her motorcycle, which is just as intimidating as it looks. Tipping the window of the visor up, he's notably more sedate than he was when he was wreaking havoc in the kitchen. ]
Is there anything important I should remember while I'm riding with you?
[ You know, like distributing his equilibrium so he doesn't bring her crashing with him on a sharp turn, or send them whirling into a tailspin when he grapples around her waist too tightly. ]
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twirls u in the air
but maybe he should get a consolation prize for tenacity, dug up to his elbows in flour, a smear of cake batter congealing beneath his right eye while he disposes of the cracked eggshells, frowning in compunction while vietnam clears off the rest of the runny gunk and does damage control on his self-esteem. ]
You did? ... I should've been lighter with it, though. Or maybe used a fork? Although I ended up dropping it in a pot of boiling water last time ...
[ hanging his head, he peers at the printed instructions, scared to pick it up and hold it out to the light lest it combust into flame. it was a reasonable precautionary measure when it came to makoto's (lack of) prowess at making food that wouldn't give people ulcers. ]
I'm sorry for wasting the supplies, Vietnam-san. A lot of people have tried to help me cook in the past, but I'm no good at it. I shouldn't have overestimated myself with a recipe like this.
[ it's a cake, not rocket science, but the point still stands. ]
in slow mo!!!!
While they have a moment to talk about this as she cleans off all his hands clear of egg, she brushes off some flour and wipes the batter stuck on his face, now that she's noticed it.]
I did, but yes, you only need to be lighter. Sometimes a few taps, just to warm yourself up. A small crack, just enough to having your fingers slide in.
[And there! He is now clean. Or at least as clean as she can get him without having to dunk him into water and soap. It seems this pause is good for him, now he can look around again, at the book, and think about what he does next.
But not feel guilty, he doesn't need that.]
You need not worry. Not everyone gets it perfect the first time. Even chefs who create recipes must experiment before they get it just right. You only need to practice. I won't leave you to endure it all alone.
[Even the most simplest of recipes can end up being difficult when one has no skill. Or confidence.] Do you want to keep going?
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[ you know, considering his abysmal ineptitude when it comes to handling anything that even evokes the image of fragility. makoto might be a gently guy, but he has a tendency to take things to extremes when he really gets invested in the endeavor (see: video games, gou's ludicrous training regimen around the islands that nearly ended in tragedy). makoto smiles very mildly, only to blink and freeze, startled, when she draws a towel over his cheek, which comes away with a sizable amount of batter. in these circumstances, he'd normally be the type to taste-test the concoction, but something innately wards him off from trying out his gloppy, unbaked creation just yet (either out of fear for how horrible the chocolate cake will taste when it comes out of the oven, or the desire to win vietnam's good favor by showing her he doesn't give in, even under indomitable odds).
read: please notice him, senpai ... ]
Y-Yes, I think that would be best.
[ meekly bowing his head, he leans over with every intention to scan the cookbook's instructions prior to suddenly wrenching back to glance sideways at vietnam, eyes brimming with an unspoken plea for salvation in these dire, dire times. if the cake turned out to be potentially life-threatening in nature, he's already compelled to eat it all himself, if just to keep his good friend from throwing out the powdery mess and/or having to partake of a lumpy abomination that wouldn't even pass as an edible confection, much less as bargain-bin pastry-shop material, by the time he was through with the recipe.
abruptly, makoto blanches. ]
Um, maybe you could show me the next step?
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[Better said than done, sometimes she doesn't even do this outside of cooking. But they are in her kingdom right now, and she knows he's a very gentle spirit. But to be an effective sportsman, she knows he's passionate as well.
She apologises very quietly when seeing how she surprised him by removing the batter from his face. He looked like he's walked through a kitchen warzone, and there's a chance that his cake is going to be a weapon. He can't taste it. At all. She'll do it, because she's stronger when it comes to strange foods...
Senpai notices him too much already...never leave senpai...don't get sick...
He wants to keep going, so she only nods, acknowledging his decision before watching him study the book once more. No wait, that was fast, he was looking at her. It was an emergency. He needs her.]
