"How in the hell did you manage to butcher the poor freaking cabbage?!" I exclaimed, "I'm exasperated, when I witnessed the disastrous sight in front of me.
"What? You said I chop them into thin slices," he said innocently, and I couldn't help but slap my own forehead.
"I said thin slices, not—well, why don't you go sit down?" If only I knew he was this bad at cooking, I wouldn't have allowed him to help me cook. The poor cabbage looked completely battered; if there's a law against vegetable cruelty, he'll probably go to prison.
"What did I do wrong?" The guy looked so clueless that I really wanted to cry out of frustration.
"Just sit down, Clint."
"It's Mr. Handsome Guy," he corrected.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Handsome Guy, go sit down," I commanded, as I was honestly slowly losing my patience. Thankfully, he finally listened without saying a word.
We were about to start drinking when we realized that we both hadn't eaten lunch yet. Instead of ordering in, I thought it would be fun to cook instead. Besides, I was so affected by Rebecca's story that I kind of want to do something that will make Clint experience something that he would probably have experienced, if he had a normal childhood. So I asked Rebecca if we could use her kitchen to cook.
"How did you even manage to survive three years in this school alone when you don't even know how to cook," I muttered while trying to salvage the remaining cabbage.
"At first, Rebecca would cook for me, but once I started acting and earning my own money, I just went to Gourmet Palace to eat on my days off. When I'm at work, my manager orders food for me."
"Wait, isn't Gourmet Palace a really expensive place to eat? You often go there?"
I began stir-frying the meat. The meat made a sizzling sound as I placed it on the wok.
"Yes. Once, I didn't have a schedule for two weeks, and I ate there everyday."
I almost dropped the spatula in shock. "Wow, you must be earning gold."
"I do."
"..."
I am truthfully regretting this conversation. I can't even complain about life being unfair, knowing how much he had to suffer to be where he is. And he's probably suffering still.
"That smells nice." I momentarily froze when I heard his voice behind me.
"Didn't I tell you to sit down?"
He didn't respond. When I looked back, he was already back to where he was sitting, looking like a lost puppy.
Screw that annoyingly handsome face! If somebody else sees him acting like that, they'll think I've bullied him!
I sighed. "Why don't you go get the plates and bowls and set them on the table?"
"Okay." His answer was solemn, but there was a glint of joy in his eyes.
He looked happy to be included. Sometimes, he really does act like a child. I couldn't help but shake my head as I looked at him with amusement.
Our lunch was a beef and cabbage stir-fry paired with steamed rice and a bowl of clear soup on the side.
"Let's eat!" I exclaimed, picking up some meat with my fork.
The juice from the beef exploded in my mouth so that I couldn't help but close my eyes as I savored the taste. I'd never had Wagyu beef before, a world-famous high-quality meat. But this is probably on par with that one. The meat is just so tender that it melts in your mouth!
"It's delicious," Clint suddenly said. He eats as elegantly as those royal princes you see on TV, so much so that it makes you feel sorry for making him eat at a kitchen counter.
"Don't patronize me," I said, waving my hand. "I know that Gourmet Palace is home to the best of the best chefs in this entire academy. Compared to the food at that place, this probably tastes like garbage to you."
"But it really is delicious," he insisted.
"Yeah, yeah, let's continue eating so we can go drinking."
"Will you cook this for me again?"
My spoon stopped halfway from reaching my bowl of soup. When I looked at him, he still had that solemn and obedient look he'd been having earlier. I find it really odd that he's being like this. Well, I couldn't really judge his character knowing that our short interactions couldn't even sum up to half a day.
Just that, based on what Rebecca said and our previous interactions, his actions right now are far from my expectations.
"When I have time," I coughed.
"Thank you."
We continued eating in silence.
Clint tried to help me wash the dishes, but he had to sit out again, after breaking a bowl. After cleaning up, we then headed to the living room, carrying Rebecca's stash of snacks we found in one of the cabinets.
