Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What do you think?” Artem slides a printed spreadsheet over to Zella. He’s trying his best not to sound shaky, but he’s apparently exchanged the shakiness for salt-and-pepper nervousness.

Zella lowers her laptop screen to see better. “What’s this?”

“A proposed menu for your lunches this week.”

Her eyebrows shoot up as she pulls the sheet of paper closer. “Lasagna, vegetable stir-fried noodles, fried rice with sweet and sour pork…” She stops reading and meets his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Um.” Inwardly, he tells himself to cross out the um. It’s just Zella, after all. “Yes. Is there a problem?” An allergy that she hadn’t mentioned before, maybe? A strong dislike for lasagna? He tries to stop his mind from going too far before she’s even answered.

“No, it’s just…” She makes a vague gesture. “I can’t believe you’ve put so much effort into this. I know we’re partners, but…” She slides the spreadsheet back. “Isn’t this too much? I mean, you’re putting so much time and money and work into this.”

Too much? Artem looks back at the spreadsheet. “No, these dishes don’t take too much work. Not if I make them the night before. And there are always leftovers, anyway.”

She arches a brow, an unfortunate habit Artem recognizes as his.

“At least try it out for one week,” Artem says.

She holds his gaze for another moment, then sighs. “Fine.”

“Fine?” He doesn’t know why her assent is as surprising as it is — especially since she’d already given it before.

Zella shrugs. “But let it be known that I see right through that devious plan of yours. A week of your cooking and I know I won’t be able to say no.”

Artem allows himself a soft smile. He’s never been called devious before, but he’ll take it if it means she says yes. “Yeah, you got me. That’s the plan.”

She chuckles at that, then lifts her laptop screen, signaling the end of the discussion. “You know I’d still be okay with regular PB&J, right? Or instant noodles from the pantry?”

“Maybe,” Artem says. He nudges a pile of papers away from the edge of her desk before they get the chance to fall off. “But in the greater interests of your long-term health and wellbeing, perhaps not.”

When he departs from her office, he leaves her the spreadsheet for future reference.

Zella doesn’t know exactly what she’d expected, but Artem is nothing if not strategic. He starts bringing her lunch the day after she had received the spreadsheet — less than twenty-four hours, if she’s counting.

The first day, she walks into her office to find a note on her desk, written in familiar print.

I left lunch in the fridge. —Artem

Pretty straightforward, she thinks. She wouldn’t have expected anything less. Zella puts down her things, then checks her watch — there are still a few minutes before work starts. She takes a moment to reference the spreadsheet menu she’d pinned up yesterday, on the green bulletin board behind her. Then she makes her way to the staff kitchen, where the espresso machine, pantry, and fridge are.

She isn’t sure what kind of container she’s looking for, but her question is answered the moment she opens the fridge. There, at eye level — and her eye level exactly — is a glass container with her name on it and a sticky note stuck on top. She takes the container out so she can read the note, which has been notably left unsigned.

I don’t know how you prefer your portions, so there’s extra just in case.

Carefully, Zella peels off the sticky note so she can paste it on her spreadsheet menu later. She opens the container to find two neatly cut squares of lasagna. They are efficiently wrapped in baking paper, and another note is stuck on top.

Microwave for 40-60 seconds.

Zella smiles. It seems he hasn’t missed a single detail.

Before she returns the container to the fridge, Zella rubs her name on the plastic lid, written in what appears to be either a whiteboard or permanent marker. When the ink doesn’t come off, she concludes it is the former.

Maybe it’s a little silly of Artem to write her name on one of his own containers, but at least none of the office staff will be able to mistake it for their own. And besides, Zella muses, it’s nothing a dab of acetone can’t fix. 

She sets the container down on the shelf where she had found it and shuts the fridge. She’s filled with the sudden urge to count down the hours until lunch.

Zella walks into Artem’s office during their coffee break. She places one of his sticky notes on his desk in front of him — the one with the reheating instructions. Artem recognizes his own writing right away.

“Cute,” she says.

“Better than devious,” Artem says, although the compliment threatens to send a warm rush of happiness into his dented Strongbox of Feelings.

She grins. “Who says cute and devious can’t coexist?”

“Who indeed,” Artem says, vaguely thinking, did she just call me cute and devious? Trying to refocus, he takes the note and pastes it on the side of his desk so it doesn’t distract him from his files. “Did you want to ask me something?”

“I did.” Zella jerks her thumb in the direction of the door. “Is there a reason you’re staying in here during your break?” 

