Chapter Text
Soren frowned at the mess others would call architecture, and wondered why he even bothered. Pausing for a second, he fished out the print-out from his backpack to confirm its contents. Indeed it was just as he remembered it — Room 221C. Cooking Lessons for the Starving University Student. Saturdays at 10:00 AM. Soren felt the name was a little on-the-nose, but it was close, convenient, and most importantly free.
Not that he really needed cooking lessons in the first place.
If Soren had a choice, he’d rather stay in his room and read unassigned textbook chapters, sustenance be damned. It wasn’t like he had a big appetite to begin with; he could easily survive on dry rations and tap water. But when his mother stopped by for a surprise visit during winter break, she had been so horrified by his eating habits that she had insisted on staying with him for the rest of his school year.
Soren grimaced at the thought. He applied to an out-of-state university to get away from his overbearing mother, so giving her any reason to stick around was not an option. It had taken hours to calm her hysteria and even longer to convince her that he would be fine on his own.
The cooking lessons were a compromise. She wouldn’t take him out of school as long as he provided daily proof that he was eating well.
Backing out was never an option, horrible architecture be damned.
Finally, Soren spotted a door that blended in with the concave stairwell (why anyone would design such a hallway was beyond him). He felt himself relax as he confirmed the room number: 221C. The first step to this meaningless ordeal was over.
Carefully turning the doorknob, Soren slipped into the back of the room and took note of his surroundings. The parallel counters, the perpendicular aisles, and the evenly spaced windows on the eastern wall led him to believe that another, more competent architect had designed the room. Each station came with a stove, pristine countertops, and miniature refrigerators that went up to his thigh. Soren reckoned this was where all his tuition was going to.
He quickly moved to an unoccupied counter towards the back of the class, claiming it for himself. The room was fairly empty at the moment, but Soren was a little early and he had no idea how many people would come. Shrugging out of his winter jacket, he settled down and observed the others.
Directly in front of him were two men who seemed to be arguing in low voices. The one with long, blonde hair and delicate features had an unyielding expression as he spoke. His partner, muscular with a face adorned with scars, looked rather unenthused as he flashed a devil-may-care smile.
A little further up stood a woman with wispy brown hair. Her posture was straight and rigid as she scoured through what appeared to be handmade notes. Despite her disciplined appearance, there was a clumsiness to her movements as she inspected her tools, clearly out of her element.
In the same row, a girl dressed in lilac stared listlessly ahead, looking like she was about to collapse from anemia. She appeared to be muttering something under her breath but Soren couldn’t hear anything from where he stood.
Standing at the very front of the classroom were two young men in the middle of a conversation. While both of them had similar facial features, they were as different as night and day. One of them had green hair which stood up like a broom and an honest (albeit simple) face.The other one looked more refined — sporting a mild smile while wearing a crisp, white apron. When Soren’s eyes met his, he excused himself from the conversation and made his way towards Soren’s station.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but would you happen to be Soren?” He asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” Soren replied tersely.
The man’s smile widened. “That’s a relief, I’m glad you made it here. I’ve been told the room is a little hard to find.”
Soren must have shirked at the attempt at small-talk, as the man faltered for a moment before he continued. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Oscar, a third year food sciences student, and the president of this club. I just wanted to thank you for signing up.”
Oscar paused, as if expecting Soren to respond in some way. Soren responded with a stern stare.
“I-I’m not sure how much you know about this club so I’ll give you a brief run through of what we do here,” Oscar said, quickly regaining his composure. “Each week we’ll be trying something new. Apologies but signing up is mandatory since the ingredients and recipe will be provided to you for free at the start of every class.”
“You don’t need to reiterate. I was aware of this before I signed up.” Soren replied coolly. “Class will begin with a demonstration, followed by a practical session where you will provide individual guidance.”
“That’s... correct,” Oscar said, looking more surprised than offended at Soren’s interruption. “Erm… Regarding the practical session, since most students are complete beginners who also need my help, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to answer your questions on the spot. Because of that, I’ll be pairing you up with a more experienced member for the first few sessions. Is that alright with you?”
Soren’s eyes narrowed at the thought of a partner but ultimately nodded in reply.
“Great, it’s a pleasure having you here, Soren.” Oscar smiled and returned to his position in the front of the classroom.
With this, Soren felt the tension ease in his shoulders. Oscar’s description closely matched his expectations - the only real variable Soren couldn’t account for was his partner. Pondering for a moment, Soren determined that the situation was still acceptable: he’d be free of them after a few sessions, and Soren could bear with that. As long as the instructor didn’t turn out to be completely inept, he could make peace with spending his Saturday mornings here.