Of course! [She didn't say that too fast or slightly louder than usual, what are you talking about. Only she did, as she grabs his arm and looks like she's too ready to show him. Not just one step. Maybe the next few steps too. She doesn't want to see him look at her with such sad eyes, and if this will help!]
I suppose I need to crack the eggs first... [Hold on a minute, she can help him here. She picks up an egg, and taking his hand, puts it into his palm.] Please excuse me... [Directing his hand to the brim of the bowl, she proceeds to try to lightly crack the egg. Or, well, make him crack it.]
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and besides that, she's painfully, painfully sweet, so it'd give him an aneurysm to hurt her even unconsciously. his gaze might be morosely disconsolate with this latest attempt at learning how to make some edible all but imploding in his face, but the fact that vietnam's with him is enough to heal all wounds. haru nearly ditched him during their last attempt (he'd set their meal on fire, but it hadn't been intentional), so the fact that she was weathering through the storm to finish this doomed task revitalized his moribund sense of motivation thus far.
... ditto his last compliment. she's like some kind of angel?! he wouldn't be surprised to find her with wings with the consistency of silken gossamer and a white-hot halo wreathing her head. it'd be the most normal thing in the world to find out she was a celestial being all along. it'd also double as an explanation for her boundless patience.
at first, he jolts when she slides the egg into his hand, something so fragile that he balks at the prospect of trying again, but then her hands around his and his mind stutters to a
halt.
mirroring a scene possibly riffed out of a vietnamese soap opera, his face goes scarlet, only exacerbated by the softness of her palm laid against his knuckles when she helps him crack the shell.
the egg yolk lands in the bowl with a swish, the yolk perfectly unbroken.
and then he's staring, trapped between blushing and impulsively grabbing another egg to repeat the process. ]
I-I, um ... it's gotta' be gentle then, huh? [ his response is mired in hangdog sheepishess. ] Do you think you could show me again?
[ oh. ]
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Like how she'll help him defeat this mission, accomplish it, even with something that is very much a disaster. As long as she doesn't abandon him in this task, he will rise above it. He's strong like that, and she believes in him. That and also she probably does whatever he asks.
He might be thinking that she's an angel, but it is not because she is a kind and generous soul (though she is to an extent), but that she goes out of her way to give more to Makoto. There's just something about him that makes her want to do everything for him. Is it the way he appreciates her? Perhaps. Either way, he has her wrapped around his little finger in his own way (though she'd still kick him out of love if he does something stupid.)
It's a pity that she's missing out on his frozen reaction while she concentrates on showing him how to crack an egg. That and because he is so tall, while she's looking down towards the little egg, she wouldn't be able to see him anyway. Not until the egg has been successfully cracked and there it is, floating happily in the bowl.]
Yes, you just need to be gentle. [She's turning her head up, nodding as she does so, wondering why all of a sudden he's read. I-is it the task? It has to be the task, right? He's asking her to do it again...
Though the more she thinks about it, the more she starts blushing herself.]
O-of course. [She'd show him again if he wanted her to, he's determined!! And so the process is repeated, where she cups and takes his hands into hers, guiding them again as she helps him crack this second egg.]
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he sucks in a careful, panicky gasp, afraid to breathe out in case she leans too far back and they end up paying their respects to the mortification of a close (deadly) encounter. the pads of her fingers press to the bones of his wrist, stilling his nerves; he's too distracted with the motion that he goes stock-still for a full fifteen seconds after the second egg's been cracked, the shell paper-thin in his hands, the film of the yolk nearly translucent on his fingers. ]
A-huh. Yeah, that's ... gentle. Yeah. That was kind of, um. Really intense.
[ even his ellipses are unintentionally hyperventilating.
clumsily, makoto crushes the pale eggshell in one closed fist, maneuvers around her to scour his hands of the gunk and retrieve two glasses of water.
there's no silvered ingenuity in his hands as he lifts a cup out to her, nothing bold and overwrought, but his tone is brimming with a strangely overelaborate strain, seizing up in rattled aimlessness. ]
Should we mix it now?
