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“I’m cooking for us.” Agott says without looking at her as they pack up their drawing supplies. Coco startles at the suddenness of it, raising her eyes from the scrap paper in her hands to glance at the other girl, who’s still determinedly glaring in the opposite direction. What had brought this on?
“You don’t have to, really. I think Professor Qifrey still has that chicken soup simmering on the stove from a few days ago,” she points out reasonably, licking her lips at the memory of its comforting taste. Professor Qifrey’s food always had a homely quality to it, the sort that warmed her from the inside out whenever she was feeling particularly homesick. He wasn’t the best cook she knew, but his food was still her favourite. “But if you want something different, I can—“
“I said that I’m going to cook for us.” Agott’s head snaps around to face her, mouth pinched and tense. Her eyes are half-blazing and Coco blinks in surprise. It’s strange to see her so worked up; Coco hasn’t seen her like this since… well, since before they worked out their differences. It’s oddly confrontational, so much so that she’s a little worried for her closest friend. But the bright flush to her cheekbones has her wondering if the cause of all this is a mere sickness.
With that in mind, she reaches out, pressing a hand to the taller girl’s forehead for a brief moment before Agott’s flush deepens further and she smacks Coco’s hand away lightly. It’s long enough for Coco to determine that she isn’t running a fever, though, and so she smiles at Agott with relief. “You’re not ill! I thought you might be, sorry. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Her earnest words make Agott’s hard, flint-like eyes soften and melt like gooey marshmallows roasted over flame. A sun-lit, rosy delight washes over Coco at the sight; she isn’t one to brag or boast, but there’s a small part of her that revels everytime Agott’s hackles lower because of her. She likes knowing that Agott trusts her, that she matters to her. For some reason, it’s different from the feeling she gets around Tetia and Riche.
Agott stands, dusting off her clothes primly before offering her hand to Coco. “I just want to cook for you. That’s all.” She narrows her eyes. “Is that so bad?” Coco beams with the enthusiastic shake of her head, accepting the hand up with a sweet smile. Agott’s hand is big in hers, less calloused from labor and firm in its confidence, but she likes how their palms fit together perfectly.
“No. Not bad at all.”
It’s a beautifully sunny day that finds two of the atelier’s students inside, tucked away from the lovely mid-noon sky to spend time in each other’s company. Coco gazes out of the window, watching a pair of birds bob and dip as they soar past, two streaks of white against the butterfly-blue sky. It’s a newly-christened autumn, with leaves that have just begun to crisp and golden and birds flying north to run from the cold. She hears Agott mumble something under her breath with annoyance as her stew bubbles and pops and smiles to herself. Truthfully, despite how much she enjoys Tetia and Riche’s companionship, Coco had been aching for some alone time with Agott for a long while. Thankfully she had finally gotten the chance.
What with all their recent trials and tribulations and how it had dampened everyone’s mood, it was no surprise that Tetia had lit up with starry eyes the moment she’d woken up and seen that yesterday’s lightning storm had finally moved on to greener pastures. She had dragged a sleepy Riche out by the hand, and after their teachers had an entire silent conversation with their eyes (Really, Coco still isn’t sure how their professors did that, but she does hope she and Agott learn to do it soon), Professor Qifrey had hurried out to accompany the other two girls on their mission to enjoy the good weather while Professor Olruggio stayed behind to watch over them. Only, he’d grunted at them to be good and promptly went upstairs, leaving her and Agott to their lonesome.
Just how she likes it.
Coco is sitting by the table, cross-legged with Brushbug in her lap as she watches Agott cook with fond eyes. She had offered to help with the chopping of ingredients at the very least, but Agott had waved her off firmly with one of her familiar scowls and everyone in the atelier knew better than to push her when she had that expression on her face. It makes her wonder why Agott’s so determined to make her a meal all on her own, but she isn’t going to question it, not when it’s giving her a free pass to admire Agott.
The other girl stands by the stove, frowning at the pot in front of her with deep focus as she stirs it with stiff, precise strokes. She cooks like she draws, with complete seriousness and perfectionistic standards. Even from where Coco is sitting, she can smell the fragrant spices of the rich stew Agott is preparing and it makes her mouth water instinctively.