Confusion strikes Artem for a second, but clears like clouds when he hears faint hints of laughter and cheering coming from outside. 

“Kiki brought cupcakes from that new bakery that just opened,” Zella explains. “You know, for Devon’s birthday.”

Right, Devon from the first floor. Artem’s glad that he’s getting the recognition any of the law firm staff deserve. If it didn’t mean that the party would stop — fearing that he’d tell them all to return to work — Artem would go up and say hello.

“Cupcakes,” he echoes aloud, instead of saying any of that. “Cakes in cups. Cup-sized cakes.”

Zella’s lips twitch. “Well, the staff are always happy to see you.”

Doubtful, Artem thinks, considering how strict he can be sometimes, but he appreciates the sentiment.

“Come on out if you’re not too busy,” she tells him warmly.

She’s out the door by the time Artem has even formulated any kind of response for her. Giving up, he taps his tablet screen and returns to the PDF he had been studying.

But before he can read anything new, his peace is disturbed again. Celestine enters the room with a new set of case files for him. When she places them on Artem’s desk, her gaze lands on the sticky note. “Artem?”

Artem keeps his eyes trained on his tablet screen, still trying to locate the last line he’d read. “Hm?”

“I know you’re busy, but… microwaving a desk? Good grief.”

That makes him look up, only to see the mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Very funny, Celestine.”

“I know.” She surveys the papers on his desk, then nods approvingly and leaves him to his work.

Artem sets down his tablet. He flicks through the case files, skimming through them before setting them to one side.

Sorry, Zella, he thinks. Even if he had wanted to, it seems he isn’t going to have enough time for cupcakes today.

Artem works all the way through his break, only giving himself the last two minutes to make himself a cup of black coffee and fill up his water bottle. He’d even gone to the trouble of setting a timer on his phone, ensuring that he wouldn’t run into any distractions during the full 120 seconds.

Some of the files that Celestine had given him should go to Zella, and he’ll drop that off at her office later, maybe around lunchtime. When Artem returns to his office, he notes down all the varying deadlines in order of urgency on a separate sheet of paper, underlining the top two cases with a red gel pen.

He gets so absorbed with the rest of his work, and all the tasks on his to-do list, that it takes him nearly five extra seconds to realize his phone alarm has gone off to signify the beginning of lunch break.

Artem stops his alarm before someone walks in to ask if anything’s wrong. Then he finishes the email he was writing, reads over it, and clicks ‘send’. He shuts his laptop, picks up Zella’s half of the files, and heads out — hoping to catch her before she leaves her office.

Artem checks his watch as he brisk walks down the hall — he thinks he’ll be able to make it.

Sure enough, when he knocks on her door and enters the room, she’s just standing up from her seat. “Oh, hey,” Zella says. “Is that for me?”

“Mhm.” Artem sets the files down on top of another pre-existing stack of files. They threaten to tip over onto her desk, and he tries to balance them as best as he can. “From Celestine. You’ll find I’ve underlined the urgent cases in red.”

She picks up the files — even though he’s only just balanced them — and looks over them. “Neat. Thanks.” She puts them down again, then glances at him. “So… lunch?”

“Hm?”

“I was just going to head out and grab my lunch,” she says, gesturing at the door. “How about you?”

“I’m returning to my office?” He doesn’t know why he says it like it’s a question.

Zella ponders that for a moment. “Do you want to join me instead?” She pauses. “It’s fine if you really can’t, I’m just throwing out the offer and—”

“Okay,” Artem says. He’s managed to get a lot done this morning. Why not?

She blinks. “Whoa. Okay, then. I’ll… be right back.”

“I’ll come with you,” Artem says.

“Really?”

Artem makes a vague gesture. “We’re both going to the kitchen, anyway… it’s the same direction.”

“Oh,” she says. “Right.”

He opens the door for her to walk through, and she does. “You know the thing about lasagna,” Artem says, as he follows her out the doorway, “is that I would have preferred to heat it up with an oven.”

She turns to look at him. “As opposed to a microwave oven?”

“It’s not the same,” Artem says. “But as the only option available here, it’ll do fine.”

Their shoes tap on the hard floor in an off-beat rhythm, bobbing back and forth between crystal-like synchrony and soft discordance. The kitchen is on their floor, albeit a short walk away. Some of the staff are already there, making cups of coffee and discussing funny cat videos they’d watched the night before. They all greet Artem politely when he walks in.