[ makoto's obviously no cooking mama, rifling through the drawers even though the whisk is already on the counter. he's not going to make it through this cooking session alive.
basically: maneater.mp3?!?!?! ]
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Focus, she needs to focus! Which thankfully, she did once she guides his hand to crack the egg again. But is it because that she's touching his hand like this that he's tense? Because as soon as the egg falls into the ball again, he's still. Just not even moving. Her eyes are swimming, alarmed and wondering if she should say something. Should she remove her hand?
Thankfully he spoke first, but it didn't even make anything better as she inhales deeply. Intense. Ah.]
I-I suppose so. The control. It's intense. [WORDS. WHY ARE WORDS HARD. If he's not around or not looking, she can perhaps wring air in her hands because she could have articulated that a lot better.
Still, he moves and there's two glasses of water, and she takes it. Thank god for the cool feeling of water in glass all against her hand right now, because she just needs to take it easy, take deep breaths, they will be Okay.]
Yes, let us mix it--...
[They're so not going to be okay. Because they had already set out all the utensils already, she knew exactly where the whisk is.] A-ah, Makoto... [She reaches over to tap him on the shoulder before picking up the whisk. RIP.]
I-it was right here.
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his grin dissolves immediately, fizzling out and shortly replaced with an operatic display of frazzled nerves as he nearly slams the drawer on his right hand. narrowly dodging the fate of rapidly swelling fingers and a shameful trip to the er by the margin of a millimeter isn't half as bad as admitting he's got no chill whatsoever. at the moment, things are not Okay. they could be Okay eventually, given time and enough culinary exposure to the finer arts, but that's never been makoto's forte. he isn't balanced with delicate artistry and savory cuisine, never spent longer than forty-five minutes in the kitchen without breaking something (random utensils, random body parts, his equanimity, the list goes on and on).
she trusts him, enough that he's got performance anxiety as a bizarre form of recompense. even haru didn't demonstrate this much faith in his (mal)functioning talent for butchering recipes beyond recognition.
vietnam's always been unique like that. kind. inscrutably kind. in reciprocation, makoto's guilt complex comes on a little too strong. ]
Oh! Y-Yeah. Of course it was. Ehehe, I knew that, I just —
[ when his head soundly thunks against the granite counter as he wrenches himself back upright, he doesn't acknowledge it. there's a punctured grimace, but no sound, which takes emotional disconnect to a whole new level: petrifying whatever audible sound of pain in lieu of casually retrieving the whisk from her and taking a stab at haphazardly stirring the bowl.
granted, the cake batter has taken on the consistency of calcified goat cheese, reeking faintly of crushed dairy products and one too many eggs, but he's taken vietnam's advice to heart. slow, concentric circles, gentle as long as he concentrates and doesn't abruptly lose his mind from embarrassing himself several times in her presence. once it blends into a doughy, shapeless mass not fit for human or animal consumption, makoto turns to her by way of inquiry. ]
This is the last step before he put it in the mold and bake it, right? Does this look good to you?
[ he knows it looks bad. cake isn't supposed to clot up and smell like curdled milk.
so: the moment of truth presents itself. time to find out if vietnam values his feelings, being honest, or some unhallowed aggregation of the two aforementioned options more. ]
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What was happening? Why was he slamming his hands and himself into everything? It was almost like Makoto completely lost balance and control of his body and the world was out to get him. Who knew the cooking could kill you without fire, knives, or food poisoning.]
M-makoto! [She really wanted to check up on him, but the whisk disappeared from her hand and he was mixing.] Are you alright...? [It was slow and quiet, as she watches him stir, checking up on him, wondering why he continues when really he should probably take a few deep breaths before the kitchen explodes, and not from the cooking or technique, but from Makoto's unusual self-destruction.]
It is the last step, yes. [Well, he managed to get through all the steps now, at least. And that cake looks completely...unappetising. The consistency is clumpy, there's a strange smell. She's sure it may look passable after it is baked, but even then, the cake itself would probably be rock hard and they don't even know how it'll taste.
This is why she's going to do it. Without a word, she dips her finger into the mutant cake batter and then sticks it into her mouth to sample.
She still hasn't said anything once she pulls her finger out of her mouth. But at least she looks fine?]
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On second thought, maybe we shouldn't bake it, Vietnam-san. It doesn't look very —
[ ... appetizing.
but whatever prospective grievances he could've voice die stillborn in his mouth when vietnam does the unthinkable.
