Apr 17, 2021
(frank fic for anon)
it’s not like he really minds, honestly. the motions are familiar from repetition. if he closes his eyes, he can see his grandmother’s hands twist around a pair of chopsticks instead of his, see her mouth blow steam off the ladle and taste the sauce.
watch closely, fai, she had told him. and he had. he’d watched and learned and cooked it himself until she gave her nod of approval.
that had meant the world to him then, at eight. now that frank’s sixteen, he thinks that it would still be worth all the approval held in the world.