Artem waits for Zella to heat up her lunch first — because the kitchen only has one microwave — before taking his turn. While he’s waiting for the microwave timer, Zella returns to the fridge and takes out a large paper box.

“By the way,” she says, presenting the box to him, “this is for you.”

Artem takes the box and opens it to find dry crumbs and stray dabs of frosting in various colors, but also a singular cupcake with blue frosting. “Oh.”

Zella smiles. “It’s from the rest of the team. We all decided to save you one.”

What was this, Appreciating Your Boss Hour? Artem glances up at the people around him, but they’ve all returned to their own conversations. He looks back at the cupcake, stunned. They'd remembered him?

Zella lowers her voice. “Full disclosure, Vyn’s recipe is better,” she says. “But it still tastes pretty good.”

For a moment, Artem is tempted to say something petty, like, the bakery’s technique is better than Vyn’s, but he can’t deny that Zella is right. Vyn does make a fantastic frosting. 

Artem shuts the box, and the microwave beeps.

Zella clears her desk so they have space to eat, and Artem pulls a chair up to sit across from her. He hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, so he takes the first bite, just in case the sauce has magically lost its flavor overnight.

Verdict: it hasn’t.

As if by instinct, Zella reaches for her phone on the other end of the desk, but stops herself. She leaves it and turns back so she can try the lasagna.

“How is it?” Artem asks.

She takes her first bite, chews carefully, and swallows. “Good,” she says, and stabs her fork in for another bite. “I might even add, deviously so.”

Artem relaxes. “It’s a secret recipe,” he says. The pasta recipe was his mother’s, and the sauce had been created through a combination of multiple recipes, trial and error, and the usage of Celestine as a test subject.

Zella pauses. “You mean, a secret recipe with a secret ingredient?”

“You could put it that way.”

She takes another bite. “So… what’s the secret ingredient? Is it love?”

Maybe it was, but Artem prefers to define it as a good helping of minced garlic and chopped bell peppers. He chuckles. “If that’s what you want to think.”

Artem stays even after they’re both done with their lasagna. He offers Zella half of his cupcake, but she refuses.

“I’ve already had one,” she says. “This one’s rightfully yours.”

He nods and begins to peel off the wrapper while Zella leaves the room to rinse out her container — so he can bring it home later. The office is quiet without her, much like his own. If he pays attention, he can hear the ticking of the wall clock in the background, and the soft whirr of the air conditioner. He wonders what temperature she’s set it to.

His gaze lands on the bulletin board behind her desk, which has his spreadsheet menu pinned onto it. Zella has even fixed one of his sticky notes there. He’s not sure why, but it seems like a sweet gesture all the same. Still, perhaps he’ll be a bit more careful with his sticky notes from now on.

Artem swipes off some of the blue cupcake frosting with his finger and licks it.

It definitely isn’t as good as Vyn’s.

The cake itself is fine, though — industry standard, baked evenly. He breaks off the bottom half of the cupcake and presses it on top of the frosting, creating a frosting sandwich. He remembers reading about that being the correct way to eat a cupcake. Even if no one’s here to judge him for eating a cupcake the right way.

Some of the crumbs fall onto his shirt, but he’ll brush those off later.

As Artem slowly eats the cupcake, Zella’s phone lights up.

He glances at it instinctively, and he’s just close enough to see that the notification is from Luke. Artem can’t tell what the message says, however, nor is he going to attempt to.

It’s at that moment when Zella walks back into the office. “I left your container by the sink.” She notices the dying glow from her phone screen and picks it up. After skimming the text, she sets it down again.

“Something important?” Artem asks.

She shakes her head. “Just a normal text.” Zella spins her chair, then sits back down on it. “Good cupcake?”

Artem tips his head from side to side. “It’s… tolerable.” He pauses and rethinks that. “Maybe better than tolerable; that sounds nicer.” It didn’t really feel right to criticize a gift from the law firm staff. Especially if it was birthday-related.

That makes Zella smile. “I guess we’ve both been spoiled by Vyn.”

Artem leaves five minutes before their lunch break ends, picking up all the crumbs he’d missed and dropping them back into the cupcake box. He shuts the box and takes it with him to discard later. Before he walks through the doorway, he pauses and glances back at her. “Let me know if you need a ride home tonight?”

“Of course,” Zella answers. “Thanks for lunch.” She’d meant what she said when she had told him his cooking was good.

He smiles. “You’re very welcome.”

Zella waits for him to head out, then picks her phone up again, this time to respond to Luke’s message.

