THR33 ROS3S // Halilintar

9; Deco Deco~!

Silence rang through the air, you hardly felt the warm touch of your tongue on the side of your lips as you used every inch of your brain to focus on your stupid hands to make them stop shaking. You felt a grumble of frustration gnawing at your throat as your fingers tried their very best to not squeeze out too much or too little icing for a perfect line on those golden brown cookies.

The last thing you needed was for Taufan's perfectly baked cookies to be wasted and ugly because your hands couldn't stop fucking shaking and making everything crooked. It wasn't a big deal, yes, that's what Taufan had said while he peered over your shoulder like a creep. "You can just wipe off the icing and try again," He said. But that would be a waste of the god damned icing, wouldn't it? You bit the inner of your cheeks, trying to shove the frustration burning inside your stomach away. You were an art student for fucks sake. Drawing and making a straight line without any flaws should be a piece of cake.

You and Taufan were friends, yes, heck you guys could be considered as great friends. Inseperable. But the way that wind manipulating bastard orders you around the kitchen and orders you to head to the store to get icing? Even when it's pouring outside? That was something you couldn't take. There was no reason that he couldn't go and collect the icing from the store and when you point this fact out, he brushes it off with that annoying shrug of his, claiming that he has the right since you were in his kitchen. His kitchen, my ass. He doesnt even cook in that house.

You swallowed a sigh and controlled your breathing.

Why is making a straight line of icing on a cookie for your friend's super hero brothers so hard? Was it because those seven brats were heroes? Adored by almost the whole country, admired by all the kids and adults of all ages.

Is that why? Is that the reason?

Pressured by the country? Or pressured by what the boys will think if you do a shitty job?

An image of disappointed scowls and frowns of those colourful eyes staring at a shitty job flashed across your mind quicker than lightning, and yet you couldn't look away or push down the fact that you felt your chest tighten.

You hated disappointing people. You hated their frowns they would give you. Seeing people smile was your only goal when doing favours sometimes. What was it they call this? Being a people-pleaser?

You hated that word. It made it seem like you would do anything to not bring a frown to their face. But you couldn't deny that, can you. Because that was what you did. Do things to reach people's expectations to please them.

Your fingers squeezed the red icing across the top part of the cookie. Your mind repeated the words in between 'careful' and 'dont mess up his hat' over and over, again and again.

Red icing. That bright vermillion colour that strikes out attention to your eyes.

You liked red.

It's a nice colour.

Reminds you of your favourite drink, iced Rose-syrup. Reminds you of those sweet smelling flowers called roses. Or maybe the colour reminds you of those sweet cherries that makes ice cream sundaes taste better.

Yet another image flashed through your mind. Red eyes glaring back. Except they lacked their usual heat. Instead replaced by disappointment and regret. Your fingers trembled slightly before you bit hard on your cheek, hard enough to bleed, just to steady yourself back.

You finished off the design of the cookie's hat with a quick swirl upwards, and using a needle to flatten the nib down, ignoring the image of sharp, enchanting red eyes that you always catch while walking through the hallways of school. With such a focused gaze, all you could see in your peripheral vision was that stupid cookie on that grey tray.