Chapter Text
Friday afternoons are the peak of the school week. Monday through Thursday serve as supplemental days leading up to the glorious Friday afternoon, the period after all the harrowing exams and papers of Friday morning are finished, a time of freedom and two whole days full of promise stretching ahead. This Friday afternoon, Ymir had been planning to go home and finish her latest guilty pleasure: Twilight. She had finally taken up Sasha’s offer on reading the dumb book, and now that her book report was done, she was kind of getting into it. Perhaps Bella had the personality of a rock, or at least a clumsy one, but the addition of Edward's siblings intrigued Ymir.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Sasha herself showed up to shatter Ymir’s comfy, albeit solitary, image of an afternoon.
Ymir was exiting the school when a hand grabbed her backpack.
“Watch it,” she muttered.
Sasha leaped to her side, almost bouncing. “What’re you doing today?”
“Going home,” said Ymir.
Sasha frowned. “That’s it?”
“What?”
“It’s Friday! Come to my house, we’ll make pumpkin bread or something.”
“Where’s Connie?”
“He can’t come today, he’s busy.”
“Am I replacement Connie?” asked Ymir, half-joking.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” said Sasha. “Are you in?”
“Sure,” said Ymir. “Can we stop by my place on the way? I should tell Moblit.”
“Wow, so responsible.”
“Just preventing myself a future headache.”
So Ymir found herself walking through the neighborhoods with Sasha, Ymir’s backpack slung over one shoulder, her skateboard under her arm. Sasha was talking about some prick in her culinary class - Ymir had been surprised that the school offered a culinary class, but then she had recalled that this was a private school after all - and Ymir was listening to her complaints, interjecting commentary here and there.
“And the kicker is, all of his dishes are perfect. I tried his spaghetti the other day, and it was fantastic. Not that spaghetti is a hard meal or anything, but man, why was his so good?”
“I bet he spit in it,” said Ymir.
“Probably,” agreed Sasha. “Especially if he knew I had taken a bite out of it. He ignores me like ninety percent of the time, and the other ten percent he gives me this look like I’m something on the bottom of his shoe.” She imitated it, curling her lip up and wrinkling her nose. Ymir laughed. “You laugh,” she continued, “but ugh, it’s so annoying. I asked Gelgar to get me a new cooking partner, but he just gave the same old bullshit about how in the real world, you have to learn to put up with people you don’t like yada yada. I swear, that’s just an excuse for teachers to be lazy.”
“I can relate,” said Ymir, thinking of an annoying English partner. She frowned. “Or, at least, I could relate.”
“Oh?” asked Sasha. “Tell me about it over banana bread. Actually, no, its fall. Let’s make pumpkin bread.”
“Ok,” said Ymir. “But I’m putting chocolate chips in.”
Sasha nodded. “Of course.”
They were passing the more run down part of town, and Ymir was sure they were going to turn into a driveway at some point. They had already been walking for the better part of an hour. But they continued. Ymir herself traveled just under three miles to school (she was improving at skateboarding though). But this was even further.
“You make this walk every day?” asked Ymir incredulously, after walking another couple of blocks. The houses were starting to space out, the road hadn’t been paved for a while now.
Sasha shrugged. “Sometimes he brings the tractor. Can’t pull up at a school like Rose Maria on horseback, though.” She shifted her backpack. “I’m sorry, I didn’t warn you. I’ll ask him to take you home.”
Ymir shook her head. “Why the hell are you apologizing? I’m impressed you walk this far. You have time for breakfast?”
Sasha shrugged again. “Depends on the day. I’ve got chores to do most days.”
“Damn,” said Ymir. “Respect.”
They were turning, finally, onto a gravelly dirt path leading to a farmhouse. It had been just over an hours walk, which seemed an utterly absurd distance to have to get to school.
“I didn’t even know there were farms out here,” mused Ymir. She had known Sasha lived on a farm, but hadn’t really considered what that actually meant.
“What’s the furthest you’ve traveled?” asked Sasha, not unkindly.
Ymir thought about it. She had never really gone anywhere, save her bubble of the town. They didn’t have a car, so there was no reason to go far. Moblit sometimes went to the city for conventions or something, Ymir wasn’t really sure, and he had offered to take her, but she had never taken him up on it. Everything she needed, she had thought, was in the town. Her world was everything she could see from the top of the bluff; after Moblit and his books, it had never occurred to her to look further.
