Slaine gazed proudly at the groceries scattered over the table. Shopping was a bit of an arduous excursion for him, and somehow in public places he always seemed to get distracted and forgetful. People made him nervous, especially large numbers of people, which he inevitably encountered at the grocery store. He always ended up forgetting things, including the grocery list, and the excessive variety of options for the same item overwhelmed him. He would spend ten minutes trying to determine the best values, and flavors, and types, because he couldn't remember what it was that he usually bought. Sometimes he couldn't get up the courage to ask someone where an item was, so he simply didn't buy it. And then he would have to stop at another store to search, or come another day. One time, a lady had left her cart in front of the freezer door he needed to get to, and by the time he formulated in his mind how to ask her to move, someone was asking him to move, and he had left the store with nothing but a palpitating heart and sweaty palms. But this time, he was sure he had gotten everything he needed. He had been extra careful to bring his list, and to double check that he had purchased all that it contained before leaving the store.
He was living on his own now, more or less, but doing things on his own was still a bit nerve-wracking. He grew up in a wealthy household where he spent most of his time avoiding the other residents, and hiding from people in general. School had been an ordeal, especially since it had been a small, private school, where everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew that he did not belong. The one good thing about it had been that it was where he had met Asseylum, his one and only friend. Well, now he had two. Sort of.
The groceries he had just purchased were ingredients for cookies. Amongst the texts he had obtained the other day there was a large, old cookbook, and, ever curious, he determined to try making something from it. Though he'd never tried to bake before, it didn't seem too complicated. Children could bake, after all. And there was no point in owning a cookbook if it simply collected dust on a shelf. Perhaps he should have gone for something more practical and healthy, but homemade sweets were too tempting, and much more interesting, in his opinion. The ingredients were cheaper, too. Besides, there was another motive to his baking venture.
In lieu of thank you, or goodwill, or apology – he wasn't quite sure which – he planned to share the cookies with Inaho. It did cross his mind that it was probably a strange gift, but he had no earthly idea what other kind of thing Inaho could possibly need or want, and a formal gift might be too much. Casually sharing some food seemed the safest option. It wasn't as though he was planning to package them in pink paper or anything…
Hoping to goodness that Inaho liked lemon, he went about preparations. As he read the first few lines of instructions, it occurred to him that he hadn't thought about kitchen tools. But that was a small obstacle, he could make do without. People baked all the time without fancy things like whisks and… large bowls. Ah. Maybe a saucepan would do? After scrubbing the charred edges of the pan as best he could, he set it down and measured out the butter and sugar. Next was lemon zest. It was very fortunate that the cookbook contained a glossary at the back. After looking it up, he found a little set of directions on various zesting methods. He would have to go with the knife technique, since he was not even entirely sure what a 'zester' looked like, or where he could acquire one.
It was nearly forty-five minutes later that he looked proudly upon his small bowl of lemon zest, neatly minced. Beside it was another bowl of fresh, squeezed lemon juice. Now he could finally proceed.
"With a hand mixer…"
He stared dejectedly at the page for a minute or two before collecting himself and pressing on. A few hurdles on the way were nothing to worry about. He had come this far, after all. It couldn't make too much of a difference if he just used a spoon…
Well, the spoon certainly worked, but it very quickly became clear that there was an exceedingly good reason that most preferred using a mixer of some sort. Feeling his arm might fall off at any moment, and wondering what exactly 'fluffy' meant, Slaine stirred vigorously for about five minutes before he was satisfied with his work. This had to be right… it looked sort of fluffy, anyway. He moved on to the eggs, vanilla, and lemon juice. Those mixed in much easier, though his arm was still aching from the butter and sugar. Getting them in the bowl was the harder part, as the egg broke all over his hand, and the bits of shell that somehow ended up in the bowl were nearly impossible to get out with a spoon. They kept evading being scooped out through some mysterious egg witchcraft, until eventually he dove after them with his fingers. The vanilla poured at an alarming speed, and nearly ended in him adding twice the amount called for. The lemon juice did the same thing, but thankfully he had learned from the vanilla and measured it over the sink instead of the bowl. Or pan, rather. He was very lucky to have found some old measuring spoons in the back of a drawer, though they were a little rusted, and a mouse had seen fit to use one of them as a sort of toilet. It was a good thing he had remembered to buy more dish soap.
It was just after he had finished stirring in the flour and other dry ingredients that Inaho rapped on the door. Apparently he had taken too long with the zesting and stirring and spoon-sanitizing, and now Inaho was home before he had even put them into the oven. Well, no matter. He opened the door, forgetting his hands were covered in flour, and was greeted by two very mystified burgundy eyes. They wandered over his face briefly, and then trailed their way down a bit, before flitting back up to meet his gaze again.
"Why are you covered in flour?" he said at last. "And why do I smell something burning…" he added, craning his neck to look over Slaine's shoulder into the apartment.