It had taken Agott a long, long time to get to this point of skill. Between the two of them, Coco had always been the better cook; not because of talent but due to necessity. After all, growing up with only her overworked mother as the sole breadwinner of their family meant that she had quickly learnt other ways to help out, such as cooking them meals and doing household chores. She had taught herself how to make cheap but delicious meals and how to stretch their finances to buy filling produce at the farmer’s market that could last them a long time.
Her mother had grown to value her child’s skills after some time, both in sewing and in cooking, and they were happy working together to make a living. But it was only after coming to the atelier that she had gotten the freedom to play with the expensive ingredients she wouldn’t have ever been able to use back then. Professor Qifrey had expressed his delight at her offer to help him with meals and had happily allowed her free reign of the kitchen (to a point, she still wasn’t allowed to light the stoves with fire magic after a certain unspeakable incident).
Back then, Agott watched her cook side by side with Professor Qifrey from around corners, first with fiery jealousy and childish hatred, then with cool interest and a wary curiosity that reminded Coco of the injured stray dogs littered around her old town that pricked their ears up and bared their teeth as a warning whenever anybody approached them. A rich girl like her hadn’t needed to cook her own meals while growing up, and Qifrey hadn’t insisted on teaching her since she hadn’t shown any desire to learn. But then Coco had offered to teach her how to make a simple meal she herself had learnt when she was only five, and Agott had reluctantly agreed. The rest was history.
“Snap out of it,” Agott tells her not unkindly as she places a bowl in front of Coco. Her hawk-sharp eyes are discerning, but they’re soft, and Coco feels herself soften right back at the sight. “You’ve been sitting there dazed for minutes. You’re more of a dreamer than Tetia, somehow; I’m already done cooking.”
Coco stifles a displeased huff and stares at her lap instead. She doesn’t know why, but she doesn’t like Tetia’s name being brought up when they’re alone. She doesn’t like anyone’s name being brought up, in fact; it isn’t that she doesn’t like her fellow students, she does with all of her heart, but there are times when she feels that the only name coming out of Agott’s pretty mouth should be her own. But then she looks up and Agott is staring at her with squinted, suspicious eyes, and she scratches the back of her neck sheepishly. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought. Oh, but this smells so good, Agott, I can’t wait to eat it!”
Agott searches her gaze, then turns away with a flustered sniff to scoop rice into a smaller bowl. “Of course it smells good. I worked hard to make it.” Coco looks at the wide spread before her; in front of her is a steaming beef stew with chunks of potato, peas and carrots, a hunk of bread and expensive cheese sitting on a dish by its side. But it’s the small fruit platter that captures her attention. The strawberries have been cut into heart shapes, the raspberries and blueberries skewered through by a silver pick with the design of a witch’s hat sitting on top. Sliced peaches complete the ensemble, juicy and ready to be bitten into.
“You remembered the fruits I like most,” she says without meaning to. Something in her chest is building and building at unbelievable speeds, her heart doing rapid jumping jacks; she touches her cheeks, concerned by the sudden heat rising to her face and realises she’s blushing beet red. She tries to stamp out the budding warmth in her chest before it can grow any further, but it quickly becomes an unquenchable flame. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did,” Agott scoffs with pink cheeks, plunking her plates down on the table before taking a seat opposite her. There’s an embarrassed stubbornness to her lower lip that makes Coco want to reach out and— “You ramble a lot, but I have a good memory.”
“You remembered,” she says again, unable to help the sheer wonder she feels, and catches Agott’s wrist as she brings a spoonful of stew up to her mouth. The touch feels almost like a stolen kiss in its intimacy. Agott blinks back at her with confused eyes, looking at her from under those dark, captivating lashes, and something in her seizes up, traitorous and sweet. This must be a special kind of madness, to want these things with Agott, these wordless sensations she couldn’t ever name for the life of her. Mustn't it? “Thank you for remembering. I… I didn’t realise that you actually listen when I ramble.”
Agott studies her closely for a heart-trembling moment as Coco’s hand falls back to her side before her lips quirk into a small smile, tentative yet open like a hurt stray learning to trust again. “Don’t be silly. I always listen to you,” and before Coco can say anything to that, “Now be quiet and eat your food. I worked really hard on it and if you let it get cold…” Coco grins at her, dunking her soup spoon into the rich stew with a satisfying thunk as her heart twirls and leaps for joy in her chest. The first sip of the broth has her shivering in delight—with a jolt, she realises that Professor Qifrey’s cooking might not be her favourite anymore, and the rest of the day passes them by peacefully.