“Not very far,” she mumbled.
“Welcome, hardened street rat,” said Sasha, “to the expansion of your apparently very sheltered world.”
“Whatever,” said Ymir. But she couldn’t help the curiosity beginning to rear its head. She looked around the premises - the fields were brown, cut golden stalks lined up. In the middle, a red barn, like in the books, but the paint wasn’t as red as on Moblit’s copy of Clifford. Instead, it was beginning to peel.
“I’ll give you a tour later,” said Sasha. She bounded up the wooden steps to the front door of her house, and held it open for Ymir. “The sooner we start baking, the sooner we get to enjoy it!”
“True,” replied Ymir, and followed her into the house.
The interior was far more cluttered than Moblit’s tidy home, papers haphazardly lying on the kitchen table, shoes kicked off on the wooden floor, a sofa dotted with faded stains. Sasha rustled around the small kitchen, pulling out flour and butter and other pumpkin bread necessities. Ymir stood to the side and watched, intrigued.
“Where are my manners,” muttered Sasha, whirling around and depositing a mixing bowl on the counter. “You’re free to sit down, Ymir, and I dunno, would you like something to drink?”
“Thanks, I’m good for now,” said Ymir, realizing her loitering was making Sasha think she was unsure. She supposed Connie just barged in and took stuff, but she wasn’t Connie.
"Damn, we're out of pumpkin," said Sasha. She stood a second, staring mournfully at the cupboard.
"Banana bread it is," said Ymir.
“Hmm,” said Sasha. "You might be right." She tossed Ymir a bunch of bananas. “Unpeel those.”
Ymir took one and started to peel from the top.
Sasha snorted. “You know, it’s actually better to peel from the bottom.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re doing it wrong, is all I’m saying.” She measured out the flour.
“You gave me this task to do,” said Ymir. “That’s on you.”
“Yeah, that was,” Sasha paused. “What’s the word you always say?”
“Misguided?”
“Perhaps,” Sasha mused. “I’ll just say it was asking a lot, for now.”
“You’re the chef,” said Ymir. “Although, I can whip up a mean PB & J.” She dumped the peeled bananas in the bowl.
“Wow,” said Sasha. She tipped a tablespoon of sugar into the bowl. “So, are you gonna tell me yet?”
“What?” Ymir knew where this was headed.
“The deal between you and miss perfect?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Sasha harrumphed.
“I did tell her I’d go to the game next Friday, though.” Ymir glanced at Sasha. “You’ll be there, right?”
“Uh,” said Sasha. “Do I have to?”
“C’mon,” said Ymir. “If I get Connie to go, then will you go?”
Sasha laughed out loud at that one. “Deal. Good luck getting him on board though. He hates soccer.”
“Really?” Ymir was lukewarm on the idea of soccer, especially mens soccer. It could be entertaining, sometimes, when they rolled on the grass. A very dramatic sport.
“Yeah, I guess his old man made him watch one too many soccer games or something,” said Sasha. “I dunno.” She cracked an egg. “These are from the backyard.”
“Cool,” said Ymir. “You must have lots of omelettes.”
“Not really,” said Sasha.
Ymir continued, “How about going to support Jean and Marco?”
“Like they’ll see the field,” replied Sasha. She started mixing the ingredients together. Ymir watched the lumpy mess slowly become smoother.
“Harsh,” said Ymir. “But not inaccurate.”
“Besides, they’ll support each other,” said Sasha with a small smile.
Ymir grinned. “I’m sure they will.”
"You'll just ditch us for Historia," said Sasha. "Just ask to go with her."
Ymir nearly tilted the entire bag of chocolate chips into the now smooth mixture. "Are you joking?"
"No. Don't put in too many of those." She snatched a chocolate chip from the bag and popped it in her mouth.
"I won't ditch you."
Sasha stirred the mixture. "It's ok if you do, I support your attempts at young love, I'm just saying that soccer games are more boring than baseball. And have you ever sat through all nine innings?"
"Well," she paused. "No."
Sasha tilted the mixing bowl over a buttered pan, and they watched the silky smooth batter fill the rectangular space neatly.