... well, shit.
in that instant, time slows down and abruptly ceases to matter. he can only stare ahead into space, distantly horrified, when her lips close down around liquified poison (no use arguing semantics when her death is imminent), an inscrutable blankness to her expression. he's never been so unnerved by something so innocuous, but then he's never unintentionally caused the demise of a good friend before, either. there is no mercy for a cold-blooded killer, no matter their prior intentions. makoto's no exception to the rule.
when she finally retracts her hands, the momentary trance over makoto breaks, signaled by the clatter of the ceramic bowl he drops into the sink, whisk and all, hands prised against both of her wrists like he has any staying power on actions taken to their conclusion. he's not about to perform CPR for a misconstrued slight, although his panic ratchets up the scale, hitting a crescendo when he finally registers the full implications of continuing with a failed endeavor beyond what could be expected out of anyone, much less a woman who's never done him any wrong. ]
I'm sorry! I'm sorry. [ palms skimming up to her shoulders, he presses down, trying to detect if she's on the verge of a fainting spell, working through the motions of a 119 call in his head. the melodrama's liable to send him keeling over, too, but he has to stay strong. if not for himself, then vietnam, who could very well die from sampling the equivalent of venomous toxin. makoto shakes his head, expression faltering into derisive alarm. ]
A-Are you okay?! How do you feel? You need to tell me, Vietnam-san, so I know what to say to the paramedics —
[ there's no way he could be exaggerating this much. ]
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So she just went for broke.
It wasn't entirely terrible, for the level of terror she was expecting. She wouldn't even be surprised if it tried to bubble menacingly, but all she tasted was cake batter. It was some parts too sweet, a bit too much egg here, and there was a clump of unmixed sugar trying to make its way down her throat. But all the ingredients were normal ones. There were mistakes made, yes, techniques that need to be refined, but it's not going to kill her if the ingredients used were all exactly the same.
But she was silent because she was: A. Figuring that all out; B. It still tasted like death.
Not that she could actually tell Makoto any of that because he has been effectively distracted by her well-being. She's surprised by his sudden actions; taking her hand, taking her shoulders, and his expression looking scared and helpless, like she's about to pass on to the next world. Not that she can, she's going to be here a very long time.]
I am fine, Makoto. [She brings up her hands, still baffled by how he's already accepted that his cake batter was going to lead to someone's suffering , and crosses her arm over her body so she can hold his hand.] I won't get sick. It is not something that you will get sick over. [EVEN IF IT TASTES LIKE SIN.]
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But it's not good, right?
[ taking the plunge is the only way left. not even vietnam's common propriety can deter him as he sticks his pinky into the constitution and gives it a clearly hesitant try.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . .
.
minutes (and minutes) later, when makoto comes back to himself, he's brought to the earth-shattering realization of his ghastly concoction and what eating it potentially means for his friends. drastic times call for drastic measures, and it's only with the slightest flicker of remorse that he turns on his heel, heading for the garbage disposal. ]
It's gone bad. We have to throw it out.
[ makoto might be a little misty-eyed at the moment, accentuated by the crutch of slumping resignation, but the greater good trumps the possibility of shortening vietnam's lifespan by odds and ends.
don't try to stop him. he has to do this for good of everyone. no one else must ever be subjected to such torment ever again. ]
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He's convinced, but he's definitely moved on to the next important phase: how it tastes. Which wasn't even good, so she couldn't really answer that. She only remained silent as he hobbles over to the batter (did it just bubble?!) and then realised he was actually going to taste it.
Hold on, he's actually going to--]
No! [But it's too late, she couldn't even reach him in time and grabbed his arm just as he stuck his pinky into his mouth. She winces, on his behalf, knowing that he probably just saw a whole new chaotic world through a vision after eating his own batter.
She could only try to shake his arm to hope that he would come back.]
Makoto? [And then he returns. But his entire body language, the way he looks as he's moves to throw out the rest of the batter.]
No it's...do you not want to try baking it?
[Maybe if they drowned it in ice cream, it should be fine?] I am fine. [Never mind that she tried to stop him from eating it because she knew not everyone has a strong stomach.]
