“Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me…”
Despite what happened recently, you couldn’t help but quietly sing. You must be insane to be okay after being nearly taken by Saeran.
You almost got kidnapped.
You. Almost. Got. Kidnapped.
Wait, did that really happen?
“I ain’t the sharpest tool in the sheeed.”
You took a quick glance at Seven. He’s still in that tiny corner, clicking and tapping away with his laptop(s). Trying to converse with him was pointless. No matter how many ideas your head were filled with, he’d either tell you to shove off or outright ignore your presence. And then to further his point, he’d make a show of adjusting his headphones over his ears and face the wall. You had your fair share of people ignoring you, but from Seven? You felt pretty empty.
So … one of the ideas you had. Food.
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?
It better be. If your prowess in baking was for naught, you’ll punch the window Mr. Kim just fixed earlier.
You took a deep breath and checked your station in the small kitchen. The meringue that you made from the egg whites were done, so the next step is adding the dry ingredients.
You reached for the almond meal and poured it into the sifter, along with the powdered sugar. Holding the sifter over the glass bowl of meringue, you realize you forgot one more thing.
A ghostly grin graced your lips. You still couldn’t believe it. After Yoosung said he had to be extremely nice to the “scary” convenience store owner, you just had to give it a shot. So you left the apartment and went over there. Who knew the owner had boxes of these hidden in the storage room? And all you had to do was charm him!
Laughing silently, you opened the bag and popped a couple of them in your mouth. It’s exactly like the sweet and salty rule Seven described.
After your short break, you took a small handful of the chips and grinded them into fine itty bitty bits before pouring them into the sifter. It was a bit difficult since the oil from the chips clumped some parts together. Maybe you should’ve used a paper towel to soak up the oil beforehand. Oh well. You sifted and shook until all three powdered-ingredients were depleted.
Taking out the rubber spatula, you mixed. Not overmix (god forbid), but you stirred until they were combined.
The macaronage was now done and boy did it look fantastic. You held the rubber spatula high above the bowl and watched the batter drip in such a languid manner. Mm, yeah. Look at that golden beige color. It looked like the sun. It looked like … it kinda looked like Seven’s beautiful eyes—
T-time to stuff the macaronage into the piping bag! Doing so, you hovered over the baking sheet and squeezed the right amounts of batter into each marked circle.
Now to let the surfaces dry before putting them in the oven.
You unconsciously peeked at Seven again. Hnnn, that bastard won’t talk to you…!
Would texting work? Calling?
Wiping your hands on your apron, you snatched your phone from the counter. Your thumbs tapped on his icon and you waited.
His phone rung a good three times before he huffed and leaned over to pick up. You traced the outer rim of a stray plate in anticipation.
“I told you not to talk to me, but now you’re calling me?”
“Ugh, why do you always just … what do you want?” he grunted.
You, tee hee! As if you’d say that.
“Take a break,” you found yourself saying, tapping the plate’s side. It jerked closer to the counter’s edge with each tap.
“What?” He doesn’t even bother to turn around.
“Seven, you ain’t deaf. You heard me. Take a break, eat something. It’s past noon already. I’ll get the leftover sushi.”
“You say that, but I don’t care. C’mon, eat.”
"Can’t you eat on your own?”
The plate is slightly teetering. Your hand twitched.
“Hey, that’s what you said last time. You have to eat. Listen to me for once.”
“Why don’t you listen to me? Leave me alone. I need to focus. You don’t want to keep being in danger, do you?”
A surge of irritation raced in your veins. You’ve been having enough of his behavior for the past two days. Yet you never physically showed it. But this is the last straw—
“I told you to stop worrying about me.”
You finally snapped. Your sudden burst of anger caused your hand to slam the edge of the plate. It flipped into the air, whisking past your ear and shattered upon contact with the wall. You momentarily squeezed your eyes at the booming crash that echoed throughout the apartment.
Oh. Oh now he turns around.
“Crap, I-I didn’t mean…,” you stuttered. “My god, I’m so stu—”
“God, why would you—? Don’t move,” he ordered. He threw his phone to the side and scrambled up. “I’m coming to you.”
This scene is all too familiar, you thought as you watched Seven put his shoes on. The broken shards lying around you, a man telling you not to move. A man coming to get you. White hair with a pair of turquoise eyes flashed in your mind. You forced the dark thought away.
“Just throw me a pair of shoes and a broom,” you sighed, grimacing at your own actions. “Don’t need to worry about me, right? I’m sorry for giving you more work—Seven, just get me a broom! It’s in that cabinet over there.”
