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Victor and Vincent found each other in their dormitory room’s kitchen on a Saturday evening, as they spent the day gathering groceries and ingredients separately. The reason for that is because, tonight, they promised to cook dinner together for their movie night (although both suspected it to be some kind of date from the other, even if not explicitly put this way. Nevertheless, Victor put on his least casual hoodie, and Vincent his least distinguished night shirt).
The two students planned this thing a while ago already, but due to their different college schedules, the only day they managed to spare for that was this Saturday, far enough from any important exam, so it wouldn't impact on their studies or grades in any sort.
Victor rolled up his sleeves while Vincent washed his hands, then turned on his phone to seek the recipe they saved for the occasion. The first wasn't keen on making elaborate dishes (it’s only a movie night at home, no big deal), and the second didn't want to cook any fast food snacks like burgers. So, they settled for a pizza, a margarita, since it ended up being the one that compromised both of them’s food preferences. Plus, the recipe was simple enough for them to make it, both well aware of their skills regarding the activity of cooking. Victor put the phone in front of them on the counter, prepared the tools and Vincent placed the ingredients, the two of them finally ready to start cooking…
Actually, Victor had a flash of awareness and moved the extinguisher to a spot nearer the kitchen, to get it quicker, just in case. Vincent looked at him then sighed.
Vincent: I don't think we'll have to use it, you know…
Victor: I’m just taking precautions, I don't want it to end like in room 25 last Christmas.
Vincent: Room 25’s residents are idiots - Which was true, frankly, - we’re not. Come on, it's just a pizza...
Victor: Then, could I place it there, on this chair, for the sole reason of reassuring me ?
The black haired student rolled his eyes and didn't go on, still not convinced but not willing to bicker, especially during their night.
Now, they truly felt ready to start. The first thing the recipe instructed was to prepare the dough that they bought instead, not in the mood for bakery. Vincent tried to neatly open the little cardboard package by following the dotted lines. Tried, because it ended up being him struggling for a minute, refusing Victor’s help out of pride, then accidentally tearing the packaging apart, freeing the rolled up dough from its fragile prison. He handed it to his roommate, in silent.
Vincent: There you go.
Victor: Very demure.
Vincent looked at him, annoyment in his gaze. The redhead didn’t point it out, as a sign of peace, and unrolled the dough on the oven plate, using its paper sheet to protect it from bacteria. That, and because they ran out of cooking paper and forgot to buy some early on.
Victor: Alright, now the tomato sauce…
Vincent then picked the pot of… tomato sauce, indeed. Victor took a glance at the picture on the package and smiled.
Victor: What a weird shaped tomato.
Vincent: What do you mean ?
The redhead showed him on the pot a red vegetable (or fruit, if you want to be scientifically accurate and a pain in the ass), however it wasn’t a tomato. The black haired paused, then looked down, already tired of his own mistake.
Vincent: I bought red pepper sauce…
His friend gently patted his shoulder.
Victor: We got regular tomatoes, some can be spared for the sauce.
Vincent: Yeah, indeed. I’ll do that.
He grabbed four of the six tomatoes Victor bought, cut them in small pieces, then threw them in the blender and turned it on. Once ready, he took the pot and turned to his roommate, standing still, looking at the knife he was holding to cut mozzarella’s slices, or more exactly, at the blade broken in two, one half in the creamy cheese.
Vincent: …
Victor: …
Vincent: How.
Victor: I’m wondering as well.
The redhead sighed and threw away the broken knife, luckily leaving him unharmed. He reached for the bag of grated emmental that they bought a while before tonight and opened it. A weird scent left the bag, one more intense than what should have been expected. Therefore, he checked the inside.
Victor: … Vincent, do we agree that emmental is yellow ?
Vincent: More pastel yellow.
Victor: That’s all I needed to know.
And he threw away the emmental, which developed a more greenish forest-ish look.
Victor: Guess we’ll stick to the mozzarella…
So he put the slices of the remaining cheese on the pizza, once Vincent poured the sauce on the dough. They then cut the tomatoes left and ended with the basil leaves. Both stood back to look at their almost finished work.
Victor: Alright, what’s your verdict ?
Vincent: Given the troubles encountered, I’d say we managed it quite well.
Victor: I agree, now time to bake it.
The black haired opened the oven door and the redhead took the plate and placed it in. Once the oven closed, Vincent settled the timer and activated it. Now, they just needed to wait, so they occupied themselves with putting the movie they picked for tonight on the TV, setting the table and pouring themselves sodas, as a way to congratulate themselves once again for their team work.
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, twenty… Victor checked his phone.
Victor: Wasn’t the timer supposed to set off ten minutes before?
Vincent: What ? Let me see… indeed, it should’ve rang…
He got up and reached the oven, where he left the timer. Victor heard him swear. You see, Vincent didn’t like swearing or saying rude language, when he happened to do so, he would always cut himself mid words, making sounds like “shi”, “fu” and others, then Victor would chuckle at his self-censorship. But this time, the redhead clearly heard a “Oh, Shit!”, clear and loud, an unusually usual swear. He turned to his friend, concerned.
Victor: What’s happening ?
Vincent: I didn’t turn the timer on…
When he opened the oven, a strong scent of smoke came out.
Vincent: Shit !
Victor reacted quickly and got to the extinguisher. He grabbed it, turned it on and pointed to the oven, to the meant-to-become pizza. He didn’t know how much was necessary to stop the burning, so he emptied the extinguisher in half, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Vincent: That should be enough, I think…
Victor looked at the oven, and the damped black thing inside meant to be their dinner. Both men stared at it in silence.
Victor: …
Vincent: …
The redhead looked at his roommate.
Victor: Leftovers ?
Vincent: Leftovers.
By a common agreement, they opened the fridge and picked the remaining of a quiche. It’s similar to a pizza after all.