ObviousMan: Long live blowtorches! Never actually used one, but I've seen one in action on occasion. As for the Presea flowers, my information source(Mizuho, the Mystical Village) has them down as white flowers. Though pink would make sense. In short, I'm going with what I've got.

Dracobolt: Ya gotta love blowtorches. You just have to.

Avari: The style's getting better? I'm still fooling around with it, but I think I kept it fairly non-omniscient.

WhitterZ: One of the main reasons why I look into the recipes is that I don't want any readers who cook to get thrown out of the story by my having something wrong in it. I once read a story where wine was made in twenty minutes from random grape-like berries: little details like that can make or break a story.

Seventh Sage: It's official: the world loves blowtorches.

BrokenAngel,ForgivenDevil: ...I did not mean it that way. This is a PG fic. At best, it's getting up to PG13. Still, your review sent me into laughter once I made it through a "What have I done?" moment. I'm still renaming the chapter, though.

SpecterOfSiskel: Thank you.

elle: Now this is why the review system is handy! I don't pay much attention to my nose so those are the kind of details I've been neglecting. Not so for you. A huge thank you.

End of Response Section

3/26/05 Keep this in mind at all times while reading Midnight Snack: the author doesn't know how to write romance. She doesn't. Keeping that in mind, enjoy the update.

Disclaimer: Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items. The recipe for Holiday Harvest Rice, which she doesn't own, can be found at: www(dot)allrecipes(dot)com. She is in no way responsible for any mishaps/accidents a person may have while attempting to cook a recipe they learned of through her fic.

.-.-.-.-.-.

She wore the flowers in her hair. She was fairly sure that it just looked stupid, but off-hand she didn't really have any other place to put them.

That, and the urge to show them off was too great. Even if it did attract looks. And, if she was honest with herself, she sort of did want to. She loved the relationship she had with him, but... It felt like she had to hide it. And hiding it made her feel like it was a bad thing, something to be ashamed of. Which it wasn't.

So she wore the flowers. And she would have been singing if it weren't for the undeniable fact that while Alicia had gotten the height, her sister had gotten the singing voice. As it was, she was bordering on humming.

But, of course, there were questions.

Or in Melissa's case, questioning looks. Which Alicia pretended she didn't see.

And Cook got ticked off because of the sanitary reasons. Which was always kind of scary.

Fine, maybe it wasn't her best idea, but when he saw her wearing them two nights later... Well, she'd gotten an odd feeling, like something was being inflated inside her chest while something else contracted and started flopping around. It was actually kind of nice... in a really weird, nerve-wracking way. The Presea flowers had been more than half-dead by then and were getting to the stage where she was considering pressing them, but he'd liked it.

He'd smiled.

But that had been mostly it.

Their routine picked up once more, if slightly irregularly now, not the simple every-over-night plan they'd had before. Now, they had to plan it out, and there were gaps, two or three nights where they didn't see each other. And it seemed like he was going on a trip nearly every second week, meaning he'd be gone for at least five days on end.

But that meant he'd gotten a promotion. That was a good thing. That meant she should be happy for him, maybe even proud.

She wasn't sure where she stood, though. Pre-flowers, everything could be interpreted simply, in a "We're friends" way. Even the play, though that was pushing it. Post-flowers... Alicia didn't know. Was she supposed to make a move? If so, what? Was she looking at this the wrong way? Thinking about it too much?

The last one, she had to admit, was probably the case. Even if it was more interesting than assembling sandwiches.

Over the noise of the kitchen, there came the familiar sound of a spoon hitting a pan lid. "Attention, everyone!" Cook called. There was an important-looking man next to him, which explained why he was in Polite Mode. Alicia automatically looked to the band on the other man's left arm. A gold one. Very important, then.

"Alright, everyone. In two weeks time, we have an Event," Cook continued, his tone strongly implying that the last word had a capital. "I know this is on very short notice. I know that this will be tough. But I also know that we can do this. Because this Event will either take place here, or at the hotel." This was said with a fair amount of distaste before he went on to try to rally his so-called "troops". "So where's it going to be?"

"Here!" While Cook was by no means a motivational speaker, Alicia had a strong feeling most workers would be yelling "Down with the hotel café!" if it weren't for the gold band in the room. It was just one of those things.

"What was that?"

"Here!"

"Good to know! Now return to your tasks!"

The kitchen staff did so. Until the man with the gold band left that was.

"What's this 'Event', sir?"

"Seems El Presidente Junior is stepping up. Looks like we're going to be having co-presidents soon."

If that wasn't a cue for jokes, Alicia didn't know what was.

"So what will we call them, then?"

"Co-Presidentes!"

"Co-Presidente Senior and Co-Presidente Junior?"

And so on. Kitchen humor could be a very odd thing, Alicia mused. And this wasn't even on the topic of artichokes.

Steering away from that thought...

"Melissa, do you think we'll get to- Melissa?"

"Yeahwhauh, yes?"

Alicia blinked. "Something on your mind?"

"Ah, no not really. Just concentrating hard, I guess." Melissa shrugged. "Oh, come on, don't give me that look."

"If something was up, you'd tell me, right?"

"And you'd do the same for me."

Alicia was getting the strong feeling that she was being guilt-tripped. "Yeah." Eventually, Melissa. I will. When I figure out what's going on.

