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Cherri would do anything for her sister. Well, mostly anything that is. Don’t get her wrong; she loves Bonkers very much, even when she gets on her nerves. However, there are some things in this world that Cherri is frankly unable to do, such as cooking Bonkers’ favorite dish for her upcoming birthday.
In full retrospect, the plan worked better on paper, but Cherri didn’t take into account that she has zero cooking skills. Adding to that, the recipe for this specific chicken alfredo pasta was created by her and Bonkers’ late grandmother. Cherri figured she would have plenty of time before her sister’s birthday to master the recipe, yet here she is. Still hasn’t even dared to touch the stove, buying ingredients became a complete afterthought, and Bonkers’ birthday is tomorrow.
Cherri contemplates her situation while slumped over the kitchen countertop, devising a plan for this to work out at least somewhat. She doesn’t want her sister to think she didn’t put any thought into her present (which, in a way, she kind of didn’t). Unfortunately, time is of the essence for poor Cherri, so whatever she decides to do, she has to act fast .
Screw it then.
Cherri will just have to work with what she has. For starters, she doesn’t have eggs in the fridge or flour in the pantry to make the pasta. After a quick Google search, she concludes that the best substitute for the eggs is mashed bananas. On the other hand, replacing the flour proved to be more of a challenge. Not many results were helpful in her conquest, so out of persistence, Cherri rechecks the pantry. Something catches her eye as she sifts through the shelves—corn starch. She knows it’s definitely not flour, but the consistency and initial appearance could say otherwise. She holds the container in her hand, and her eyes fixate on it.
What could go wrong?
A cool breeze flows through the porch as the cozy smell of nature follows. The front door to the farmhouse creaks open as Turtle stumbles through the doorway, cradling a burlap sack in his arms. Little furry paws pitter-patter from behind him. The Dutch shepherd squeezes through Turtle’s legs and playfully jumps off the porch stairs to look back at him, tongue dangling out of its mouth. Turtle tilts his head past the bag to see his dog.
“Oh my–Frank!” Turtle chortles, “We can’t play right now, boy. Gotta do this, okay?”
Turtle shuffles down the stairs and scruffs the top of Frank’s head with one hand. Unaware of the words spoken to him, Frank happily trails after his owner.
The farmboy marches onward with the heavy sack, bringing it to the chicken coop. He reaches into his pocket to take out a small key. Turtle inserts it into the lock of the fence door and twists it. Click. Ka-Chunk! Using his hip to push open the door, Turtle approaches the metal tub inside the enclosure and drops the burlap sack into it. He takes a moment to let out a small huff and presses his fingers to the back of his neck, leaning his head back.
Chickens slowly flock around the Turtle and the tub, patiently waiting for their grub. Turtle runs a hand through his short curls before ripping open the bag with a pair of shears. He positions his hands underneath the sack and lifts it to dump its insides out and into the tub. Some chickens waddle up to the tub and peck at the food. Frank hovers over the tub and leans forward into the food, snout nearly touching it.
“Not for you, bud,” Frank states, gently maneuvering Frank away with his leg.
Once empty, Turtle rolls up the sack and steps away to let more chickens get the chance to have breakfast. He kneels to Frank and lovingly, yet aggressively, pets his face.
“Couldn’t wait for Pop-pop or Granny to get up, huh?” Turtle coos, “C’mon, let’s-”
A muffled ping comes from Turtle’s back pocket. Strange. Usually, his friends, other than Bonkers, aren’t usually up at this hour.
Another ping. He stands back up and brings out his phone, the screen cracked from a small incident during a hangout. It displays a text notification.
Cherri (idiot #2)
Cherri (idiot #2): turtle i need your help
Cherri (idiot #2): TURTLE COME ON MAN THIS IS URGENT
Turtle scrunches his eyebrows at the message, what would Cherri need from him if it was important? He begins to type back.
Me: Yea wassup? Are u ok?
Cherri (idiot #2): NO
Cherri (idiot #2): well yes but
Cherri (idiot #2): my kitchen prolly won’t recover from what i just diid
Me: ..Did you murder somebody?
