underlined | IC INBOX: INUGAMI

[ she sniffles once, and that's all she allows. no more tears, no more pain. or at least that's what she wills, even if her body and heart disagree, even if it all still feels so raw, so fresh.

it isn't fair, what she's doing. it isn't fair to compare her life to his, when she barely even knows him, when he's barely even let her in. it was all too easy to, of course, and easier still to steamroll his own emotions and struggles and cookie-cut them to fit her own, or her own perception of them.

whoever akira is to keisuke, no matter what dal dal thinks of him or that relationship — it's not her place to say, and it's not her place to judge. she can think all she wants, but she had promised herself a while ago that with this, with keisuke, she'd step back.

stop saving him when he didn't want it. and just be there for him when he did. if he did. ]

...I'm sorry too.

[ hastily, she reaches up, smearing tears and flour along her cheeks. ]

I always thought love was supposed to be beautiful... [ she laughs, a sharp, gasping sound, bubbling wet at the edges. ]

[It was all too easy to project when one viewed another as having a problem similar to their own. It was a common human pitfall—naturally, people are creatures that search for patterns to find solutions.

The issue that arose from that was that, despite the surface-level similarities, one person's issues would never be truly identical to another. Keisuke came from a different world with a different global situation, different people who handled situations circumstances differently, and on a fundamental level he was a different person than Dal Dal. Perhaps she could attempt to find strength outside of the person she cared for. That person wasn't here. It might be easier that way.

But Akira was here, and even when he hadn't been, Keisuke hadn't felt any stronger on his own. He'd felt more lost. After over ten years with a certain type of an anchor in his life, it was completely alien to consider otherwise.

He couldn't completely explain to her what Akira meant to him. He couldn't adequately figure that out himself.

He's quiet for a moment. He's wondering when they're finally going to stop apologizing to one another.

She only moves to make matters worse when she rubs at her face. He takes a half-step closer, actions slow and gentle, tugging his sleeve down so he could use it to help... as best he could, anyway.

He laughs too, though it's a quiet and sad sort of sound, almost feeling like a choke in his throat and in his chest than an actual laugh. It was—optimistic. He'd never heard that type of thing. Love had fallen out of their culture; necessity was far more important.]

...That'd be too easy, wouldn't it. [Tone low and with a touch of seriousness, though there was a self-deprecating humor to it too. He didn't expect any of this to... work. It would just be a chronic pain he—they—lived with.

A pause.] So... how much time for the cookies to be done...?

[ there is a wry twist to her lips at his words. sad, but in a resigned sort of way. ]

I guess it would be.

[ maybe she was wrong to believe in such things. maybe it was too naive and foolish of her to think anything in real life could be like the fairytales and k-dramas, that love could fix anything, so long as you worked hard enough for it.

and maybe she's wrong, still, to keep hoping for it. ]

Twelve, fifteen minutes? They aren't that thick, but there are a lot of them. Hand me one of those baking sheets over there—

[ she gestures, finding it easy enough to fall into inane chatter even when their minds are obviously elsewhere. ]

[Maybe he'd been better trained for this by the world he'd grown up in. There hadn't been any romantic comedies, any gentle and positive anecdotes from elders to expect good things because that's what a good person deserved to have happen to them. No, the sky had split open with bombs, countries dividing and secluding, violence and animosity becoming status quo even after the war had ended. People knew better. The fact that he would be trapped with feelings that only inspired intense anxiety for him felt natural. He had never expected anything good to come of it because he rarely expected any good to come from any aspect of life.

But positivity and optimism were nice. He wished he could think that way.]

Okay. [He fetches one of the sheets she had indicated, handing it over to her carefully.

He tries to offer a small smile.] Can't remember the last time I had cookies... did you make them from scratch and everything?

[ she'd always wonder about that, really — which must be the worst fate? having no experience of that kind of life, or getting a taste of it only to have it ripped away from you?

then again, maybe it's not about which is better or which is worse. both fates seem cruel enough. ]

I did. [ she beams, just a little bit, because there is still that part of her that blossoms under the idea of someone she cares about enjoying her food. ] Once I learned the basics, it was easy enough to get going from there. You just follow a recipe!

[ she hesitates a little, watching her hands work as they lay the cookies out one by one. ]

...I can teach you sometime, if you want.

[It provided a strange frame of reference for him here, especially since, by and large, most of the people he spoke with typically were from more peaceful places. It—made him want to help, to protect as well as he could, but it also made him worry he couldn't do what he wanted—

Right. Cookies. There was time for cycling into worry later.

It's amazing that anyone could make anything from scratch to him, even if they were following a recipe. Raw ingredients and the skill to create them were rare enough.

But...] I... guess if I had the ingredients and the recipe, I could do it. [Pause.] I - might need some help, though. I never really cooked much...

[Most of his meals came out of plastic wrap; he looked at the oven like it was an alien machine.

But she went as far as to offer. He smiles at her, genuinely pleased.] Oh... good. I'll take you up on that, then.

Do you cook often?

My mom is a food researcher back home.

[ there is a softness in her tone as she speaks, an almost wistful look in her eyes even as she busies her hands around the area. ]

So I grew up around it. I've been cooking longer than I've been doing Taekwondo.

[ though she almost always never remembers this... until she's actually back in the kitchen, doing it. ]

And if you ask me, [ dal dal says, chest puffing a bit in pride, ] baking is a lot easier than cooking. You follow a recipe correctly enough, and you're bound to make something decent. Cooking has a lot more room for freestyling, and that's where experience and talent comes in.