Chapter Text

The receptionist greets Luke as he wanders into the law firm. Having arrived early, he’d made himself stand outside and wait five more minutes, so he wouldn’t be interfering with Zella’s work. She’d be going on her lunch break around now, which means it’s fair game for him. Luke takes the elevator up to Zella’s floor and walks to her office with a small bag in hand.

He knocks on Zella’s door.

“Come in!” she calls.

Unable to stop himself from smiling, he opens the door and enters her office. He hasn’t seen her in some time, and while it may not have been as long as eight years, time away from her is still time away from her.

“Luke!” Zella puts down her fork. A flask is in front of her, but from his position, Luke can’t tell what’s inside. “It’s really good to see you.”

“Back at you,” he tells her. By habit, he pulls a chair over to the short end of the desk, making it so only a corner is between them. “I brought lunch.”

“So did Artem,” Zella says. But she studies his bag anyway, as if through sheer effort she’ll be able to see through it. “What did you bring?”

“Sandwiches,” he says, and draws out two triangular boxes from his bag. “You know, from That One Sandwich Shop.”

She nods knowingly. They’ve both been there together before; it’s a decent sandwich place with reasonable prices.

Luke puts the sandwiches on the desk. “What were you saying about Artem?”

“He made me lunch.” Zella gestures to a spreadsheet behind her.

It takes Luke an extra moment to put two and two together. He leans forward, squinting as he skims the menu, then looks back at the flask. “Hang on. You’re telling me that Artem is now your personal chef?”

Zella pouts. “Don’t put it like that. He’s only taking over my work meals.”

In other words, she got to eat his food five days a week. Luke pulls her flask closer so he can peek inside. Today’s lunch: stir-fried noodles with vegetables, mixed together with a very appealing dark-colored sauce. Aside from the noodles, Luke pinpoints broccoli, grated carrots, asparagus, and… both black and white sesame seeds? How extravagant could Artem make a simple meal?

“That looks really good,” Luke says. Suddenly, slowly, and much like wilted flowers, the sandwiches start to lose their appeal.

“It tastes better than it looks,” Zella says, which is not helpful at all.

Luke pushes the flask back, then unwraps one of his sandwiches. This one contains sliced olives and cubed feta, as well as other miscellaneous salad ingredients. He takes a bite. “Not bad.”

He feels Zella’s gaze on him. “Do you really mean that?”

“I like olives,” he says. It’s true. He does.

His gaze still flicks over to her flask anyway.

Zella arches an eyebrow, and suddenly she looks very much like someone familiar. Did she learn that from Artem? Luke almost laughs. It’s funny, the things people picked up from those around them — especially when they didn’t seem to notice it.

“You’re staring at my food,” Zella says.

“Am not,” Luke protests, meeting her eyes so she knows he isn’t focusing on her flask. It can’t be that good, anyway. And maybe it’s a leap of logic — one that he’d usually be embarrassed to take — but Artem can’t be that good of a home cook, right?

Zella holds his gaze for a moment. “Do you want some?” She pushes the flask to him. “You know. If you’re interested.”

“No,” Luke says. A beat passes. His stomach is a traitor today. “Yes.”

A smile flickers across her face. “Help yourself.”

She doesn’t have an extra fork with her, so Luke ends up using her fork instead. It’s probably not all that strange, they used to share food all the time. But that was eight years ago, and neither of them have defined the context that they’re in now. Not yet, at least.

Luke swirls the noodles with the fork and takes a bite. It can’t be that good, it can’t be that good, it can’t be that good—

“Mrhpmgf,” he says the moment he tastes the sauce. 

It was that good.

A more logical person might be disappointed, but good food is good food and Luke goes right back in for seconds. The sauce is perfectly seasoned, a medley of savory flavors and the slightest hint of sugar. The noodles are in that sweet spot of firm, but not too soft — something that he struggles to get right all the time.

Luke considers himself pretty indifferent to vegetables, but somehow, in this dish, they add oodles of separate flavors that join hands and dance in a circle and taste fantastic together. Luke almost imagines sparks and rainbows lighting up behind him.

“What did you say?” Zella asks.

“No comment.” Luke pushes the flask back before he ends up eating all of Zella’s lunch.

His mind is whirling like a ceiling fan, no, like beyblades pirouetting on a ceiling fan. Because how had Artem done it? How had he, a busy lawyer with a more than stellar reputation, found the time to learn how to cook? And it wasn’t like the home-cooked meals that Zella’s mom used to make, either, which Luke considers to be five-star excellence. There was this… extraness to his cooking. An Artemness, if one would. Something that made a basic meal suddenly taste a lot fancier than it should have.

