❝ I promise it’s not as bad as you think! ❞
Whatever apprehension resides in her new companion’s expression she misconstrues as concern for the state of her home. The fact he might take issue with being invited there at all is a subject she seldom gives rise to consider. It’s simply a second nature to her now, to share what she has with the world, without question and almost certainly with no grand slither of expectation. They couldn’t cook without a kitchen and what better a locale than her own?
It may have escaped his attention but resources were not so plentifully available in her little corner of the world as they may have been in his own. Yet that stuttered query of concern gives rise to the pausing of her footsteps, the drop of her hand shaking off the previously insistent tug to retreat back towards herself, with the faintest pang of embarrassed heat searing its way into her cheeks. ❝Oh. Well…I mean…I didn’t really think of it like that. We tend to share what we have down here, that’s all. So it seemed right to invite you. It’s just polite isn’t it? I wasn’t trying to overstep, and I mean it’s not like you’re a serial killer is it? But I can see how it might be…a little unorthodox maybe…❞
In a flustered babble of chatter Aerith shifts, suddenly all the more acutely aware of her own faux pas and overeager desire to clutch at the fledgling shoots of a brand new friendship. There’s a conscious effort to keep her distance then, even as he follows despite his own protestation. It’s awkward for lack of a better word, but she appreciates the conversation none the less for filling the otherwise cringe worthy exchange she herself had orchestrated.
❝Mhm! We made a pretty good pavlova to be fair, which I think she was proud of me for. It’s just actual meals that are evading me. When there’s so many steps, so many flavours, so many colours…it’s easy to get distracted you know? And then I forget the hob was on, or the oven needed checking because I’d gotten too engrossed in how to make marzipan roses or something daft.❞ It sounds downright ridiculous to admit it aloud, much less to a relative stranger, but maybe there’s a safe kind of sanctuary in the honesty of it all. She wants to do better. Tries to, even - yet the battle is a constant uphill struggle to pay attention to a thousand and one thoughts forever swirling in her head.
❝That one. The last part. I want to do with food, what I do with flowers. I want to take all that appreciation, that gratitude and shared compassion and just pour it into something edible that isn’t cremated at the edges or unexpectedly still raw. ❞
Were he to be completely upfront and honest, he wasn’t USED to this level of hospitality. Rather, he was a terribly hospitable man HIMSELF, always giving more than taking and expecting absolutely nothing back, in return, but in his world, everyone sought to GAIN. More money, lavish possessions, or a reputation that looked pretty on paper right alongside the many sleek suits and glimmering trinkets to their name. If they weren’t looking for ways to BENEFIT off of one another, they were, just as feverishly, looking for ways to usurp and conquer.
The hands that fed and bolstered could, just as quickly, be the ones driving the knife into someone’s backside.
To see her so flustered and concerned, then, by his fluctuating comfort made him feel strangely inclined to reassure her, like that divide betwixt their lifestyles needn’t be thrust into the spotlight any further than it already had been.
For a touch longer, he merely lingers behind, silent and observant as he trails at a fraction of a distance to gauge the appropriateness of his next action. He’s still LISTENING, of course, but as he increases his speed, just slightly, to match hers, he reaches for her hand to hold within his own.
He should hold onto her . . . he thinks . . . for it is RARE to come across one as vibrant a guiding light as she.
“ Cooking is an art, as much as a skill. Even I have gotten carried away in the aesthetic potential of a dish. It looked exhibit worthy, but, goodness, did the FLAVOR leave much to be desired. “ The true challenge came with finding that happy medium betwixt making it taste good, AND look good. The initial appeal of a dish came with its presentation--- the first impressions, the catching of an eye. Of course, SOME delicacies could not be prettied up no matter how much effort went into attempting. He’d learned that the hard way, and it was a lesson he would instill unto her once he gauged her present skillset. “ We must all start somewhere, no ? Let us dedicate our initial focus to enhancing what you can already do, and then, we may dabble in the artistic side of the culinary world. “
Turning to smile at her, he gives her hand a gentle, albeit reassuring squeeze. “ You are in good hands with me. I promise you will be making dishes, rich in love and flavor, in due time. “