“I’m not going to leave you there,” he retaliated with narrowed eyes. “Just stay still. There’s glass everywhere…”
“What are you…?” Seven eyes widened in horror as you prepared yourself. “N-no, wait!”
Summoning the strength in your leg, you stepped forward and leaped high above the shards. Seven yelled in alarm as hands instinctively reached for you, his face filled with shock and disbelief.
He caught you in his arms. Just not the way you expected. You basically did a body slam that sent the both of you down on the floor, tumbling away from the mess. Your face was planted in his chest and … you could hear his heart. It was beating so fast!
“Thanks for being a cushion,” you blabbed as you scrambled off of him. He groaned, sitting up to glare at you.
“You’re so reckless,” the hacker scowled, adjusting his crooked glasses. “What if you slipped and fell? Never do that again, understand?”
“Well, I’m no longer in the danger zone, right?” you attempted to joke. But you can already tell it didn’t work judging by the way Seven’s stare is boring into yours. You discreetly squirmed.
“I’m gonna clean up,” you coughed. “Again, I’m sorry for interrupting your work.”
“I said I’ll help you,” he snapped. “Get the brooms so we can start. But make it quick.”
It’s a lovely miracle. The both of you swept the shards into the dustpans. Actually, you’re the one doing most of the work. Seven looked so annoyed when his broom didn’t work the way he wanted it to.
“This is what happens when you let that Mary Vanderwood do all the work,” you laughed lightly, attempting to lift the mood. “Cleaning glass is not easy.”
After every piece was gone, Seven went back to put the supplies away while you went back to the kitchen. Only to be reminded of your unfinished macarons. You choked on air and practically pounced at the tray, kneeling down so your chin rested on the counter. Your eyes darted wildly back and forth, scrutinizing within every second as you checked your babies. To be sure, you touched their surfaces. Dry, and not sticky to the touch. There doesn’t seem to be any glass in there, thank god.
“Thank god,” you repeated hoarsely.
“What?” Seven’s back. He’s staring at you with confusion. “What are you doing?”
“…I’m making something.” You stood up after a moment of hesitance. “I’m making uh, I mean, baking … doyawanhelpmebake?”
“I can’t understand you.”
You steeled yourself. “Do…you want to help me bake?”
Seven’s eyes hardened and you felt your shoulders slump down with a heavy feeling. Oh god, were you seriously that disappointed? It was obvious his answer was no, considering the amount of work he had, but you only wanted the best for him. He just needed to loosen up!
“A-ah,” you stuttered, “never mind, forget I asked—”
“Fine!” he suddenly groaned. “Just don’t … stop giving me that look. You’re making my chest feel weird.”
Although it was a brief one, you smiled in victory.
“So?” Seven shuffled around in the kitchen, inspecting the cookies. “What do I do?”
“After I put these in the oven,” you started in a small voice, "we’ll make the PhD jam.”
His brows furrowed. “PhD jam…? Wait, what are you making?”
Well, the jig is up. You were planning to make these on your own, then present the treats to him. But now that’s not happening. “I’m making macarons,” you stated. You opened the oven and placed the tray inside, cranking the switch to the right temperature.
“What are macarons?” he questioned.
“A dessert that originated from France. All sorts of flavors, really. But I’m making a new flavor: Honey Buddha-flavored macarons with PhD jam. I got the chips from the owner.”
"You…,” it took him a moment to find his words, “how did you bribe the owner?”
“I didn’t. Just used my feminine charms,” you wheezed, smiling blearily at the memory. “Good times, good times.”
Seven apparently didn’t think so. “Y-you did what? No, never do that—do you do this with every guy you come across?”
You squinted. “Dang, Seven. You think I’m that kind of woman?” you sniffled indignantly. “That was nothing. I only like you, no one else.” You opened the refrigerator to take out the bottle of PhD along with a yellow lemon, bumping the door closed with your hip as you did so.
It wasn’t until you were aware he didn’t say anything that you realized what you just said. You didn’t even notice! It was like you were programmed to say that…
You calmly placed the bottle on the counter and glanced at him. Dear lord, he looked so flustered! “…Get me the saucepan,” you hurried. “No, not the mixing bowl. The saucepan’s under the stove right there.”