The wines Clint brought were aged wines a fan gifted him. We set aside the other one since I don't even think we can finish one bottle. The wine had a sweet and mellow flavor and is suitable for casual drinking.
I wonder how rich that fan of his is to actually give him such a priceless gift. The bottle didn't even have a label, so it was probably aged for personal consumption and not for sale. From that gesture, you could feel the love of his fans poured onto that bottle.
What a lucky guy!
We were sitting across from each other, talking about random stuff about the academy, my life, his life, and other stuff we could think of.
"So aside from being a smart-ass scientist, you are also an incredible painter," he summarized before drinking from his cup.
Not gonna lie, a flushed-faced Mr. Handsome Guy looked really cute.
"I said I paint; I didn't say I'm good at it," I corrected.
"What made you like painting?"
"Well, it's because a painting can fully capture what I see."
Clint tilted his head to the side as if confused. So I continued, "Far from what most people believe, the memories I experience don't really stay in my brain forever. However, compared to normal humans, I can retain past memories vividly for far longer. And there are certain memories I retained that I wanted to treasure. But I'm poor, and I can't afford a camera. And timing is essential when capturing moments on such a device. Roughly 70–80% of the time, we miss capturing those genuine moments. So I turned to painting instead. With painting, I can perfectly realize those moments on a canvas, immortalizing them forever."
"Then that means you're good at painting," he concluded.
Really? Out of everything that I said, that's the only thing he retained.
"I told you, I'm not."
"If you can fully display what your eyes can see on a canvas, then that makes you a talented painter," he insisted.
I didn't respond. I'll only end up pissed if I continue arguing with him.
"If you're going to paint me today, how will I look in your painting?"
"A seductive drunkard."
It's really true that alcohol makes you lose your inhibitions.
Clint laughed that laugh that made the plants sway that day. He really has a beautiful laugh. It makes you want to keep him laughing, even if you turn yourself into a joke. It's also a very contagious laugh, and I found myself smiling as I watched him.
Then, I remembered his parents. How can they bear to make such a person feel sad?
"Then, will you paint me?" His words cut off my train of thought.
I quickly looked away and answered vaguely, "Who knows?" I can't tell him that I already have three paintings of him hidden in my room.
"Ah, you really are drunk. Your face is extremely red," he chuckled.
"Shut up and just drink!" I snapped. It made him laugh even more.
The embarrassment is making me sober up, so I grabbed the wine bottle and chugged it down. Clint was laughing on his stomach and didn't even stop me. He's obviously enjoying what he's seeing and was even cheering for me. I only put the bottle down when I could no longer breathe.
"That was so cool!" Clint exclaimed while I was still catching my breath. I could feel my throat and stomach burning from the alcohol. "Let me try too!"
He grabbed the bottle from me and began drinking from its contents as well. He was chugging at it for so long that his face began to turn extremely red, and I panicked. I hurriedly grabbed the bottle from him before he drowned himself.
The stupid, handsome guy ended up gasping and coughing.
"Are you dumb?!" I yelled at him. He was coughing so heavily that I thought I was dying. I quickly grabbed some water and made him drink it.
"Hehe, that was fun!" were his words after almost crossing over to the afterlife.
His eyes were red with tears. His face was the color of an overripe tomato. Yet he still looks unfairly handsome.
I wonder what it would take to make him look ugly, even for a second.
I was taken aback when he suddenly touched my face with his palm. His light caramel eyes were staring directly into mine. "You have gray eyes," he stated, as if discovering it for the first time. "Such a color is rare in this country."
"I got it from my... mother," I choked out.
"They're pretty." He's really drunk. He's beginning to sound like a child. "You're pretty."
"Do you want to get punched?"
He chuckled.
"Let's do that again!"
"Ha! As if." With all my remaining strength, I pulled away from him, taking the bottle of wine away, before he did something dumb again.