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t w e n t y - s e v e n

Jonathan sat at the table and pulled out his notes and highlighters. Just because he was studying culinary didn't mean he didn't have to take and study notes.

"Evan!"

"What?"

"Your favorite color is pink, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess. Why?"

"I needed to decide on which highlighter to use."

Evan followed his boyfriend's voice until he found the source. "Wow, you're actually studying? I don't think I've ever seen you do that before."

"I don't know whether to laugh or scowl at that, but I'll look beyond it. The only reason why I'm doing this is because finals are coming up soon and I'm trying to get my C to a B just in case I bomb it. Cooking is harder than it seems, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Why do you think I stay away from the kitchen?"

"Alright, I'll laugh at that one. What were you doing in your room? Reorganizing again?"

"No." Evan pulled out another chair and sat down with Jonathan. "I was practicing my German. For the trip. Since I don't have anything better to do anymore."

"Hmm. Well, you could help me study."

"Okay. What do you want me to do?"

Jonathan handed the younger some pages with written notes on them. "Tell me the word and I'll tell you the definition. Every chef has to know these terms."

"Cool beans. Ready?"

"Yep."

Evan scanned the pages. "Scallop."

"To bake a food, usually in a casserole, with sauce or other liquid. Crumbs often are sprinkled over."

"Lukewarm."

"Neither cool nor warm; approximately body temperature."

"Fricassee...?"

Jonathan laughed. "To cook by braising; usually applied to fowl or rabbit."

"Al Dente."

"Italian term used to describe pasta that is cooked until it offers a slight resistance to the bite."

"Puree."

"To mash foods until perfectly smooth by hand, by rubbing through a sieve or food mill, or by whirling in a blender or food processor."

• · • · •

"Last word: fold."

"To incorporate a delicate substance, such as whipped cream or beaten egg whites, into another substance without releasing air bubbles. Cut down through mixture with spoon, whisk, or fork; go across bottom of bowl, up and over, close to surface. The process is repeated, while slowing rotating the bowl, until the ingredients are thoroughly blended."

Handing the papers back to Jonathan, the Canadian sat back in his chair. "I only knew one of those terms."

"Which one?"

"Flambe'."

"That's the one a lot of people know," Jonathan laughed, "because it has to do with fire. Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome. Anything else?"

"Nah, I'll do the rest on my own."

Evan nodded and their dorm was quiet for a few seconds, before he got the courage to speak up again.

"Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"What do your parents do for work?"

"My dad used to be in the Air Force, but he's retired now since he was in for twenty years. My mom is an architect."

"Why do you want to be a chef?"

"I just really like food, honestly. I think it's cool that there are millions of ways and techniques to make and prepare things."

"Oh."

"What do you mean by 'Oh'?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering if you have to go to school..."

"...Well, technically no. My parents could easily and would definitely be willing to pay for anything I need. I choose to go to school."

The American gathered his stuff and took it back to his room; when he returned, Evan had his head on the table.

"What's wrong, Evan?"

No response.

Without a second thought, Jonathan was picking up his boyfriend and carrying him over his shoulder.

"I'm having deja vu right now," the nerd mumbled.

Jonathan opened the door to his room and laid Evan on the bed. Then he looked into his eyes. "We are cuddling until it's time to go."

"Go where?"

"Hush and move over."

Evan rolled over so he was facing the wall and Jonathan climbed on the bed with him, quickly and easily spooning his love.

"Go where, Jonathan?" Evan repeated.

"Out with our friends."

"But—"

"Shh. Close your eyes and just relax. It'll be fine. You'll be okay, I promise."

Despite being the type of person to try and get the last word, Evan decided to let it go. He'd let Jonathan win this one, but next time he wouldn't be so lucky.