It's perhaps the earliest you've ever woken up. Birds chirp loudly, their shadows reflecting briefly in the window outline. The sun isn't out yet, and you think at this rate, the clouds may keep looming over your head all day. There's but one goal in your mind. So with a determined stride, you walk to your destination. And you find the kitchen light is on.
Your mother has a funny grin on her face.
"Is something wrong?" you ask, interested. In truth, you know the answer already, but her cheerful greeting inspires the question.
She gives you a long, hard stare. "You asked me to teach you how to cook!"
"Haven't you been waiting for this moment?" you reply, a smile spreading across your lips.
"Yes, I have!" she exclaims. "I can't believe you're letting me teach you!"
Your steps are messy, nothing short of drowsy, as you wrap your arms around her. She guides you into an embrace. One hand patting your back, her other lands softly to cradle the top of your head. You nuzzle your nose into the fabric. In her snug hold, the impossible becomes possible. And the stars brighten up so strikingly, though they can't be seen by the human eye amidst the scattered sunlight, you're sure they shine. This is home. Home is warm.
Your mother laughs. "My baby, why are you so tired?"
"I woke up way too early," you mumble, cuddling deeper into her arms. "I don't remember why I agreed to this."
She squeals and squishes her face against the side of yours. "It's because you wanted to cook for your friend! Or was it friends? I don't know, but I'm so happy!"
You nod, feeling the vibrations of her voice. "My friend, and she's also my seat mate," you say eagerly. She lets go and peers at you curiously. "I told you about her. The one with nice hair, which attends my new school."
It's been a few weeks since you moved. Your classmates aren't any better than those in your old class. They haven't tried anything weird with you, other than when they'd butt into your conversations with Sally. She'd turn to them and say it isn't polite to do so. Her words are ignored more often than not, and you notice her brows knit in confusion. Or maybe it's frustration? She can tell you've had enough too. But what else can you do? When they talk, and you catch the discomfort in her blank gaze, you place your hand over her scrunched fist and bump her shoulder gently. Her dewy lips smack together, and she barely contains a vibrant smile from breaking out.
She ends up approaching you, her face flushed. And you exchange numbers. The bulb of her eyes gleam as she wonders when you're free. You reply, saying anytime (they illuminate with sheer intensity more pronounced than the great starry night, once you concur). She asks whether you want to go on a picnic the next day. You agree. Then you realise you can't cook, and your mother beams in pride once you beg her for help.
"Let's get started then," your mother teases, humming a melody as she grabs the ingredients and arranges them accordingly. Her eyes act to fondly follow your hesitant movements.
You pout. "What am I supposed to even do?"
She takes your hand in hers, guiding the spoon to place even amounts of avocado and pickled radish onto the sheet of gim. You lean over and add the rice. She smiles. Your nose scrunches in amazement as she folds the gimbap into perfect rolls. She goes back to seasoning the tuna, whilst you try to mimic her rolls. It doesn't work out so well. Still, you do your best to try and get it right.
"And is this girl someone you like a lot?" she asks, stirring the mixture. There's something tender in her voice, close to being humane.
Your lips part, slowly forming a grin. "Yeah."
YOU ARE READING
Endless solo of solitude | Lookism various x reader
Romance"You're always so sad," he says, his eyes closing. She takes a moment before saying, "I know." "Why?" he asks simply. "I don't know," she whispers, "I really don't." Lookism various x Female reader. Most love interests listed in tags.