Cherri (idiot #2): bro if i did i wouldn’t be texting you first
Me: Wth does that mean
Cherri (idiot #2): but long story short i wanna cook smth for bonkers’ bday and i fucked up badly
Me: OK let me call u
He taps his index finger against his phone screen, pushing on the call icon of Cherri’s. The phone sounds off a few rings, only for it to be interrupted abruptly by a heavy sigh from the other end.
“Turtle,” Cherri huffs, “How important are flour and eggs in a homemade pasta recipe?”
“Uhm, extremely?” Turtle furrows his eyebrows, “That’s, like, the main two ingredients….Why…?”
“I’m just gonna cut to the chase, I don’t have those things in my apartment so I had to substitute them with cornstarch and mashed bananas.”
Turtle goes silent, struggling to suppress his laughter by Cherri’s stupidity. He means no harm by it, but he can’t exactly admit that he’s not amused. He hears Cherri scoff through the phone, most definitely being able to tell Turtle is holding back his snickers. “Just tell me what to do!”
“Okay, okay,” Turtle smirks, “Well, I would say go get yourself the actual ingredients, but to be completely honest, I feel like you’ll need another pair of hands to help you with this.”
“What makes you think I can’t do this on my own-” Cherri stops mid-sentence, “Don’t answer that.”
Frank paws at Turtle’s legs for attention. He crouches down to his level and rubs the top of his head. “Look, how about I bring over some ingredients from my place and help you out?”
“You-...Are you sure? Don’t you have other stuff to do today?”
“Not really, besides, it’s been a while since the last time we hung out.”
“Hmm, okay, fine. You'd better bring Frank, though! I haven’t seen my boy in so long.”
Turtle flops Frank’s ears as he speaks. “He’s not your boy, but sure. See you then.”
He hangs up the phone and shoves it back into his pocket. Turtle did have plans for today, but he’s more worried about the state of Cherri’s well-being and kitchen. He’d also like to cook something for Bonkers since she is one of his close friends. Turtle looks into Frank’s adorable eyes.
“You ready to see Cherri, boy?”
Cherri lies upside down on the couch, letting her legs dangle off its backing as she mindlessly scrolls video after video on her phone. She can’t exactly indulge herself in the media as she anticipates Turtle’s arrival. She somewhat regrets accepting his offer to cook with her. Even though he insisted he didn’t have anything to do today, Cherri had a small hunch he was lying. Turtle has never been known to have a fully free schedule. He’d much rather have something to do than actually be given a break from it all. She had no idea who to reach out to, though.
Ruru and Asuka are busy planning Bonkers’ party, Kaleido would have most likely not known what to do either and retort with something unhelpful, and P.D. was off the table from the beginning. Cherri cooking in the first place is already so much of a problem, and she doesn’t want to make it worse by adding P.D. to the equation. So really, Turtle was the only reasonable option.
Still, she can’t shake away the feeling of being a burden to Turtle. She’s asked for his help countless times and so badly wants to pay him back for it. Turtle being Turtle, however, never needs it. He always handles every situation with ease, barely even breaking a sweat. It makes Cherri question why he still decides to stick around her.
Then, a soft knock can be heard from the door behind Cherri. She shifts her posture right and lifts herself off the couch. She proceeds to walk over to the door and steadily unlocks it. When creaking it open, a small furry face peeks through the crevice. Cherri beams and pushes the door aside, leaving it wide open for Frank to prance in. She kneels down and welcomes the dog with open arms.
“Hi there, baby boy!” Cherri exclaims in an unusually high and cutesy voice.
Frank happily wags his tail as he jumps into Cherri’s arms to then flop his back to the ground for belly rubs. Cherri eagerly pets him and looks up at the person who’s holding Frank’s leash.
“No hello for me?” Turtle teases.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Cherri snickers, “You’re not as cute as him.”