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As an upside, it could make a good, unassuming poison. As a downside, there's no one in the world Makoto wants to kill, much less inflict bodily harm upon with pounds and pounds of distilled cream.
Her words are oddly comforting, in the midst of repentantly gazing back at her, completely disheartened by the current prospects of manually eating or tossing out the vile abomination before it contaminates anyone else's stomach. ]
Let's not, okay, Vietnam-san? If anyone else sees the cake, they might want to eat it, too, and that would be a really, really bad idea.
[ That one bite alone was prepped to send him to the afterlife, okay. They can't risk a third party inadvertently losing their life to misfortune that could be avoided merely by draining out the contents of the bowl.
Reluctance plastered to his countenance, Makoto hefts the bowl back onto the counter, quick on the uptake to rinse out the utensils with a thin stream of tap water. While he lathers soap onto the sponge, he glances back at Vietnam, shame set into the distinct way he avoids direct eye contact. ]
I really am sorry for wasting all of those ingredients, and your time. I can clean up the mess here, so don't worry about fixing up after me. I'll handle it.
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At least it didn't kill her!
He's so diligently cleaning after having thrown out his attempts, so she knows he's still keeping it together. He's not completely lost to the depths of despair so she hopes they can bake a successful cake soon! One that won't be a poison so no one will die. But with how his guilt is sinking in, it might not happen soon.
Vietnam steps up to him.] I think you still did well. You tried so hard. Everyone has to start somewhere. Don't think it all went to waste, okay? [She starts to rub is back, trying to soothe him, but suddenly stops and looks at her hands in horror.]
I haven't cleaned myself up yet, I just ruined your shirt!
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He hasn't even accounted for the thick veneer of baking powder and flour coating their clothes and smeared all over their arms, like they've started to metabolize into cooking ingredients themselves, one misstep away from turning into the nightmare of professional pastry chefs everywhere: amateurs. Horrifying.
Furthermore, this is exclusively Makoto's fault, and while he's grateful she doesn't pull her punches, it doesn't solve the present issue of the disaster site that the kitchen has become. Startling at the hand pressed reassuringly along his back, he nearly adds a bottle of vanilla extract to the mess, swiping up the bottle mid-fall and saving them from the tinkling crash of broken glass. ]
Don't mind me! I wasn't the one who ended up doused in flour.
[ You know, after he (nearly) freaked out and sent powder up in wispy clouds. Call him out for this terrible treatment, Vietnam. She deserves so much better.
With an off-kilter impulsiveness to his movements, he takes a wash towel and swabs what he can of her left arm, moving the next limb just as fast. ]
DIVES IN AGAIN OMG
He's so on edge that more things could've been broken. Thinking about it, she really needs to get him to stop doing things.
Although she does appreciate the gesture of him cleaning her arms, so she'll let him do that for now. If she keeps telling him to stop, he'll feel worse for what has already happened.
It was only when her other arm was clean now that she grabs both his hands, even with the towel still held, to stop him.]
Thank you, Makoto. You are too kind. But let's go do something else for now. To just, get a real break.
I DONT HAVE ANY CHILL
One of these days, Vietnam is bound to be exploited for the very same reason she indulges hopeless cases like Makoto as his expertise pertains to edible cooking, but he's more than glad to take her offer up with a small, abashed quirk of his mouth. ]
Alright. Is there anything you were in the mood for, Vietnam-san? We should do what you want to this time.
[ While he poses that fairly innocuous question on her, he scrubs away at the counter to the best of his ability, clearing out the rest of the flour and packages of ripped confectionary materials as casualties of their war on baking. If nothing else, they'd evaded a case of food poisoning. With any luck, they'll be able to end the day without either of them sent to the hospital for grievous injury. ]
WE DON'T NEED CHILL
But it's true, she'll get exploited for Makoto. Sure she's selective about who she is nice to, but once she is, it's so easy to do so. Makoto has her wrapped around his little finger. Just seeing him smile is already Enough.]
Hmm... [She could do all of this. Later. After he feels better. He's kind enough to make it her choice, but she knows it's because he still wants to repay her for her efforts.