“Alright, it’s 10 o’clock so let’s get started,” Oscar spoke, directing everyone’s attention to the front of the class.
“Last week I was challenged to make a meal out of ingredients commonly found in the university student’s fridge, and finally the results of the poll are in. It turns out, most of your fridges are full of beer, microwavable dinners, instant noodles, and eggs.” Oscar smiled wryly. “Honestly, I wonder how you all survive.”
The broom-haired man snickered and Soren resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“That’s why we’ll be making a simple egg dish that will hopefully inspire you to add some variety to your meals. Today, we’ll be learning to make omelettes-”
“Unhand me! I will not permit disgrace in front of my greatest rival!”
The door swung open at that moment to reveal a girl and a boy, dragging along a young man who was struggling wildly (to no avail).
Soren looked distastefully at the latecomers, taking in their appearances. The girl, who was a little out of breath, had blue eyes, brown hair, and a sweet countenance. The boy standing beside her was much larger in stature, with a head of blue hair and steady blue eyes. He gripped the back of the loud man’s shirt, hoisting him off the ground like he weighed nothing. Soren paused. He couldn’t help but feel like the blue-haired boy looked familiar somehow.
The girl smiled apologetically. “Sorry, we’re late again! A certain someone overslept. ”
“That’s alright, Mist. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting Ike to show up.” Oscar said, bemused, as he looked at the blue-haired boy.
“Oscar, there’s no way we wouldn’t be here to support you,” Ike said. “But sleeping in is on me, my bad.”
“Oscar! My one true archrival, I have arrived to challenge you to yet another duel!” The dangling man all but shouted, kicking his feet as if treading air would help him out of his predicament.
“Hi, Kieran. Still hanging in there, huh?” Oscar smiled.
“We picked him up along the way,” Mist said. “Looks like he got lost again.”
“I shall not be bested by these halls!”
Ike took that as a sign and dropped Kieran unceremoniously to the ground. Undeterred, the fiery idiot leapt back to his feet with astounding energy, and was about to assault Soren’s eardrums once more when Oscar spoke up. “Kieran, class has already begun. The sooner you get to your station, the sooner we can have our duel, right?
“As expected of my archrival!” Kieran turned and obediently walked towards an empty station near the front of the room. Ike and Mist shrugged out of their winter jackets and joined him, walking towards the broom-haired man.
After scanning the room to make sure everyone had settled in, Oscar cleared his throat in attention. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin. Can everyone gather around the front for the demonstration?”
Soren briskly made his way to Oscar’s cooking station, but being a person of short stature stationed towards the back of the room, he quickly found himself walled out by the larger members of the crowd. Soren cleared his throat loudly (and unsubtly) but the walls of meat stayed ever still. He was about to start pushing when he heard someone speak up.
“Hey Boyd, move over for a sec.” Soren looked in the direction of the voice and met Ike’s eyes.
“Huh?” The broom-haired man (Boyd), turned to look at Ike before noticing Soren standing behind him. “Oh, sorry about that! You should’ve said something, sheesh.”
Soren responded with a chilling glare before pushing his way into the small gap Boyd created. Settling into position near the front with the rest of the vertically challenged, Soren glanced up at Ike and found him amicably conversing with the blonde man. After a moment’s hesitation, Soren stayed his tongue and turned his attention back to Oscar.
“Alright, let’s begin,” Oscar said, after confirming each member’s presence. “The first step to any type of cooking is in the preparation of the ingredients. With the omelette, it’s very simple. All you’ll need is two eggs and some seasoning if you happen to be on a budget. Of course, many of you will want to put things inside your omelette, so that’s where we’ll begin.”
Soren stood there with apt attention, pointedly ignoring the rigid woman’s furious notetaking.
“Before you do anything else, you’ll need to start with your filling. To simplify things we’ll be using ham, mushroom, and onions — though most other things would work fine. If you have any dietary concerns, feel free to omit items as you see fit.”
Soren looked at the set of ingredients placed onto Oscar’s station and ignored how the blonde man glared at the ham like it had personally offended him.
“We’ve already prepared the quantity needed, but as a general rule of thumb, you’ll want to have a 1/3 cup of filling for every two eggs,” Oscar said. “Can everyone in the back see? I’ll begin the demonstration now.”
The scarred man flashed an ok sign and Boyd grinned, while Ike remained impassive. Oscar must have taken that as an affirmation as he washed the mushrooms and peeled the onions before placing the meat and vegetables onto separate cutting boards.
