Conflict 17: Comfort

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WARNING

Cursing and violence ahead



Name leaned on the island, her gaze silently she followed Matthew walking back and forth from one bowl of pancake mix next to a chopping board with half-sliced bananas and a bowl of fresh blueberries, to a table of asparagus, broth, zucchini, salt.

It was a Friday night and Matthew (who had asked her for her number) called her, inviting her over to dinner. It wasn't weird or awkward. Matthew wasn't a kick-me-in-the-crotch-spit-in-the-neck-attention-seeker like Alfred. He was shy at first but that's pretty average. It was the same with her.

He was normal. In a nice, familiar way—in a sensible human kinda way.

He was grounded and wasn't as crazy as the other countries, sometimes even more compared to Arin and Allen. (Good-crazy, that is.) She'd be lying if she said that she wasn't having a hard time with her studies. It was as with any other school problems: Bearable, just overwhelming sometimes.

And her good-kinda-crazy friends were awesome, just added to overwhelming. She was glad when Matthew called. He wasn't overwhelming. He was just the right type of whelming.

His messy blonde hair was tied with a black elastic bond. He had an egg-and-flour-stained white apron over his red flannel shirt. His eyes were focused but she could tell from his small smile that he was having fun. His pale fingers didn't stumble as they worked with the eggs, cracking two in each hand.

A hint of a laugh escaped her chapped lips despite her efforts to hide it. Matthew turned away from the glass bowl "What is it?"

"Nothing" She shook her head "It's just that..." She glanced at the eggshells and flour spread over the counter like dust and debris "Pancakes. Really?"

He grinned, "Something wrong with pancakes?"

"No, it's just that aren't pancakes for breakfast? No offense"

"You're having dinner." His lips twitched as his grin transformed into a smirk (Damn these guys and their smirks. Is it a nation thing? She told herself) "With a country, with Canada, and he is making pancakes"

"For dinner"

"For dinner"

She laughed again and he did the same.

"Dinner is served" Matthew put a small bowl of gooey green soup with broccoli or whatever as a topping. It looked, for some reason, delicious to Name. She glanced over her shoulder, Kumajirou and Oatmeal were busy watching TV to eat with their owners.

"Asparagus and zucchini velouté with parsley" He explained when he noticed her staring at the dish. Not disgusted, but curious.

"French food?"

"Yep. I would've prepared cassoulet or pan-seared foie gras, but I remembered you were vegetarian"

"Show-off" The French names rolled off his tongue so naturally and effortlessly.

He smiled and raised his fork "Bon appetite."


"That was great. You know, you're an awesome cook" Name said as they went outside the balcony.

The air was crispy and dry and cool. November was on its way, and so was winter.

"Merci" He replied.

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