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It probably wasn't Frank's wisest choice, considering he was probatio. A greenleaf probatio, no less. But he also knew how Hazel was feeling right now, and he would've appreciated someone extending their hand in offered friendship. Just because he'd had to suffer through it alone, didn't mean Hazel had to, too.
As tough as it was for him, he could only imagine how much worse it felt being a child of Pluto. Frank didn’t miss the way the everyone else looked at her. How the others avoided her like a single brush from her might kill them. (Ignoring the fact that Pluto wasn’t even the god of death.) Even the lares gave her odd looks. He also didn’t miss the way they talked about her. Being a greenleaf probatio no one really paid him no mind (unless it was to give him orders), so he knew exactly what they said about her. And Nico was hardly there, so she had no one. Frank could see the toll it was taking on her.
Through some under-the-table deals (which was incredibly not Roman of him, but he was still new, so it didn’t matter that much, he thought), he’d managed to score some time in the kitchens, where the wind spirits cooked their food (not while they were there, obviously; that would’ve been a disaster), and an unlimited supply of grapes. When he found some free time, he went down to the kitchens and began his task, careful and meticulous.
It was a lot harder than he remembered—it had been so long since he’d done it with his Grandma. But once he fell into the groove of things, he moved faster. It was a bit like riding a bike…but to the left. Meaning, relatively easy to pick back up again, but there was still a learning curve when first starting.
He fell into an easy rhythm and thought back to the last time he’d done this with his grandmother. It had been a cold winter day, so they had a nice spread of winter fruits laid out on the table, with barely enough room for the cutting board. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the crackle of the fireplace. (Though, the fireplace then reminded him of his stick of firewood, ruining the picture a little.)
His grandmother was a rough person—harsh and firm. But when she taught him to cut fruit, when they cut fruit together, he saw a different side to her. Still firm, but gentle, too. Sweet like the fruit they cut, with sure, quick movements peeling, cutting, cubbing. He was enchanted, watching her. And when he messed up, she didn’t scold or yell like she usually would. She still chided, of course, but her voice was soft, and her hands gentle as she guided him.
Then she’d pull away and ask, “明白吗, 阿飞?” [Understand, A-Fei?]
Frank would beam up at her and say enthusiastically, “明白, 姥姥!” [Yes, Grandma!] and she’d smile warmly and pat his head, before they both turned back to the cutting board.
Frank smiled at the memory and then concentrated on his work again.
There were a lot of imperfect ones at first. It was a little disheartening, but that was kind of the nice thing about this whole process: getting to eat the imperfect ones for himself. As time went on, the less and less he made mistakes. Until, finally, he had filled the bowl with grapes to his content.
Letting out a small sigh of relief and partial mental exhaustion, Frank set the bowl of grapes aside and began cleaning up.
Frank quietly crept up, not wanting to disturb Hazel too early but also not wanting to actually sneak up on her. She was lying on her bed, back turned to him, curled up. When he was a few feet away, he cleared his throat and said, "Hazel?"
She shifted, lifting her head slightly to look at him over her shoulder. Her expression was guarded.
"I, uh...brought you a snack," he said, holding out the bowl.
Hazel frowned. Her eyes went from Frank's face to the bowl, and back again. Finally, she turned and sat up.
"What is it?" she asked, still guarded.
Frank moved closer, lowering the bowl. "Grapes."
Hazel blinked, her guarded expression dropping for a second when she saw them. Carefully, she reached into the bowl and pulled one out. It was one of those large grapes, cut in half so the seed was taken out, and, to Hazel's surprise, peeled.
She looked back into the bowl and saw that they were all that way—halved, seedless, and peeled.
"Did you peel all those grapes?" she asked, incredulous, still holding the half she'd picked up.
Frank faltered. "Do you not like peeled grapes? I know some people think it's weird." He started to pull the bowl back.
"No!" Hazel quickly exclaimed, startling him. The bowl wiggled in his hand but he reached up with his free hand to steady it. "I'm just…surprised is all. I don't think I've ever eaten a peeled grape before."
Before Frank could respond, she popped the half she still held into her mouth. "Hmm. But I certainly like it!"
Frank let out a big breath and smiled. "I'm glad. Sorry, I should've thought about that before I did this—well, anyway." He stepped forward quickly to set the bowl down next to her, on the bed, and stepped away.
"Oh, please, sit," Hazel said, moving the bowl into her lap and patting the spot next to her.
"Oh, uh…" Frank swallowed and haltingly moved to sit down.
"Did you peel all these? Individually? By hand?" Hazel asked, popping another half-grape into her mouth and looking over at him.
"Yeah, it's…it's something my grandma taught me," he said, sheepishly.
"Wow, this must've taken you forever." Hazel pushed the grapes around. "They're all perfectly peeled. And seeded. That's incredible." She held the bowl up to him. "Want one?"
"Oh, no, I couldn't," Frank said, almost automatically.
Hazel's eyebrows furrowed as she lowered the bowl.
"Oh, well, I've already had my fill," Frank edited. "Besides, I made these especially for you."
Hazel didn't quite seem to get it, but she accepted it. "That's very sweet," she said with a small smile. "Thanks, Frank."
Frank beamed back. "Always happy to."