With quick and nimble movements, he diced the meat and onions into perfect cubes and cut the mushrooms into thin slices. Once the three piles of chopped ingredients were ready, he added a dollop of butter to the frying pan, filling the air with its mellow scent.
Soren did his best to take in the rest of the details, but it became quite apparent that Oscar was a master of his craft. His simple yet fluid movements produced a perfect, fluffy omelette within what felt like minutes.
“Ready to give it a try? Remember, don’t worry about doing everything perfectly and take your time. We have this room booked until 2:00 PM.”
The lilac-clothed girl beside Soren raised a shaky hand.
“Yes Ilyana, you can eat the sample, as always,” Oscar said, bemused.
Ilyana looked up at Oscar with worship before gingerly taking the finished omelette back to her station.
As the crowd dispersed, Soren returned to his station and leafed through the recipe. After confirming its contents, he began preparing the two different vegetables. Just as he finished washing the mushrooms, he heard the sound of steadily approaching footsteps. Looking up, he saw Ike standing by his station.
“...Can I help you?” Soren asked dryly.
“You’re Soren right?”
“Yes.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Ike. Oscar should’ve mentioned it to you, but I’ll be your station partner for the next while.”
Soren took a moment to size Ike up. Honestly, it could’ve been worse. If his partner had been Kieran, Soren might not have been able to last the hour. Making peace with the arrangement, Soren nodded and turned back to peel his onions.
Ike watched Soren’s movements for a bit before starting on his own omelette. Soren glanced at him from the corner of his eye as Ike washed his vegetables. Ike’s movements were rough and unpracticed; with a slip of the hand, he accidentally took off an extra couple of layers from his onion.
Soren did his best to ignore his temporary station partner’s clumsy movements, focusing instead on thinly slicing his mushrooms. He noted the sharpness of the knife as it easily sank into the cap, cutting into the stalk. After a few uneven slices, Soren frowned and quickly adjusted his strategy. Slowing down, he carefully aligned the knife to the appropriate thickness before sending it down resolutely.
“I’d offer to help but it doesn’t look like you need it.” Soren nearly dropped a mushroom at the sudden statement. He turned around and saw Ike looking over his shoulder with interest. “I think you’re better than most people in this room combined.”
Soren snorted in disbelief. Ike shook his head and continued. “No, seriously. I’m pretty good at cutting stuff but I’m all strength and no delicacy, as Mist calls it. Mist, on the other hand, overcooks everything she touches. Her meatloaf tastes more like brick.”
“Ike, shut up!” An egg came flying Ike’s way, which he dodged with surprising precision. Having missed, Mist stuck out her tongue before turning back in an attempt to salvage her burning butter.
“Sisters.” Ike snorted, cleaning up the shattered egg.
Soren stared at his onions, ignoring this new information. The onions were tricky, and Soren needed to concentrate before tackling them. He recalled the way Oscar skillfully handled the vegetable and decided to mimic his movements. The moment Soren’s knife cut through the crisp flesh, a pungent, spicy smell assaulted him. Soren ignored the chemical irritant, but the brief lapse in concentration caused him to completely slice off a sliver of onion.
Soren glared at the onion like it was the enemy (and in some ways, it was). That single sliver had prevented him from achieving the same effect Oscar had. Nonetheless, Soren pushed onward, cutting the vegetable into equal slivers before doubling back, making similar, perpendicular cuts. Due to mistakes, they weren’t perfect cubes, but ultimately Soren’s pile of diced onion looked passable.
Taking a break from scrutinizing his onions, Soren glanced over at Ike’s station which had somehow turned into a battlefield within minutes. With an incredibly serious expression on his face, Ike wielded the knife as if the vegetables had murdered his father and he was out for revenge. Knife cuts went deep into the cutting board, scraps scattered onto the tiled floor, and in the midst of it Ike had somehow managed to cut both cleanly and precisely.
The corner of Soren’s mouth twitched. If Ike was considered an experienced member, he thoroughly dreaded the others’ performances.
Taking a quick look around, Soren saw Ilyana passed out on the floor, the stern woman (who Soren still didn’t know the name of) bandaging multiple cuts on her fingers with the help of Oscar, Mist starting over after prematurely burning her butter, Boyd teasing her about it and getting punched in the stomach, and Kieran shouting nonsense. The only people cooking normally were the two men in front of him, and one of them kept trying to sneak ham onto the cutting board while the other kept batting it away. Suddenly Soren felt like Ike’s praise wasn’t just meaningless posturing.
Regardless, Soren set his focus back to his station. The ham was easy compared to the onion, and soon he was ready to cook his filling. Soren turned on the stove and waited for the pan to heat up when suddenly a tower of fire erupted from a station up front. Kieran shouted his usual spiel about losing to his rival while Oscar calmly retrieved the fire extinguisher, but otherwise, the others remained unfazed.
