Work Text:
C support
“What are you doing?”
Lysithea jumped, then relaxed as she realized the speaker was another student. Oh, it was Dedue. He moved quietly for such a big person.
“Nothing,” she said. Dedue let his silence speak for him, and she slowly reddened. “… It’s not your business.” Dedue responded with another, more emphatic silence. One brow moved ever-so-slightly. “… I wasn’t going to finish it,” she confessed at last.
“What is wrong with it?” he wanted to know. Lysithea looked at the remains of her dinner, now half-scraped into the slop bucket and half on her plate.
“There are peppers in it,” she mumbled. She hated peppers, red or green; they always took over a perfectly nice dish and ruined it.
“That is true,” Dedue said. Lysithea was blushing almost as red as the stupid peppers. Instead of telling her she was being childish, he crossed his arms and touched one hand to his chin. “Is it the flavor or the texture you object to?”
“Both.”
“I see.” He nodded. Then he left without a word.
B support
“Lysithea.”
This time, Lysithea didn’t jump. She turned instead, looking up (and up, and up) at Dedue. He was standing a short distance away from the table—probably to spare her neck—and she still had to look up that far.
“Yes?”
“Did you enjoy tonight’s meal?” he asked. It was Lysithea’s turn to be silent. She looked pointedly at her plate, empty except for a smear of oil and some spices. Dedue smiled then, his teeth an unexpectedly bright flash in his normally solemn face. “Good.”
“Did you cook it?” She’d heard Dedue enjoyed cooking—not that she’d asked! Just that she’d heard, around.
“I did. You even ate all the peppers,” Dedue said, still looking pleased. Lysithea’s brows slammed together.
“Excuse me?”
“The bell peppers. I roasted them in the fire before chopping them this time.”
“You—tricked me?” Lysithea demanded. Later, she would think about how irrational she’d sounded and wince. In the moment, though, all she could think was that it didn’t make sense, she hated peppers for a reason, and—“Or—you’re lying? There weren’t any peppers in that.”
“There were,” Dedue looked surprised. On another day, Lysithea might have been amused to see so many new expressions on his face, but not today. “They were part of the vegetable medley the fish rested on.”
“Show me,” Lysithea demanded. Soon she would be embarrassed, but not yet. For some unfathomable reason, Dedue obliged. Lysithea stood with her arms crossed, tapping one foot, until he returned with a plate. Yes, that was the fish she’d enjoyed—not dry, like so many fish dishes, but delightfully moist and light—garnished with onion and fresh spices and laying on a bed of chopped vegetables. Lysithea had prodded suspiciously at the vegetables, trying to make the action discreet. Potatoes, onions, fine. Carrots, yes, and some weird red things. They’d been soft when she’d nibbled one, almost sweet. She’d liked them as much as the caramelized onions. There was no way.
“You’re lying,” Lysithea accused. Dedue made a face—so many expressions today!—that involved the corners of his mouth turning down so emphatically his chin puckered. His brows drew together, then up. His chest seemed to swell as he drew breath to respond—
Lysithea ran away.
A support
Lysithea took a deep breath.
“Dedue.” He turned, the movement fast, then slow—fast with surprise, slow as he caught himself and forced his body to calmness again. He looked up at her. He had been kneeling on the ground, doing something to a small bed of plants. Now he was crouching, and Lysithea noticed vaguely that this was probably the only time in her life she’d be taller than him. “Do you have a few moments?”
“…I do,” he said guardedly. He glanced back at his plants. “Although, if I may finish here? I only have to clean up.”
“Of course,” Lysithea said. She went to stand by the door, where she fidgeted. Dedue put away his gardening implements and washed his hands before joining her. They walked a short distance from the greenhouse. Dedue released a soft breath, and Lysithea took this as her cue. “I want to apologize. I behaved poorly.” Dedue—unsurprisingly—did not speak, but looked at her with his brows raised. “I shouldn’t have said you were lying about the peppers, and I shouldn’t have run away after I said it. I am sorry.”
“… It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” Lysithea snapped, and Dedue’s eyebrows went up. “You shouldn’t let people treat you like that.”
“Like you have done.” It was not quite a statement and not quite a question. Lysithea flushed.
“Right,” she said stubbornly. “Exactly.” He stopped walking to look at her, and she drifted to a halt to match him.
“… You’re forgiven,” he said eventually. “Let’s speak of it no more.”
“Okay,” Lysithea said, the wind abruptly gone out of her sails. “… If I can make it up to you, I’d like to.” Dedue sighed softly into the silence that followed.
“Let me cook the peppers again, and tell me how they taste,” he suggested. Lysithea perked up.
“Really?” The corners of Dedue’s mouth turned up almost imperceptibly.
“You liked them that much.”
“They didn’t taste like peppers at all. They were soft and sweet…” Lysithea didn’t know what else to say. Sweet, yes, but not like a candy or a cake.
“Let me show you how I cooked them,” Dedue offered, “Then you will know how it is done.” Briefly, the corners of his lips twitched upwards. “And you will not think I have tried to deceive you.” Lysithea winced then relaxed.
A+ support
“Dedue,” Lysithea said. They were in the kitchen, and she was watching her peppers intently. They were almost done cooking. “Where did you learn this technique?” She hadn’t had much interest in cooking—if anything, she would have preferred to bake—but since she had started cooking with Dedue, she’d been learning more and more. She had even secretly put in an order with a local book merchant for a book about cooking techniques of the Kingdom, in hopes of learning a little about Duscur without pressing Dedue to dredge up painful memories.
“Hm…” Dedue was standing over his cutting board with several heads of broccoli. “It is inspired by a dish my mother used to make, but the approach was my own.” So much for not stirring up memories. He didn’t look pained, though, only thoughtful.
“Oh?” Lysithea could be laconic too. Occasionally.
“Ah.” There was something in his voice that made Lysithea turn to look at him. Dedue had ducked his head and… he looked sheepish. “I was experimenting. I knew how to soften the flavor, the texture was mostly unchanged.”
“So you experimented,” Lysithea repeated, oddly touched. He nodded. Then he looked at her and smiled, teeth flashing briefly.
“I was very satisfied when I saw you had cleaned your plate.”
Lysithea was saved from having to make a response by the end of her peppers’ cooktime. She busied herself with removing them from the heat and setting them to cool. Dedue finished chopping his broccoli and began tossing them in oil, ever content with silence. Once the florets were coated, he began to spice them. Lysithea cut a piece of one of her peppers and took a bite.
“… Hm,” she said.
“Hm?”
“They don’t taste right, even when I follow all the steps,” she said. Dedue set his broccoli aside and she cut a piece for him.
“…I think the taste is right,” he said. Lysithea shook her head.
“No. I think I’ll only eat them when you make them from now on,” she pronounced, not looking at him. In the ensuing silence, Lysithea’s resolve wavered, and her eyes found his face after all. He was smiling, softly, just a barely discernible upturn of his lips.
“… I see.”