Zella looks down at what’s left in the flask. “You really liked that, huh?”

Luke takes a leaf from one of Zella’s books and bites into his olive sandwich so he doesn’t have to answer. It means he doesn’t have to admit that, fine, the sesame seeds were a good touch, the asparagus wasn’t that unnecessary, and that he’d happily switch lunches if given the chance.

Zella props her chin up on her hand. “Okay, sad boy.”

“Hm?” Luke stops chewing.

“I’ll have half of this, and then you can finish the rest.” Zella says the words like she’s read his mind.

And she probably hasn’t. Luke chalks it up to the simple fact that Zella just knows him that well.

“I’m not stealing your lunch,” Luke protests. It’s a very weak protest.

“No, I can eat the other sandwich.” She gestures to the unopened, remaining sandwich box. “We’ll just be splitting. Sharing is caring and all that.” She blinks expectantly at him, a small smile about to light up her face like sunshine after a storm. “Going,” she sings, twirling her fork into the noodles. “Going…”

“Okay,” Luke says, because he’s weak, and because Artem’s cooking is unfairly good. 

Maybe Artem really does win at everything.

She grins, and it’s soft like mizzle on a concrete pavement. Zella doesn’t take long to finish her portion of the stir-fried noodles. She leaves the fork inside and passes the flask to him. “What’s the other sandwich?”

Luke glances at the label as he picks up the fork. “Just a club sandwich.”

She nods and pulls it toward her. “Good enough.”

He hesitates before he tucks into the noodles. “Are you sure about this? We can still trade back…”

Zella gives him a look as she unwraps her sandwich. “It’s all right. You’d be begging me with your eyes otherwise.”

“Hey,” Luke says. She says that like he’s a puppy to be fed.

She shrugs. “Sharing is caring, and I care.”

She looks at him then, but he doesn’t have to meet her eyes to know that she means it. 

Luke tells himself that once is enough.

But, like grains of sand falling through an hourglass, returning for more is inevitable, something that only takes a matter of time.

He doesn’t visit Zella in the same week; her schedule was far too full then and he hadn’t wanted to draw her away from her work.

But the following week, or so she tells him, frees up significantly. So again he finds himself walking into reception — the receptionist greets him as always — and taking the elevator up to her office.

There is a new spreadsheet behind her, this one covering two weeks’ worth of meals. When Artem plans for something, it’s nearly always systematic and orderly and meticulous. There are also new sticky notes pasted on the spreadsheet, although some have begun to curl up.

Zella is dipping what looks like homemade flatbread into a glass container of chickpea curry. “Hey, Luke.”

“Hey.” Luke takes his usual seat on the short side of the desk. “How’s your week been?”

She tips her head from side to side. “Honestly, pretty good.”

“Cool.” Luke opens his bag and draws out a container of tortilla chips and store bought salsa.

And it’s good salsa; it’s a brand he’s happy to stock up in his fridge for times when he doesn’t know what to eat.

Zella tears off a small piece of the flatbread and offers it to Luke. “Try this?”

“Okay,” Luke says. He takes it, and she pushes the curry closer to him. Luke doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but he dips the bread into the curry and eats it anyway.

And suddenly there is an explosion of spices on his tongue: turmeric and ginger and cumin and more. It’s warm, lively, and comforting all at once.

It’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair that someone can be so inexplicably good at cooking, not when the best Luke can do is make a tomato omelette. Zella is so pampered, and he can hardly believe he gets to take advantage of their friendship and eat the same food she gets from time to time.

“Is it bad?” Zella says. “You haven’t said anything in a while.”

Luke shakes his head. He wishes he could just Sherlock it and deduce a common ingredient in all of Artem’s dishes, something that locks him in and pulls him back for more. But somehow, he doesn’t believe that’s the case. Maybe all it comes down to is simply practice, skill, and a palate that agrees with him.

“Did he say anything about the recipe?” Luke asks. “Artem, I mean.”

Zella tears off another piece of flatbread. “I don’t think so. You’d have to ask him yourself.”

Luke nods. He peers at the curry and tells himself he’s doing this for research purposes. He’s going to chew very carefully and try to identify every single ingredient used inside. That’s productive; that’s a good thing. That’s not taking away what is rightfully Zella’s. “Can I…” he hesitates. “Can I have another piece?”

Zella smiles and simply tears half of the flatbread to hand to him. “Pass the salsa. We can share again.”