Turtle jokingly scoffs and hands Cherri the leash as he cradles a paper bag in one arm. He lets himself in and drops the bag onto the kitchen countertop. From what Turtle can tell, the kitchen’s surrounded by a mess of cornstarch-dusted countertops and half-opened pantry doors. The sunlight peaking through the paper blinds reveals every detail to suggest something like a goblin on a rampage throughout the kitchen. The goblin, of course, is Cherri.
“I worry about you sometimes, dude.” Turtle mumbles, dusting off the surface of the counter.
“Hey, you wanted to be here.” Cherri retorts, still rubbing the belly of Frank. “I did my best to clean as much as I could.”
Turtle spots a small crumpled-up napkin on the tiled floor. He hunches over and pinches it into his grasp. He hovers it to the trash, but by opening the lid, he sees an evil yellowish-white paste sitting at the bottom of the bin. Turtle would like to call it paste, but really, two textures are going on here. Some bits are more crumbly and drier than the mushy and wet parts.
“Yeah, I can tell.” Turtle drops the napkin into the trash bin and positions the lid back into place.
As Turtle turns back around to Cherri, he sees her leaning against the kitchen island, staring at him. Frank sits beside her with his tongue adorably sticking out of his mouth as he pants.
“So, Martha Stewart,” Cherri cleverly grins, “What should we do first?”
Turtle rolls his eyes at the name that Cherri oh-so generously bestowed upon him. “Well, firstly, wash your hands. Especially after petting Frank.”
“Huh? But I already did before you came. Also, Frank doesn’t shed a lot, right?”
“He doesn’t, but you don’t know where he’s been, Gordon Ramsey.”
Cherri huffs, moving over to the sink and lathering her palms with soap. Using her elbow, she turns one of the sink’s knobs on. Cold water pours onto her hands as she glares at Turtle from the corner of her eye. She switches the knob off and reaches over to the hand towel to dry her hands with.
“Now what?” She asks.
“Well, let’s look at that recipe.” Turtle suggests, “You have measurement tools?”
Cherri glances to the side, averting from Turtle’s. “To be honest, no. I don’t really cook or bake much, so I really had no choice but to eyeball it.”
“That’s alright, I came prepared.” Turtle reaches into the bag on the countertop and pulls out an unopened set of plastic, color-coded measurement cups and spoons. Cherri perks up and stares at it in awe. “I was surprised earlier when you said you were cooking, but knowing you, I had a feeling you didn’t have these, so I got some on my way here.”
“Wow, T.” Cherri awes, but quickly clears her throat and changes her tone to a more teasing manner, “You really came through for me, didn’t you? What are you? My boyfriend?” She giggles to herself until a hand pushes her face away. Cherri frustratingly brushes the hand off and pouts, “Wh-I was kidding! No need to get-“
Cherri stops mid-sentence, and for the first time in her life, Turtle doesn’t make eye contact with her. His face is turned in the opposite direction. Not only that, but his stance appears more squeamish and fidgety than his usual closed-off body language. Turtle reaches his hand into the bag one last time and unfolds an apron, tying it around his waist.
“Let’s just start cooking, okay?” Turtle mutters quietly.
Caught off guard, Cherry pushes her glasses up and reverts to her unbothered, cool persona. “Yeah…! Right. Where’s my apron, man servant?”
“You don’t get one.”
In contrast to the banter and bickering from earlier, Cherri and Turtle remain silent as they both do their own thing while cooking, Turtle occasionally chiming in to stop Cherri from doing anything stupid. Frank had gone to sleep on the couch, occasionally and adorably kicking as he dreamed. Though there were barely any words exchanged during this, Cherri feels a sense of ease just knowing Turtle was there for her. She thinks it’s mostly because he’s making sure she still has a kitchen after this, but also because he just makes Cherri forget about her problems.
Still, the thoughts Cherri had before Turtle came here loom over her subconscious. Everyone in her life has basically given up on her, deeming her a lost cause, so how come Turtle hasn’t given up on her? She just can’t comprehend what good he sees in her that others can’t. He might be delusional. Who knows, really?