Slaine let out a yelp and dashed to the oven. He had set it to preheat and forgotten to check if there was anything inside it first. Sure enough, when he flung open the door, there melting on the bars of the oven rack was a blue plastic bowl with others nested inside it. So that's where the mixing bowls were kept. Meanwhile, after sticking around long enough to make sure that the apartment building would not be going up in flames in the immediate future, Inaho headed for the bath.
Slaine heaved a sigh as he waited for the oven to cool enough for him to scrape the plastic off the bars. The bowls, unfortunately, had to be disposed of. By the time everything was ready for the cookies, which he had not yet finished preparing, Inaho had taken his bath and was meandering over to the bed to read. It was getting kind of late, but he was nearly done. All he had left to do was roll the cookies, put them on the cookie sheet, and…
"Do we have any trays?" he asked slowly, looking in horror at the one small, round baking dish they owned.
Inaho peered over his book at Slaine. "No. Didn't you buy any?"
"I thought I remembered everything!" moaned Slaine. "Now what do I do?!"
"Why don't you ask the lady next door for one?"
Slaine looked at him as though he had suggested murder. "B-but I… can't do that…"
"She's actually very nice. Loud, but nice."
"But…" he frantically smacked the flour from his hands and brushed off his arms.
As he searched for his shoes, Inaho looked at him for a long minute, and then quietly set aside his book and stood up. Before Slaine realized what he was doing, or could protest it, Inaho was out the door.
When Inaho returned with the cookie trays, Slaine was attempting to shape the dough into balls and roll them in powdered sugar. The result was mostly a sticky mess.
"Honestly…" said Inaho under his breath as he set the trays down, rolled up his sleeves, and then took the bowl from Slaine.
Within five minutes he had filled two trays with perfect, round, neatly powdered dough balls. Though he was wondering how it was that Inaho had ended up having to help make these, Slaine gladly put them in the oven and then collapsed into a chair.
"I guess I should clean up now…" he sighed. The kitchen was an absolute wreck.
But no sooner had he stood up, than Inaho began gathering dishes and washing them.
"Ah you don't need to keep helping me… I made the mess so…"
"I don't mind." Inaho rinsed a bowl and set it on a clean towel.
"But I…" He looked around desperately for something he could do to help, but dishes were it, mostly. There were a lot of them.
"You've been doing this for hours, right?" asked Inaho. He was nearly done with the bowls already.
"… ye…yes…"
"Have you eaten anything today?"
It was a good question. Slaine couldn't quite remember, and had to think back on it for a while. "I had some toast… for breakfast…" It was nearly ten at night.
Inaho closed his eyes and exhaled. "That's what I thought. Get something to eat, I'll clean up."
Slaine dutifully ate a sandwich while Inaho finished with the dishes and put everything away. He had somehow made trouble for Inaho again. His last hope was that these cookies would be a success. After an agonizing ten minutes, Inaho took the trays out of the oven and set them on the stovetop. Slaine had wanted to do it, but Inaho made some comment about catching the potholders on fire, and before he knew it he was standing back and watching instead. Inaho was probably right.
He hovered over them, willing them to cool faster. They looked spectacular, but that was Inaho's handiwork. It was the taste that would determine how well he had done. He was busy admiring the cookies, when he noticed that Inaho was retiring to the bed to pick up his book again, which had been so unceremoniously interrupted by the cookie tray outing.
"Don't you want any?" inquired Slaine. Did Inaho not like lemon? With his luck…
Inaho looked up at him, with what may have been surprise. "Oh, they're not for someone else?"
Who else could they possibly be for... unless Inaho thought he was making them for Asseylum. It was a good idea, really, he should make some for her next time. While his thoughts were distracted, out of his mouth tumbled a hasty "what?"
"I thought maybe you were making them for someone," Inaho elaborated.
For you, idiot. "Ah no, they're just for… eating." Now that the time came, he couldn't figure out how to say what he meant. 'Thanks for helping me all the time.' 'I'm sorry I inconvenience you on a daily basis.' 'Let's be friends.' Perhaps he'd just leave it at, "you can have as many as you like…"
He quickly put a few warm cookies on a plate and brought them over to Inaho. For several agonizing seconds, he watched as Inaho bit into one, and then carefully chewed it. He probably should have tested one first, before serving them to his housemate, but it was too late for that now. At last Inaho swallowed, and looked up at him.
"These are… actually really good."
"Don't sound so surprised!" Slaine huffed in indignation, though he was beaming inwardly at his success.
Inaho took the entire plate from him without another word, but he didn't return to his book quiet yet. Instead, his eyes were still on Slaine, and he looked almost amused.
"What are you grinning about?!" Slaine eyed him suspiciously.
Inaho took a second cookie from the plate. "You're still covered in flour…"
