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Letting out a long sigh, Riddle stared at the disaster in front of him. It was completely the opposite of what he’d imagined. Hints of wheat flour splattered on the kitchen walls (even the ceiling), crumbs of yogurt had left its stains across the counter, and eggshells mixed with egg white sat on the corner, forgotten.
Thankfully, today was an early morning during a holiday, so nobody will be near the kitchen. Riddle sighed again. It had started off with an idiotic argument with Ace: whether super healthy ingredients could be turned into something that tastes good. Though Trey was trying to smooth out the situation by insisting that it was possible (like the dessert he had baked with coconut flour), somehow Riddle ended up betting with Ace that he could cook up a very healthy, delicious pancakes without Trey’s help.
He really wanted to go back in time and slap his past self, in all honesty.
Since Trey would need to use the dorm’s kitchen for baking today (Which was weird, because all their friends had left for the holiday, and there wasn’t any upcoming dorm events), Riddle decided to use the school kitchen instead. He could use some improvements in his cooking skills, and now he’s really regretting to do this without Trey’s help.
Defeated, he waved his magic pen to clean up the mess for the third time. This was when a familiar voice sounded right behind him, “Ahaha, it really is Goldfish! Watcha doing here?”
Riddle turned around and saw the face he definitely didn’t want to see. Especially now.
“Floyd, I told you, stop with the weird nickname.”
Floyd ignored his complaints as usual, walked around and looked at the mess in front of him, “Wooow, this is completely a mess. Goldfish really ain’t got skills in cooking, huh?” Floyd grinned widely, clearly enjoying the sight of a certain someone’s bright-red face, along with high-pitched complaints. “Neh neh, this seems fun. I’ll be suppppper nice and help you with it!”
“I don’t need any help, especially from YOU,” Riddle huffed, “What are you doing here, anyway. It’s a holiday.”
“Don’t be so cruel~” Floyd picked up the bowl of the pancake mix. “Uwah, the flour ain’t even dissolved yet.” He looked at the pan, its surface thick with black burns, and at a plate of ruined pancakes, “Aaaand you didn’t even put oil on the pan? That’s one burnt pancake.”
“Leave it!”
“Ahahaha, Goldfish’s hilarious,” Floyd laughed, “Here here, let me show you!”
Disregarding Riddle’s protests, he used magic to clean up the equipment while glancing over Riddle’s ingredients. “Uwah, that’s some real healthy stuff you’ve got here.” He looked down at Riddle, “You tryna get smaller or somethin’? I wouldn’t even be able to see you. You can sit on my shoulder since you’re gonna get so tiny people might step on you~”
“ARGHH”
While deflecting Riddle’s unique signature, Floyd scooped up the whole-wheat flour and a sifter, “If you want your batter to be fine, better sift the flour before mixing.”
“...”
Riddle really didn’t want to admit it, but Floyd was good at doing whatever he paid his mind to. He took mental notes of Floyd’s cooking process, though it was quite hard to keep up with how fast Floyd worked. In no time, Floyd had cooked up a plate of beautifully golden pancakes.
“You ain’t got syrup? That’s a bummer.”
“Syrup contains too much unhealthy sugar,” Riddle argued.
Floyd shrugged, then coated the pancake with a layer of yogurt and placed slices of strawberry on top before stacking another pancake.
“Tada~ That’ll do. Here! Take a bite, Goldfish. Say aaah~”
Before Riddle could even refuse, Floyd shoved a piece of the pancakes into his mouth with surprisingly gentle force. Riddle WAS going to smack him, but the pancake was super good. The sweetness of the strawberry and the moistness of the yogurt created a perfect balance with the fluffy pancakes.
“Whaddaya think?”
Riddle made sure to chew well and swallow before answering, “It’s really good. You really have exceptional skills when it comes to cooking.”
“Ahaha, keep complimenting me and i’ll make you more”
“No thanks,” Riddle gave him a deadpan look, then paused a little, “but can you teach me how to make it?”
Technically, asking someone other than Trey wasn’t breaking the rules.
“Sure, but not until you sweet-talk a lil more,” Floyd smirked smugly, earning a frown from Riddle.
“Argh, give you one compliment and your ego’s already boosted.”
“It’s fine if ya don't," Floyd shrugged, “since I ain’t the one with the burnt pancakes.” He looked down, satisfied by Riddle’s twisted expression.
“Urrghhh…” Riddle felt conflicted. But the pancakes were really good, and if he could learn it from Floyd, he could make them himself for future breakfast AND prove Ace wrong. It was an investment.
“Fine.”
“Mhmm?”
Riddle sighed and looked up at Floyd, slightly embarrassed, “You’ve truly mastered the culinary arts. May you share a few of your techniques with me, Floyd?”
Floyd looked at Riddle for a moment. “Ya, I gotcha,” if it weren’t for it being Floyd, Riddle would say he looked away a bit awkwardly. Floyd grabbed the flour and began to instruct Riddle from the start. Surprisingly, he didn’t say along the lines like “go with the mood” or “I dunno. I just make it.” He used specific measurements for Riddle to remember, which Riddle found a relief. However, it was somewhat odd how much quieter Floyd had become compared with when he first barged in.
Not long after, Riddle successfully cooked his first, good-looking pancake. It was a little less fluffy than Floyd’s, but it was delicious, most importantly with healthy ingredients. Now he just had to perfect the recipe, then he could show how wrong Ace was.
“I have to thank you, Floyd. I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Riddle looked up and beamed brightly, while Floyd seemed a little dazed.
It was also then that Riddle realized how close they were… and a dark patch under Floyd’s eyes. “Did you not sleep well?”
“Nah. Didn’t sleep.”
“! That’s ridiculous,” Riddle frowned, “It’s already eight in the morning.” As if his body caught up with how tired he was, Floyd let out a yawn, “At least go take a nap.”
“Mmm, ‘kay.” Floyd said, took a bite of the pancake from the fork Riddle’s holding, mumbled a goodbye, then turned and left, leaving Riddle standing there again. Riddle didn’t know whether to be surprised that Floyd had followed his instructions or be annoyed that he’d eaten from his fork.
‘Well,’ Riddle looked at the pancake in front of him, ‘it’s time to perfect this recipe.’