@strikingheaven [ x ]
There is a feeling of pure contentment as she nods her head and watches Tifa disappear to get the ingredients they’ll need to make this meal. She has always been of the mind that food tastes better when it’s been made by someone else, and even now she still believes that is true.
During the moments Tifa is away, she reflects on that smile Tifa gave her and the reluctance to actually leave—something she doesn’t need to mull over too much about because somehow she knows the reason behind it. There’s no blame here, no from her, and Aerith would wait for however long needed if Tifa wanted to stay and be in the same room, in the same space, as her.
It happens so suddenly, and so briefly, but that overwhelming feeling comes over and threatens to pull her under, but Aerith manages to shake it off before Tifa returns and looks delighted at all the ingredients that will be used. Eagerness is an understatement as she slides off her stool and walks behind the counter, venturing into the space that only Tifa and a few select others have had the privilege to be.
She remembers how much Tifa enjoyed cooking, always delighted to eat anything she made and was always left satisfied. The hunger she’s feeling begins to grow a little more with each passing minute, but it helps to keep occupied.
“Tell me what to do, chef!”
She can’t help the wink she gives Tifa as she picks up the appropriate knife for the job and takes one of the cutting boards. It’s muscle memory at this point, but she doesn’t mind following Tifa’s directions. While she’d not been much of a cook back then, Elmyra would occasionally let her help out in the kitchen with things that didn’t require handling boiling hot water, frying oil, or sharp cooking utensils. She remembers fond memories of helping her mother stir cake batter in the large mixing bowl, or using the ice cream scoop when preparing either anything sweet or savoury that required the use of muffin tins.
Aerith had always been more comfortable cultivating the fruits, and vegetables, of her labour that would get used in the kitchen for meals rather than actually cooking them. This, in itself, as she slices through the tomatoes, a little unevenly, is just another way of working with her hands. The skin of the fruit is as familiar to her as breathing. When she cuts into the leaf of lettuce, it’s the same thing; the crispness is one she remembers all too well. Before she knows it, her part of the preparation is done.
She sneaks a piece of a tomato from the cutting board—a piece that would be too small for the burger, and pops it into her mouth.
The taste is as she remembers it, but there seems to be a brighter vibrance to it than there had been before.
Maybe something to do with coming back from death—or the hunger that never seems to go away. Either way, she slips back to the other side of the bar and, making sure that the lettuce and tomatoes weren’t too far from Tifa’s work station, and hops back onto the stool. She leans on the counter, elbows propped up, hands curled under her chin as she looks on both expectantly and in awe as she gets to have a private viewing of Tifa’s cooking.
“Have I ever told you that you are one of the best cooks in all of Gaia?”
Her eyes gleam with mirth and excitement and she can’t help but let her legs swing a little, adding to that happiness she feels that has since levelled out the overwhelming sensation from before.