Food researcher...? [The term obviously sounds foreign to him. The only thought that comes to mind to him was the people who must've invented Solids back home, discerning what nutrients were necessary to human existence and figuring out how to synthesize them and manufacture at the lowest possible cost. Keisuke wasn't angry—one could subsist off of them for very little money, which was necessary. And you got used to the artificial, chemical taste after a while...

Of course, having a mom (or a parent, at all) was just as foreign a concept. The family he'd been assigned to after the war ended hadn't been a family. At best, they were neglectful. At worst—

In any case, he isn't sure what he respects her more for. Both martial arts and culinary arts are like complex codes to him, almost unattainable for himself though, if she was willing to teach, he was willing to try.]

...Baking might be better for me, then. [A small, shaky smile, though at its core it's self-deprecating. One who knows Keisuke well can tell the difference.] I'm not sure I'd have many good instincts for cooking. But... that's incredible. You're - talented in many things, Dal Dal.

[He really does think she's incredible. But it does make him feel remarkably plain and talentless in comparison, though.]

[ there is a sudden loud, booming sound as dal dal slams the oven door shut after slipping the two baking sheets in. she grabs up the timer as she straightens, but her attention is on keisuke as she twists the dial. ]

I am, [ she says, and quite plainly too. no boasting, no arrogance — just stating simple facts. ]

But I was fortunate, too.

[ she recognizes her privilege, at least. especially here, when hearing about all the other worlds she's never even dreamed of. half the time, she thinks she's at a disadvantage; her world is too simple, too light, preparing her for none of the horrors here. but the other half, she thinks maybe it's because of that that she's managed to stay upright so often, for so long. ]

Don't think I just woke up one day and knew how to be this good, Keisuke. I worked hard for a long time. You can too.

[Keisuke's shoulders jump a bit at the sudden sound. He's lived through a world war, so he's a little sensitive to that, even if he doesn't remember it all that well.

The thing about Keisuke is he will never recognize any acknowledgement of skill as arrogance. He understands that she's just stating facts, largely because he's aware he couldn't really think of anything to do the same for. One could say he has other skills—that surviving at all back home was a skill unto itself. He can't really see it that way, though. He'd relied on Akira for so long; he barely felt as though it had come across as anything he'd done.

He did tend to forget that it was something that one had to work at, though. he'd thought that it was just something innate, that Akira had been so skilled at Bl@ster, but it's very nearly everything he'd ever done.]

I guess I just gotta - decide what I want to work on, then. I'm not sure fighting is anything I'll ever really be great at, [because that was actually something he had been exposed to his whole life, and it'd never worked out.] But cooking - maybe.

[ the smile dal dal gives him is one of utmost confidence — but not in her, in him. ]

I think you'll like it, [ she says, coming over to lay a gentle hand over his arm. with a soft squeeze, she leans in, catching his eyes while her twinkle with something akin to wistfulness. ]

My mom always told me that the greatest part about being a cook is seeing the look in people's faces when they enjoy something you've made them.

[ she never did get it until many years later. she knows she'll never forget that burst of warm feeling in her chest, seeing her loved ones love something she worked so hard for. ]

You're not a fighter, Keisuke. We both know that. But there are other ways to help people.

Hopefully. [Another smile, this one gentler and slightly more confident.] Especially if you're teaching me.

[She's a good teacher, okay. It has nothing to do with how ... nice she is, or how reassuring her hand feels on his arm, constant with a slight pressure. He doesn't even mind when she leans in a bit, a sort of closeness he isn't really used to. He's still awed by how pleasant it is to have someone care, guilty that it should feel different at all. People didn't act like this where he came from; not really, or maybe just not the ones he knew.

Part of him wants to refuse to get used to it, just in case they were forced to go home. But - it's nice.]

Mm... I bet that's great.

[When he had been dating her, his ex-girlfriend had baked him a cake before inviting him over. It had been a big deal - the ingredients to make something like that were expensive, perhaps weeks or months of saving. She'd... she'd seemed so happy when he'd enjoyed it, thanking her, telling her how great it was.

He wishes he hadn't given her so much reason to hate him in the end.]

...You're right. [Even though his world didn't seem to understand that. But this place might.] Thanks, Dal Dal. I'll remember that.

[And it's then that the timer on the oven rings.]

Oh!

[ her startled squeak quickly turns into a note of excitement, the tender moment they'd shared shattered effortlessly by a need much more basic than human touch and comfort — hunger.

not that dal dal herself is particularly hungry, but she'd worked fairly hard at these cookies, and is eager to see whether or not they'd been a success. ]

You're not busy, are you, Keisuke? You have to sample these for me and tell me how they turned out!

[ she plucks up the oven mitts from the counter near her work station, bustling about to take the baking sheet out of the oven. there is a rush of heat that fans her face and legs when she opens the oven door, but with it comes that telltale smell of freshly baked goods, too — sugar and butter and everything terrible for you. ]

No, not at all...

[And his eyes are a little bright, a tiny bit intent, as he watches her maneuver to take the cookies out of the oven. He takes a half a step back when she opens the oven, a little unprepared for the arid rush of heat, but he's drawn right back in like a fly to honey as she draws the cookies out and sets them on the counter.

He hovers overhead, glancing to Dal Dal with a small, nervous smile.] This part's the worst, right...? They're done but - too hot.

[He continues to hover with the occasional fidget, apparently impatient in this final bit of waiting.]

IC INBOX: INUGAMI

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