And that would probably take a while.

.-.-.-.-.-.

In fact, it was turning out to be a long while. Alicia half wanted to ask Melissa what she should do, she being the one with all the dating experience and all. That, and how Alicia desperately needed someone to talk about this with.

Of course, there was how the entire situation was insane, meaning that telling was a Bad Idea. Getting a person's name was, without a doubt, the second thing a person did in any relationship; it was right after "Hello." And yet, here she was... being insane. She'd passed the limits of "silly" a very, very long time ago.

And she was surprisingly okay with that.

Even if the hallways at night were kinda creepy.

"Hey," she called, unable to stop the smile that was undeniably linked to seeing him.

"Good evening." She liked to think that his was linked to her.

So it was definitely worth it. There were, however, some moments when she wasn't sure how much so.

Just last week, they'd been experimenting with different ways to make chili. It had started to be a normal activity, making three different kinds of the same dish, trying to figure out what was best.

And then it had happened.

Alicia had been stirring Batch A on the stove while keeping an eye on browning Batch B. Then he had stood behind her, leaned over her shoulder and had breathed in the scent of said chili with his eyes closed. He had looked so... so just... He'd been so close that she could have leaned back a few finger widths and she would have been resting against his chest. Or she could have stood up on the tips of her toes and-

He moved away, leaving her with a thundering heart and completely unaware of it. Stunned by her own reaction, she stared at his back as he started dicing tomatoes for Batch C. It'd just been a short stop on his way back from getting a knife, that was all, she told herself. No reason for- no reason for any of that. Just a- a mad impulse. She wouldn't have really... no way. No way.

But the idea stuck. It had planted itself. And it wasn't leaving any time soon. This was partially because his standing behind her like that when checking on her progress was gradually becoming a habit, but mostly because she'd found that she actually liked the idea.

When it didn't completely creep her out, that was.

"Alicia?"

"Rice, y-yes," she stammered, grabbing onto the last thing she could remember him saying. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Zoning out and thinking about... that... while he was in the same room... And she must've been staring at him too... Stupid! "There's, um, a recipe my Mommy-" And now she sounded childish! "-used to make that I was thinking of. It's a holiday one, but..."

"That sounds interesting."

How... how did he always know, she was stilling wondering a few minutes later as she laid out almonds on a baking sheet. How did he know what to say? Simple words, meant to put her at ease, even when it was his fault that she wasn't?

That was just part of it, she guessed. Part of the reason why she...

Toasting the almonds. She needed to pay attention to the almonds. Because nothing looks stranger than an over-toasted almond. And she'd need to pay attention to the onion when cutting it as her fingers were still happy being fully intact.

And she would stop wondering when he was going to stand behind her again. She would.

"Does your mother make this often?" he asked, apparently done with his part with the rices and chicken broth.

"It was just for holidays, really," Alicia replied, trying to ignore his use of the present tense.

"I see." Something in his voice said that it must have come through in her tone, though.

This was awkward.

Alicia sniffed loudly, pointedly cutting the onion. "Eventually, someone is going to invent a good way to cut onions."

"It would be beneficial."

"Yeah. Ah, can you melt the butter? Medium-high heat. Anyway, we'd only have it a couple times every year, but it was one of the first recipes I learned. That was before I came to work here. I suppose my sis is still making it."

It seemed he was one of those people who know when not to pity. That was a relief. But it probably meant he'd lost a family member too. She'd have to be careful if she ever wanted to ask. "You have a sister?"

A good topic. Alicia nodded, smiling. "Her name's Presea!"

"Like the flower?"

"Like the flower."

There was a comfortable silence for a moment.

"Alicia, what comes after the butter has melted?"

"Onions!" she replied brightly, quickly gathering up the thick wedges she'd cut in one hand. Alicia moved next to him and, reaching around him, was adding them to the skillet on the stove before it had fully occurred to her. She was the one getting close this time. And he... was he looking at her? Did he, well, get that insane impulse?

She moved away. Went back to the cutting board and started slicing mushrooms.

"You need a teaspoon of brown sugar, too."

Stupid.

So... stupid.

What kind of person wanted to be kissed while holding a handful of chopped onion?

Not exactly soon enough, the dish was done and in the process of being eaten. By then, she'd gotten her thoughts straightened out, mostly. Enough that she was fairly sure she could look at him without turning red.

"Have you ever considered making an entire meal?"

Eyes on plate, eyes on plate. "A little."

"Would you like to?"

Eyes on plate, eye on plate. Alicia nodded, chewing.

He let the subject drop and it wasn't picked up again until the end of clean up.

As steadily as she thought possible, Alicia turned to him and asked, "When's the next time you can come?"

"Three days from now, I believe."

"So we'll try then?"

He blinked before saying a simple "Indeed."

"Good." A pause. "Fish or chicken?"

"How do you feel about pasta?"

She smiled. "That's good, too. I'll just have to remember not to eat much at dinner."

"And I as well."

"Well, good-night then."

"Good-night, Alicia."

And before he could turn to leave, without anything even remotely resembling thought, she'd quickly taken two large steps forward, risen to her tip-toes while placing a hand on his chest only partially for balance's sake, and had brushed his lips with hers.

Then a little thing called "thought" had kicked back in.

She turned and ran.