“That always happens, but the classroom hasn’t burned down yet,” Ike said mildly.
“That is very reassuring.” Soren deadpanned as he added a scoop of butter into his pan. The soft mass sizzled quietly before melting on the heated metal. Soren quickly added the diced onions and waited for them to brown. The fragrance of fried onions filled the air, as he tossed in his ham and mushrooms.
“That smells good.”
Soren looked up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and saw the scarred man staring longingly at his pan.
“Tibarn, looks like you’re settling in well.” Ike nodded, addressing the man.
“Ike! Quick, you gotta help me!” Tibarn said. “Reyson’s trying to convert me into one of those.”
“Look, I just wanted you to try some vegetarian food for once. Is that really so hard?” Reyson (Soren presumed) snapped, holding the spatula like a spear.
“Yes.” Tibarn said empathically. “You don’t understand. For people like me, meat is love, meat is life. Ike gets it, doesn’t he?”
“It’s true, I do like meat.” Ike nodded sagely.
“Tibarn Birdperson Phonoecis, you promised me you’d try it,” Reyson said, a steely tinge to his voice. “If you love meat so much, I hope you’re prepared to spend some time on the couch for it.”
“Oh? Somehow I doubt that.” Tibarn flashed a seductive grin. The two stared at each other for a solid minute with no sign of either side relenting. It was Soren who broke the silence.
“Ike, your mushrooms are burning.”
“Ah crud.”
And with that, the spell broke and both stations went back to their cooking. As Soren watched Ike fuss over his mushrooms, he cracked open his eggs and carefully picked out the stray pieces of shell. After he was satisfied, he beat them until the yolk and whites became indistinguishable. Seasoning with salt and pepper, Soren prepared to start making his omelette.
The moment the block of butter touched the pan, Soren knew that he messed up. The pan had overheated due to his inattentiveness and the butter was on the verge of burning. Quickly, Soren poured in his egg mixture, the pan sizzling from the heat.
But the problems didn’t stop there.
The pan was heavy, and his wrists were weak. He had a precious few seconds before the egg firmed up but his jerky movements made the spread of the egg uneven. Soren frowned. There were going to be holes in his omelette.
“Need a hand?” Before Soren could reply, Ike reached out and steadied his shaking hand with his own. The erratic flow of the egg mixture stabilized and spread evenly across the pan.
Soren jerked away from his touch.
“Woah! Soren, are you okay?” Ike fumbled with the pan, almost falling over in the process. Amidst Soren’s fear and annoyance, he felt a flash of guilt.
“Sorry, it’s my fault,” Ike said, suddenly serious. “I shouldn’t have done that before asking for your permission. I won’t do it again.”
Surprised by Ike’s candid apology, Soren searched his eyes for traces of mockery but, to his surprise, he found none. “...It’s fine.” Soren muttered, feeling the tension ease slightly from his shoulders.
Unwilling to dwell on the moment, Soren gripped the handle of his pan again and regained his bearings. After hesitating for an instant, he quickly added the filling to the center of the egg mixture. The hardest part was yet to come.
Soren carefully tilted the pan to one side and used his spatula to fold a third of the omelette over the middle. His wrists wobbled with the effort but they managed to hold.
Finally, he positioned the pan above his serving plate and tilted, both hands clutching the handle. The omelette fell, folding itself onto the plate. It wasn’t perfect. The egg was a little overcooked, the patterns on the surface showed how uneven the mixture was spread, it wasn’t symmetrical in the least and some of it hung off the plate, but all in all, it looked like an omelette.
Soren looked at his dish and felt a faint sense of accomplishment. It was an imperfect, disposable product that held no significance or meaning, but he had made it, and it was his.
“Next time I’ll tell Oscar to get you a smaller pan. It’ll be easier on your wrists.” Soren turned to see Ike looking at his station with apt attention, ceasing the preparation of his own omelette. From his posture, Soren supposed that Ike would have stepped in if had he seen him struggling again.
Soren regarded Ike as he turned back towards his own neglected omelette with a frown. Soren had met many “helpful” people in his life, but their "help" always came with strings attached. He could recognize when kind words were used to push an agenda, or when charity bled into self-righteousness, but Ike was a bit of a mystery. There was no reason for him to extend that care and consideration towards Soren, especially given Soren’s unfriendly demeanor, but he did so anyway. Suddenly, all Soren could think of was Ike’s warm hand around his own.
“Thank you for helping me,” Soren said quietly, before his brain had even registered the words.
