Chapter Text
The morning sun filtering through the blinds in the kitchen, the bear wrinkled his nose as he opened the cheese and set the meat on the stove, in a pan of course.
He was attempting to cook a grilled cheese with meat for his assistant, who was still “sick” in bed since yesterday, and fast asleep last time he checked.
“Hm… uh… we have butter right?”
He murmured to himself as he dug through the fridge.
No butter.
“Clam it… uh..”
His next idea was olive oil, which he knew they had, so he took some out of the cabinet and doused the pan a little.
The next few minutes were spent adding occasional salt and pepper—something he’d seen O.R.C.A. do multiple times before, and knew the meat always came out good—then waiting for the other side to brown before flipping it over.
Honestly, he was pleasantly surprised he wasn’t burning the kitchen down (having no decent knowledge of what the shell he was doing besides running off his memory of O.R.C.A. doing the same things).
By the time the sandwich was done, Grizz was having doubts about its taste and … safety.
But, he also doubted whether Tartar could get food sickness or not, so… he hesitantly took the plate with an unsure sigh and headed to the break room.
Inside, he was sort of glad the other was still asleep—it was a sign it was getting better—but now he had to wake it from its peaceful slumber or the food would get cold.
Setting the (slightly-burned) sandwich on the nightstand, he mumbled to it, “Tar, wake up. Hey.”
Then he gently shook it, succeeding this time, ears drooping a bit as it woke and sat up.
“<What? What’s- …>”
Its gaze fell on the plate, then on him again. It seemed surprised.
“Um.. I made you a sandwich. I found some uh… cheese and stuff yesterday at the store so I thought I’d make ya somethin’ to eat… to… help ya get better?”
It carefully took the plate, staring at the sandwich, unreadable…
“<Oh… thank you…>”
“Yeah, I.. hope it doesn’t taste bad; the meat might be a li’l undercooked…”
It squished the sandwich horizontally in its hands a little, so that it could fit into its card slot.
“<… It tastes burnt.>”
“Yeah, I uh.. the bread burnt a little.”
“<It’s fine….. I didn’t know you could cook.>”
“Oh.. I actually don’t .. usually cook.“
“<This isn’t that bad of an attempt.>”
“I’m glad.”