A small wince comes from behind Cherri as she scrolls on her phone while waiting for the water to boil. Turning around, she spots Turtle in front of a chopping board, knife in one hand as the other hides underneath the counter, away from Cherri. She grimaces. “Turtle.”
Turtle responds with a hum while placing down the knife on the cutting board, doing his best not to look directly at Cherri’s cold and calculated eyes.
“TURTLE.” Cherri says while gritting her teeth at him.
“…Yes?” He hesitates to reply. Cherri puts down her phone and marches over to Turtle, extending her hand out to grab onto his hidden one. He scooches further away.
“Turtle, I SWEAR to God-”
“I’m okay.”
“Like hell you are!”
Cherri makes several swipes in an attempt to see his hand, but Turtle retaliates by elbowing the girl away from him. If Turtle is anything, he sure is stubborn. Stubbornness that infuriates Cherri. Using all her force, she pounces at Turtle, tackling him to the ground. She grips onto the hand that was kept away from her vision. A horizontal line of red bleeds from Turtle’s index finger.
“Ha! I knew it!” Cherri exclaims a little too excitedly, “Geez, is that hard for you to admit you’re a little clumsy sometimes and need my help?”
“U-Uh, Cher,” Turtle utters.
“Like seriously, were you just gonna keep chopping up the vegetables, infecting them with your gross blood germs?”
“Cherri.”
Annoyed, Cherri stops examining the cut on his finger and shoots a glare at Turtle, wondering what he has to say for himself that desperately needs Cherri’s attention. However, she freezes as she sees the flustered expression on Turtle’s face, gazing up at her. Only now did she realize that she’s practically on top of Turtle, trapping his body in between her legs and arms.
Coming to terms with their suggestive position, Cherri hastily backs off of Turtle and gets back on her feet. She can tell her face has already betrayed her from the warmth of her cheeks. Cherri hesitantly glances at Turtle, still on the ground, but sits up to cradle his index finger from bleeding onto the tiled ground. He seems to be at a loss for words, making Cherri uncomfortable since she can’t read his expressions most of the time. She lets out a frustrated sigh and grabs Turtle by the arm, pulling him up to stand. Cherri clears her throat.
“Sorry,” she states with a flat affect, which she rarely has. Cherri awkwardly walks to a cupboard and flings it open.
“It’s…okay.” Turtle murmurs, “I honestly forgot how strong you are.”
“Heh, yeah,” Cherri manages to let out, reaching for the first aid kit at the back of the cupboard. “Go wash your finger in the sink. I’ll be right there with you.”
Turtle shuffles to the sink and does just that, letting the water run over his finger. After retrieving the first aid kit, Cherri lays it down on the counter and grabs the washcloth next to Turtle, slightly nudging him with her hip to make room for her. She pushes his finger aside with the back of her hand, allowing one corner of the washcloth to have a turn underneath the faucet. Cherri uses her other hand to get the hand soap, then pumps it onto the partially soaked cloth.
“Okay,” Cherri breathes heavily while saying that singular word, “Can I…have your hand? To clean around the cut, that is.”
“Uhm, I can do it myself, y’know?” the farm boy remarks, “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve gotten a-”
“Goddammit, can you just lemme help you?” Turtle pauses the sudden fierceness in her voice. He silently nods and holds out his hand for her. Cherri gently holds his hand in her palm and presses it onto his finger, making sure it doesn’t touch the inside of the cut. “You really gotta stop doing that.”
Turtle tilts his head slightly. “What? Nicking myself with knives?”
“No, stupid.” She switches to the dry corner of the cloth and dabs it against Turtle’s skin. “Hiding things that you think could inconvenience others. Why do you feel the need to do that all the time?”
Turtle doesn’t bother to respond to her question and decides to remain silent. A small scoff escapes Cherri’s mouth as she ditches the cloth and reaches for the antibiotic ointment from the first aid kit.
“Why do you feel like you have to around me?” Cherri asks, her voice cracking as she twists off the cap and squirts the insides of the tube onto the tip of her finger.
Biting his lip, Turtle thinks of how to even answer that question without sounding pathetic. “I-...I wouldn’t say I hide. It’s just hard for me to admit I need help.”