Into the oven it went, and in the meantime, Sasha gave Ymir a tour of her house. Her room: a mess. (And Ymir knew something about a messy room - it was the bane of Moblit’s existence.)
They wandered around the property, chatting about nothing, and Ymir enjoyed it. Sasha told her about all the stupid stuff her and Connie had done, had dared each other to do, about the time he climbed a lamppost, got to the top, pronounced himself king of the world, and then promptly lost his grip and come crashing down. She showed Ymir their rock tower and their poorly crafted stick fort.
“You guys are soulmates,” said Ymir, and she meant it.
“Yes,” said Sasha. “He just gets me. But like in a best friend kind of way. We tried to go out, for about a week, but we decided that we enjoy each others company just as friends.” She looked at Ymir. “Maybe you’ll find a soulmate.’
“I don’t think I believe in soulmates,” said Ymir.
“Huh,” said Sasha. “Then what do you believe in?”
Ymir rubbed a stalk of grass between her fingers. “I don’t know. Some people are just more compatible with others, that’s all. But there’s no one person out there who’s a perfect match, because if I believed in that, then I’d be setting myself up for failure.”
“Perhaps,” said Sasha. “But it’s nice to think that someone is out there, ready to complement you, your other half.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being alone,” said Ymir. She stared at the stalks swishing in the breeze. The sun was going to set soon.
“I guess,” said Sasha. “But isn’t it lonely?”
Ymir dropped the grass. “That’s the downside, I suppose. I’ve got Moblit now, though. And,” she couldn’t believe she was about to say this, she really was never so gushy, she dropped her voice to an almost unintelligible mutter, “you.” Ugh. “and Jean and the rest I guess.” The words mushed together, she spit them out so fast.
Sasha poked her. “I like hanging out with you too. And, if all goes well at the game, you’ll have someone else in your life too.” She winked.
“Don’t wink at me,” said Ymir. “That’s corny. C’mon, the banana bread is probably ready by now.”
It was the best banana bread Ymir had ever tasted. Gooey in the right places, warm and cozy. Granted, she hadn’t ever had it before, as Moblit was not much of a baker. A cook, yes. A baker, no. Which baffled her, because baking was so much easier, so much less precise and more forgiving. Plus, chocolate chips.
They were working their way through the banana bread when the front door swung open with a squeal. “Sash, I’m home,” came a deep, jovial voice.
“Ymir’s here,” called back Sasha cheerily.
A tall man burst into the kitchen. The stubble lining his jaw was salt-and-pepper, and he split it with a wide smile. “It smells wonderful in here.”
Sasha did not offer any banana bread, so Ymir felt obliged to. “Would you like some banana bread? We just made some.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, grabbing a slice. Sasha frowned. “So, you’re Ymir?”
Ymir nodded.
“I’m Sasha’s father, Artur Braus,” he said. He was lean, but probably stronger than he looked, Ymir figured, after her tour of the farm. It was a lot of work for one person to do. “You’re Moblit’s kid?”
“Yeah,” said Ymir. “You know him?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said, laughing. “It’s a small town.”
“Dad,” cut in Sasha. “Before you settle in, do you mind driving Ymir home? It’s a long walk, is all.”
“No problem,” he said. “Just let me grab the keys.”
He left the kitchen, and Ymir blinked. “Wow,” she said.
“I think him and Moblit would get on well,” said Sasha. She noted Ymir’s look of disbelief. “Sometimes different energies pair well.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said Ymir. “Thanks for having me over.”
“It was fun,” said Sasha. “We’ll make eclairs next time. Or pumpkin bread. Or," her face lit up, "pumpkin banana bread.”
“Ambitious,” said Ymir. “Let’s do it. I’d better see you at the game.”
“I’ll think it over.”
Ymir took a slice of banana bread home, and, after dinner, Moblit tried it. “If these are the results, you can go over whenever you want,” he said, licking the chocolate off of his fingers. She knew he was pleased she had made a friend, but she just shrugged.
“Like you hold that much sway over where I go,” she said.
Moblit didn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled up. She knew he didn’t believe her for a second, and so she stuck her tongue out at him and trudged to her room, dramatically drawing the curtain behind her.
Twilight was thrown onto the floor, and she picked it up. It had waited, after all. She didn’t regret her decision - it had been a nice Friday. She would have to see how next Friday would go.