But the point here is she's trying to cheer him up!]
Cat cafe. [That was easy.] Let's go to the cat cafe. I'll take us on my motorbike.
gives u all my ice cubes then??? every single ice cube now belongs 2 u :9
The one in town, right? I hear it just opened up, but I haven't had a chance to see it for myself yet.
[ A few seconds later, the rest of Vietnam's words breach his awareness. ]
Wait, your motorbike?
[ She's even a motorcyclist. At this rate, wonders will never cease. ]
whoa..are you saying i am now cool bLUSH
Yes. [She can quickly book a session! Which she will do on her phone now--there done. Thanks credit card.
That means that while she was so eagerly filling out the form so that they can go to the cat cafe (and lucky, since it's an odd hour, it's available!) she didn't notice that Makoto seems to be surprised by the fact that she can drive a motorcycle.]
Yes, my motorbike. A-ah, is it a problem? [She doesn't want to accidentally put him into danger.]
you've always bEEN COOL AND REFRESHING
And wow, he was just about to offer up his own credit card, but seeing how quickly she's taken care of the cat café reservation, he's forced to relegate himself to the status of beleaguered mooch. When prompted, Makoto waves his hands, his expression just that side of flustered. ]
No, it isn't! I just thought it sounded really cool.
[ SO, SO COOL ........ he has no experience when it comes to riding shotgun on a motorcycle, but they'll cross that bridge when they get there (probably). ]
Should we get going, then?
NO IT'S YOU!!!! SWOON
Exactly, this wasn't about how he could pay her back today. This is a reward for him because he tried so hard to bake something decent, and failed. But the fact is that he still gave it his all. It's that kind of effort which deserves the world.
But really, she's afraid he might think it too dangerous! A motorcycle!]
O-oh! I see, I will give you a helmet! And drive very safe. [She says it like this will help. Well, it possibly could, anyway. When they get there.]
But yes, let's! [She leads him to the motorcycle, parked just nearby, and takes one helmet for him. She's actually a Bad Girl and doesn't like riding with a helmet, but she did make the effort coming here. Don't worry, she has two.]
Here you are. [She offers him the helmet, and will help him secure it.]
SWOONS EVEN MORE, FALLS 2 THE FLOOR
[ Please, Vietnam, you have better ways to spend your time than doing charity work for this incorrigible mess of a guy who can't get his priority sorted out long enough to make a proper cake. Acting upon experience alone, that can be only indicative of the worst things. His hands can't even make something sweet enough for human consumption ... huh ...
Still, he doesn't doubt her finesse on the road, swerving through traffic the ways pros on the set of Tokyo Drift veer through traffic at top-notch speeds. Committing to the endeavor, he follows her on the expectation that they'll both exercise some caution before going fast and furious through the streets. Locking the helmet around his head, he obligingly allows her to secure the straps and carefully fit on the helmet without incurring head trauma. Tipping the visor up, he takes a gander at her motorcycle, which is just as intimidating as it looks. Tipping the window of the visor up, he's notably more sedate than he was when he was wreaking havoc in the kitchen. ]
Is there anything important I should remember while I'm riding with you?
[ You know, like distributing his equilibrium so he doesn't bring her crashing with him on a sharp turn, or send them whirling into a tailspin when he grapples around her waist too tightly. ]
OH NOOOO CATCHES YOU!!!!
catches u back ... holds your hand?!?!?!
SWINGS YOUR HAND ALONG AS WE WALK
why do i keep doing this 2 u ... LEAVE ME AND SAVE YOURSELF [makes sad airhorn noises]
NO I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU. EMBRACES UNTIL THE END OF TIME!!!!
embraces ..... back ..........
GLUED TOGETHER
ADDS MORE GLUE
NOW FOREVER!!!!
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amy, don't torture urself anymore w/ this thread [deadcat]
NO I MUST TAG YOU FOREVER
AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaa
HEHEHEHEH
eheheheHEHEHE
heeeheeeHEEHHEHEEH
HAPPY NEW YEARS AMY!!!!!!!!
HAPPY NEW YEARS REM!!!!!!!!!!
♥
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
!!!!
:>!!!!!!!!
:^)