Correcting himself, Seven grabbed it and placed it in front of you. He watched as you opened the bottle and poured half of it in. “Right,” you began as you screwed the cap on, “so to make the jam, I need some lemon juice"—you gestured at the citrus with your head—"and sugar. So make sure to put the pan in the sink so we don’t spill it everywhere. You pour the sugar in while I get the lemon juice, yeah?” You lowered the saucepan into the sink and Seven hovered over.
“How much do I put in?” he questioned, grabbing the bag of sugar.
“Hm, I think about three and a half,” you said absentmindedly.
“Never made PhD jam before, but the that’s the sensible amount. I guess. I dunno, that’s how I learned. Whenever I bake something new, I experiment and take risks. If it doesn’t work out, I can always try again. Anyway, maybe four cups if you wanna make it sweeter, but I wouldn’t go that far. Three and a half it is. Go on, put it in.”
And then you realized he didn’t know how much three and a half was.
“I’ll get the measuring cup,” you said awkwardly. This must be his first time baking. You would use your instincts when measuring amounts.
As Seven scooped up sugar, you watched with hidden joy. You were having so much fun showing him the ropes. You wondered if a moment like this could happen again. Him not being a prick. Him not saying you’re being a bother.
After finishing the jam, you took the cookies out of the oven with gloves. They’re light golden. Just like Rika’s hair from what you’ve seen in photos.
Seven stared at the tray with interest. “So these are macarons,” he muttered.
“Not yet. But they’re so cute, right? See, they have these things called ‘feet’. It’s right under there, those little ridges. If you see them, then you definitely made them right,” you grinned, smiling fondly the treats. “Anyway, I put these on a wire rack so they’ll cool down. So while we wait for that, try tasting the jam for yourself.”
With a spoon, you scooped the jam from the saucepan and held it out to him. He took it and analyzed the black mush you called PhD jam.
“I know it looks like burned crap, but try it!”
“Later,” he muttered with disinterest.
“Wow, no. You’re gonna eat that and tell me how it tastes. I’ll force feed you if you don’t.”
He brushed his red hair behind his ears and ate it. Then he dropped the spoon because he started choking.
“Shit!” you gasped, rushing to him and pounded on his back. “Seven!”
After what seemed like an eternity, he deeply inhaled and coughed. you sighed in relief and stepped back. “So I’m guessing you didn’t like it very much?”
“No, it wasn’t that,” he said. “I just choked on my own spit.”
“My god. Here, have some water.”
After that mini incident, you showed him when and how to peel off the cookies from the baking sheet. If the cookies are completely cooled, that’s when you carefully peel them off. If they’re still wet in the middle, they need more time to bake in the oven.
“See, you’re doing it,” you cheered as you stuffed the jam into the piping bag, proud of his work. You see a tiny smile threatening to spill from his mouth as he gingerly peeled the last ones. “Isn’t it fun?”
“…Sure,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t the greatest response, but hey! At least he’s not mad or completely pushing you away.
“Okay, let’s start putting them together. Watch me first.” You held up a cookie in one hand and the piping bag in the other. “So you squeeze the piping bag … right at the center,” you demonstrated. “Then you just put the other cookie on just like that and you’re done! This is a macaron. Huh, it looks like a hamburger. Your turn.”
He squinted and awkwardly held the piping bag in a funny position. “Like this?” he mumbled.
"No.” You reached forward and placed your hands on his. He flinched and looked at you quizzically, but you ignored him and guided his hands. “Hold it so that the thick part of the bag rests on your palm. Then squeeze it gently. Yeah, just like that. Alright, I’m going to let go. See, you got—oh. Nope, never mind.”
He narrowed his eyes and tried again. “Like this?”
It was adorable, honestly, the way he asked for your consent.
“Much better,” you praised. “Alright, now let’s the finish the rest.”
‘It’s done!“ you exclaimed. "God, it’s finally done!”
If you were by yourself, things would’ve gone so much faster. Not that you mind. “Wasn’t that fun?” you tilted your head with a small smirk.
“It wasn’t bad,” he said.
“Okay, let’s eat!” You picked one up and Seven slowly did the same. “Toast!” you smiled cheerfully.
Seven quizzically raised his brows at your enthusiasm. "Toast,” he said simply.
You practically inhaled your macaron and gazed intently at Seven, who slowly took a bite. He chewed it thoughtfully. Does he like it? Yes? No?
A small smile from him confirmed your answer.
Merry Christmas to a tumblr user, @satoooooomi_hannalu! I’m late, but uh, I finished…? And a big apology to @mm-secretsanta.tumblr because I said I would turn it in on the twenty-first, but I was six days late.
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