Now it’s Cherri’s turn to become quiet as she lathers the ointment onto the cut, unable to conceal her annoyance with the man standing in front of her. She takes out a bandage from the kit and begins to wrap it around the finger.
“Uh, thanks, Cher-” Turtle speaks until Cherri’s soft hands, which were delicately holding his hand, jerk back to her sides. She begins to trudge away from Turtle, but something prevents her from doing so by holding on to her wrist. The grip tightens as she attempts to rip away from him. “Why are you mad at me?”
Cherri scrunches her eyebrows bitterly, “Just forget about it already, Turtle.”
“You’re clearly upset. How can I just forget about it?”
Having a nerve set off in her brain just by that question, Cherri whips around and faces Turtle. “Okay, fine! I’m mad. I’m mad that you can’t recognize the fact that others care for you like you do for them! You don’t have to do everything alone, but your idiotic head just can’t accept that fact, huh?”
Turtle's eyes widen from the sudden outburst of emotions, causing him to let go of Cherri’s wrist and have his hands go limp. The rage in Cherri’s eyes gradually settles as she comes to terms with what she just said, shocked by how honest she was. She feels a lump in her throat. A lump that just wants to break into sobs but can’t because of Cherri’s pride.
“I…” Turtle begins, “You’re right. I’m sorry I’ve been concerning you. To be honest, sometimes, I don’t feel like I deserve the help.”
Cherri’s expression softens as Turtle looks directly into her eyes. “Why would you think that?”
“I guess growing up, I always prided myself on how independent and mature I was. But then suddenly, I met you and everyone else, ready to support me no matter what. It was just so…overwhelming to have all of that at once.”
Struggling to maintain his composure, Turtle’s eyes dart away from Cherri’s. He rubs a thumb over the bandage of his index finger as he awaits his friend to say something in response. The sheer silence filling the room becomes agonizing to Turtle. Well, agonizing until he feels a hand make contact with his forearm.
“I understand where you’re coming from, Turtle.” Cherri admits, “And, I’m not just saying that as a form of sympathy. The whole day–no, the whole time I’ve known you, I’ve been confused as to why you would want to stick around with me. I know that you don’t like it when I’m being loud, obnoxious, bitchy, annoyi-”
Suddenly, the gap between the two gets closed as Turtle pulls Cherri to him and holds her in his embrace. At that moment, Cherri could hear how fast his heart was beating just by having her chest pressed against his. She succumbs to the hug and wraps her arms around her friend, her head sunken into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry.” Cherri chokes out as her voice is muffled in the embrace.
“Me too. It’s okay.”
It is okay. Cherri can feel Turtle’s heartbeat slow in pace. She smiles into his shoulder. Once again, she loves these moments of silence between the two that simply say so much about their relationship. Unfortunately, the silence doesn’t last long as the sound of bubbling comes from the stove. The two break apart from each other and spot the saucepan Cherri had set earlier before the whole knife fiasco.
“Ah, water’s done boiling,” Cherri states rather nonchalantly. She looks back up at Turtle and immediately feels her face flush a bit, suddenly pushing herself off of him. “WOAH-KAY! That’s enough of that, you go wash that knife with your stupid blood germs on it and I’ll cook the pasta!”
She quickly paces over to the stove and stands in front of the boiling pan. She takes a brief pause, then looks guiltily at Turtle. He knows right away what that face means, making him chuckle at Cherri. “Alright, gimme a minute and I’ll help you out.”
BONUS:
AT BONKERS’ BIRTHDAY PARTY
BONKERS: eating the pasta Wow, I can’t believe you cooked this all by yourself! Didn’t really, or honestly EVER, consider you as the cooking type.
CHERRI: Heh, yeah, it really wasn’t that hard, to be honest.
TURTLE: All by herself? I-
CHERRI: kicks Turtle’s leg from underneath the table and whispers to him Let me fucking have this.
BONKERS: What was that, Turtle?
TURTLE: grumbling n o t h i n g .