Chapter Text
Angeal and Genesis both left big shoes to fill when they left, and even bigger holes. Zack might not've known Genesis all that well, but he had known Angeal. Not to mention, he had eyes. He could see how people who had been close to the men were affected.
He sure was.
He'd gotten so used to having Angeal around. A hand to ruffle his hair, gentle hums answering his wild rambling stories, scolding about caution and honor... snacks when he forgot to eat.
Because he did, sometimes. Zack liked to think he was getting better, but he still occasionally underestimated the SOLDIER metabolism, and Angeal had always had little baggies of snacks on him.
But Angeal wasn't here any more.
So Zack started making his own snack baggies. Angeal had made sure he knew how to cook after learning he didn't know, but snacks were different. They had to be small, had to keep well without refrigeration, had to be some degree of filling, had to be healthy, had to have at least a little sugar in them to help you perk up... At first he just defaulted to what he could remember Angeal having on hand the most— celery sticks and a little cup of peanut butter honey dip to go with.
But that got boring after a while.
So he mixed things up and started preparing bags of carrot sticks and cheese, too. They took a little more work, but he found a recipe for apple chips in a magazine that he tried out and found to be pretty tasty. Popcorn was pretty filling, even in small portions, and he managed to scrounge up a sort of homemade flavoring that mimicked the stuff on potato chips to make it ranch-y. He even figured out how to make yogurt-coated raisins and nuts. And, occasionally, he just made small sandwiches, because sandwiches could be snacks too.
And some small, embittered part of Zack was very angrily smug about this. He was an adult. He was a SOLDIER First, a commanding officer. He didn't need Angeal, see, he could feed himself.
The rest of him longed for Angeal to come back and praise him for how much he'd matured.