She walks over to my station just as I realize I didn’t push the handle of my beater all the way down.

As I frantically turn around to turn off the machine, she giggles.

“You’ve got some batter on your chin” she says moving her right thumb up to my face and stroking the stray piece gently off the edge of my jaw.

I stay frozen in place even when she retracts her hand, and am a bit surprised as she places her finger in her mouth.

“Mmm! This is really good Arlyn!”

She squats abruptly and peers into the oven at my baking station.

“Millie-feuille?”

She tilts her head back, looking a bit upset “Ugh that is such a good idea! I’m more of a chef than a baker so I went super basic and decided on doing a cake for this round.”

“Basic?” I raise an eyebrow. “Your dish last round was anything but. I’ve never thought of combining pumpkin and mango before into a toasted salmon lasagna- the judges were blown away” I shake my head. “Knowing you, your cake has to have a unique twist to it. Don’t sell yourself short, short-stack”

“Short-stack?” She scoffs, pushing my elbows with both her hands. “Where did this disgraceful insult come from? I’ll have you know, 5’3 is close to average height”.

She’s standing so close to me now that I feel her body heat radiating off her maroon apron.

“No seriously, what’s the flavor profile of your cake?” I ask, changing the subject.

She lights up at the question, her words coming out quickly and excitedly in a way where you could tell her choice was something she’s proud of and poured a lot of thought into. “The Genoise is red bean and toasted rice green tea. Coconut cream and horchata between the tiers.”

I hang onto her every word as she continues to briefly describe her process.

“And you’re pairing all that will almond blackberry ganache?” I ask slightly breathless out of awe. She definitely has a knack for making me feel starstruck. “Absolutely brilliant.”

She tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Stop it Ar, you’re making me blush”.

The timer I set for the puff pastry goes off and I snap back to the reality of our situation.

“Gotta fish this out of the oven now” I say too matter a factly. “Best of luck with the remainder of the round. Not that you’ll need it with your genius tho” I add with a shrug.

“You too!” She says while jogging back to her station.

——-

With four people in total left in the competition and the two weakest dishes preparing for a face off, after making it through the round, me and her are the only people in the common room now.

It’s significantly less busy, but it doesn’t feel any less vacant thanks to her presence.

As we both sit tiredly in a mutual peaceful silence on the couch, I take a moment to reflect on how far I’ve come from the start of the show, wondering how I could better prepare myself for the finale.

“Whatchya thinking about?” She asks.

“Do you want to- maybe-“ I breath out “never mind.” I say, averting my gaze.

She turns my head back towards her. “No” she says in a slightly whiny tone. “Please tell me-what were you going to say?”

“Do you want to cook together?” I blurt out, my eyes wide.

She smirks. “Cook with the competition?” She questions. “Shouldn’t I know better?”

“Well.. we don’t exactly know what’s waiting for us in the final round” I say. “I arguably need to learn how to be bolder with my flavor pairings while still having things compliment each other, and I recall you saying you’d want some more tips on baking.” I meet her eyes.

“So yeah, I mean- why not help each other?”

She takes a moment before giving me a convinced look. “Okay.” She says, sitting up from the couch and reaching out her hand.

I tentatively grab on and am slightly impressed by the sheer amount of force she has by how quickly she hauls me up. It must be thanks to all that kneading dough.

I tie my hair up into a messy bun as we walk to the dormitory kitchen.

——-

It’s the morning of the big day (the finale) and I couldn’t sleep from the amount of nerves I’m feeling.

In addition to baking, a hobby that has served as a good emotional outlet for me to blow off steam is boxing.

I feel a lot calmer as I walk back up the stairs from the gym, unraveling my hand wraps in rhythm with my steps.

I fish the keep to my room out of my bra, still mentally reciting algorithms for balancing out flavor and texture combinations as I walk down the hall. Can acidic go with savory? Wait no- it needs a mediator of sweet.

“Arlyn” I stop at the sound of her voice calling my name out from behind me.

“Eminie? What are you doing awake at 2am?” I ask taken aback.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She counters, eyeing the gloves poking out of my gym back. “Are you part of some underground fight club?”

I try not to laugh. “No, I like to hit bags, not people”.

She slaps the backside of her hand to her forehead and gives a sarcastically sorrowful look. “What have the bags ever done to you to deserve such maltreatment?”

I smirk “Hmm.. they were made for it. They were in need of my fists company”.

She clicks her tongue. “Touché”.

“And how about you- you still haven’t answered the question” I press.

She looks shy all of a sudden, moving her left hand further behind her back. “I was just writing”.

“Just writing?” I say, an earnest expression on my face “about what?”

“Umm. Well.”