Practical Applications

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(NOT WITNESSED BY TIMOTHY THIS TIME)

(THOUGH HE PROBABLY COULD HAVE PREDICTED IT)

(...IT'S A GOOD THING HE'S NOT ON THE NEWSPAPER COMMITTEE)

Emilio Tanner tossed his car keys onto that horrific side table Ocean had bought at a fair, theoretically to 'support local businesses' but more likely because Emilio had taken one look at it and walked in the other direction, and at that point Ocean wouldn't shut up about how the legs are carved like little fishies don't you just love it! And in the end Emilio had cracked and opened his wallet and said fine, alright, the detailing on the carvings was indeed impressive.

As usual, he had driven home and Ocean had walked, but somehow the traffic and some kind of accident halfway there had aligned to make him arrive later, and so by the time he made it into the front hall Ocean was already cracking eggs into a frying pan.

"That was mean," Emilio said, and Ocean looked up from the stove. "You knew I couldn't say anything negative about a student's work."

"In your defense, it certainly was felted," Ocean said, smiling slightly. They shook some kind of seasoning mix into the frying pan.

"Eggs?" Emilio asked, hanging his bag up on a hook. He came over to look into the pan and kissed Ocean on the cheek. "Tell me that isn't cheese."

"Hey, if you don't like it, you can fix your own dunch," Ocean said, looking at the label on a spice jar. "I mean, linner."

"Have you considered that there might be a reason we don't have a word for that?" Emilio asked, collapsing into a chair. He smiled; "Perhaps I'm not skilled enough to make whatever-that-is because I lack the-- what did you say about the bust-- the hand-eye coordination?"

"Oh my God, what, you expect me to bust out one of your lectures about how culture is complicated and subjective?" Ocean rifled through the kitchen drawers for a new spatula. "Yes, it helps with hand-eye coordination! Just because you've never gone to your old family home, dug up the remains of your first hamster, and used the results to arrange a self-portrait doesn't mean that there's no value in it!"

"You made that one up," Emilio said, after a moment.

"Danny Stewart, last year. You said you were afraid to sneeze."

"I wasn't that rude."

"And then when it was all over you were like, 'Ocean, I have something very important to discuss with you', and I was like, 'I'm in the middle of this pot of coffee', and you were like, something something I don't remember at this point, and then we ended up making out in a closet or something."

"It was the faculty bathroom, and nobody would have minded. It boosts morale, or whatever it was. The staff loves us."

"You know some principals sponsor bake sales?" Ocean asked, turning down the knob on the stove.

Emilio watched them put spices away for a moment. He tapped his fingers on the table, then crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"Timothy knows," he said.

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Ocean said, turning around. "And?"

"I--" Emilio threw his hands into the air. "Well, I thought we were doing very well with the lies and the subterfuge and whatnot, but alright, nevermind. Let's hope for the best; I have a memoir riding on this and it'll be funny if we fail."

Ocean rolled their eyes.

"It's fine, he's not going to tell anyone." Ocean tied their hair up in a small bun. "You want eggs or what?"

"You're taking this very--" Emilio looked at Ocean's expression. "Yes, eggs, thank you, I appreciate you every day, I knew since I first saw you half-naked and covered in gravy that we belonged together, but we're in the middle of a conversation..."

Ocean sliced the egg situation in half and divided it on to two plates, sliding one towards Emilio on the small kitchen table.

"You worry too much," they said, pulling a set of forks out of a drawer and sitting down across from him. "It'll be fine. I trust him. Maybe," they said, with a full mouth, "he can be recruited."

Emilio shook his head, slicing into his egg-something with a fork. He tried a piece (it was fine, if cheesy) and looked up.

The wall behind Ocean was chalkboard-painted, and bore a good deal of tally marks, divided roughly into two sides, and sometimes accompanied by small scribbles and words. Around Ocean's head, Emilio could just barely read the latest entry: MARCH 16TH: "MY, THAT CERTAINLY IS FELTED."