Ike paused his movements and turned towards Soren. And like that, he smiled — an honest, idyllic smile devoid of all falsity and ulterior motives. Soren found himself basking in its warmth. “Now we’re even. You helped me with the mushrooms first.”
Soren nodded numbly and looked away. By the time he had finished collected his thoughts, Ike had finished his omelette (although using the word “omelette” was a bit of a stretch). Looking around, the others had put the finishing touches on their dishes as well.
Oscar began traversing the aisles, giving advice and comments as he passed.
“There’s no need to be nervous in the kitchen, Tanith. Cooking takes a lot of practice so don’t worry about messing up.”
“I’ll work harder...” The brown-haired woman (Tanith) said with a sigh, as she washed her bloodstained cutting board.
“Ilyana, are you okay? Did you manage to get some cooking done today?” Oscar bent down and asked the girl faceplanted onto the floor.
“Hngh… so… hungry...” She groaned.
“... I’ll make you something after class is over.”
“Kieran...” Oscar looked at the charcoal mess on the plate in front of him, and then back at the fiery redhead standing behind the countertop that had been utterly decimated with scratches, burn marks, and foam.
“My eternal rival! Today I am forced to admit defeat, but rest assured, I will rise to cross spatulas with you again!” Kieran shouted with great, unabashed enthusiasm.
“...Thank the Goddess you’re simple.”
“Did you say something, my archrival?”
“No, nothing.”
“Um, Mist? Why does it look like you tried making an omelette using only one egg?”
Mist simply sent a glare in Ike’s direction.
“Boyd, just because we’re related doesn’t mean you don’t have to try.” Oscar frowned at the sloppy mess of an omelette. The omelette had no shape whatsoever and the filling didn’t even looked cooked.
Boyd looked sheepish as he said, “Aww, come on! Your cooking’s great, so what’s the point of me learning it anyhow?”
“Last time you ‘helped’ Mist while she was on cooking duty, you almost gave everyone food poisoning.” Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
Boyd gulped and promised to put in more effort.
“Tibarn and Reyson… How did both of your omelettes end up on the floor?”
The duo glared at each other, the dying flames of conflict reigniting with a single spark. Suddenly the atmosphere on the other side of the counter rose a couple of degrees.
“...Actually, I don’t even want to know.” With that, Oscar wisely escaped before any more damage could be done.
“Ike, much improved. Your plating’s a little sloppy but everything looks edible.”
“Oscar, there’s no need to be nice. I’m well aware my omelette is a mess.” Ike scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
Oscar smiled. “I’m not lying, Ike. I remember when you used to cook until food turned into charcoal. Now look at you, I can tell that used to be egg!”
“It’s all thanks to you.”
"Soren…” Oscar started, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for the right words.
“I believe I performed adequately.”
“No, no! I’m just surprised!” Oscar quickly found his bearings and replied hastily. “This is incredible for a first-timer! It looks like my worries were unfounded. If you want, you can handle your own station as soon as next week.”
Soren nodded silently. Oscar seemed to get the idea and returned to the front of the class.
“With this, our session is over! Feel free to stay and eat your omelettes, we still have the room booked for another 30 minutes. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be free until 2:00PM.”
Right after Oscar announced the end of class, all the incompetent cooks scattered and regrouped. Tanith and Kieran approached Oscar; the former probably had questions while the latter most likely went to bother his “eternal rival” some more. The rest of them grouped squarely around Ike (to Soren’s surprise).
“Ike my man, are you really going to eat that?” Tibarn raised an eyebrow as Ike raised his fork.
“Yeah,” Ike said bluntly. “I’ve survived Mist’s cooking, I’ll survive my own.”
“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’ve improved a lot since then!” Mist pouted.
“It’s true, I can actually swallow it these days!” Boyd laughed. Mist looked at him with narrowed eyes, but the quirk of her lips betrayed her true feelings.
“So… hungry...”
“Ah! Don’t eat food off the floor, Ilyana!”
Soren was quickly pushed into the corner of the station as he watched the scene unfold with Ike at the epicenter. It was odd — odd how Soren hadn’t seen it coming. Ike was not a talkative young man, but he had a type of sincerity and charisma that instinctively made others place their trust in him. Really, Soren should have known better.
Icarus fell from flying too close to the sun, and Soren would not make the same mistake.
Losing his appetite, he quickly photographed his omelette as proof before pushing his plate towards Ilyana.
Soren slipped away quietly, in the midst of the chaos, making sure that nobody would miss his presence. However, on impulse he looked back for a second and caught Ike waving him goodbye.
Soren turned away without a word.