Artem doesn’t mean to forget to send the curry recipe to Luke. It just… slips his mind.

But when he catches Luke leaving the elevator and heading to Zella’s office one day, their conversation comes flying back to him. What was Luke doing this time?

Artem follows Luke with his gaze, then takes the elevator downstairs to reception.

The receptionist is swinging her purse over her shoulder, about to go on her lunch break.

“Excuse me,” Artem says. “I’m so sorry to stop you. It will be quick, I promise.”

She looks at him expectantly. “What is it?”

“You know the guy who comes here sometimes? Brown hair, coral eyes? He’s slightly shorter than me.”

The receptionist furrows her brow. “You mean Luke?”

Good grief, Artem imagines Celestine saying. Luke had been here so often that even the receptionist knew him by name? “Yes. Has he been around recently?”

She nods. “Three times this week.”

Three times this week. How had Artem not noticed? Has he really been that busy this whole week? Artem files the information away, then nods at the receptionist. “Thank you. Have a good break.” She waves at him, and he rushes back upstairs again.

Artem feels like the physical embodiment of a blustery day when he reaches their floor and arrives at Zella’s office. He knocks before entering the room.

Where he catches Luke red-handed, in the act of picking out a tomato from a garden salad — the exact garden salad Artem had thrown together this morning. Artem is almost tempted to point at Luke and go, aha!

Zella looks up and waves at him. “Are you joining us?”

Artem shakes his head apologetically. “Likely not, sorry.” Then he looks at Luke. “Use a fork.”

Luke makes a semi-offended noise.

“That’s a pity.” Zella goes back to her pasta salad… which Artem distinctly remembers not making for her.

“Hey, what’s in this dressing?” Luke asks, pointing to the garden salad.

Artem blinks. “It’s just a honey mustard dressing.”

Luke picks up a cucumber slice — with his fingers — and eyes it like it’s about to speak out against Artem and call him a liar.

Artem sighs. “Luke, what are you doing here?”

“Having lunch with Zella.” Luke eats the cucumber slice. “How about you?”

“I work here,” Artem says levelly.

Luke shrugs.

“Luke brought a pasta salad with him,” Zella explains, drawing Artem’s attention back to her. “We’re just sharing it.”

Luke had said he would never steal food from Zella. Artem believes that. Dividing their separate lunches between them makes much more sense instead.

“I see,” Artem says, then turns to Luke. “You know the meals I make for Zella are for Zella.”

“I’m not eating all of it!” Luke protests. “It’s just… really good, you know?”

“I can vouch for that,” Zella says.

Artem sighs again. Why is he doing this? Why is he offering this when there are a myriad of other ways he could use his time? He clears his throat to catch Luke’s attention. “Just... text me in advance next time.”

“Next time?” Luke echoes.

Artem reworks his statement for clarity. “The next time you’re coming over to have lunch with Zella. Text me beforehand.”

Luke frowns. “What? Why?”

“So I can make a separate portion for you,” Artem answers. That way, Zella could still have a full portion, and Luke would be happy. As far as Artem could see, that was a win for everyone.

Luke’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and delight, which is confusing to Artem, because it’s just lunch. Right?

“Wait,” Luke says, and points to the spreadsheet. “Can I just tell you which days I’m coming on? I’ve been really looking forward to zoodle day.”

That takes a moment to sink in. “They’re just… zucchini noodles,” Artem says.

“Exactly!” Luke’s eyes seem to sparkle, and for a moment, Artem is tempted to look away from the sheer brightness of it all.

“All right.” Artem racks his head for zoodle day; when had he put that down? “As long as you tell me in advance.”

Luke pumps his fist. “Yes!” He pauses, then switches his and Zella’s containers. He picks up a fork that Artem had not spotted before and drops his gaze. “I’ll just… eat my pasta salad now.”

Artem shakes his head, unsure whether or not to smile. He’s still confused when he leaves Zella’s office.

And yet, Luke’s enthusiastic response to his cooking is oddly pleasing.

Chapter Text

He sends the text ten minutes before he arrives at the law firm.

Marius stares at the screen for another moment, hoping that Zella will be online soon, but she still hasn’t responded by the time he arrives at the law firm. Maybe she’s busy. Marius puts his phone away and steps out of the car. He waves at the receptionist when he enters the law firm, then takes the elevator upstairs.

As the loop of relaxing café jazz plays in the elevator, Marius wonders if he’s making the wrong decision by coming here. Maybe he was intruding on Zella’s time. Maybe he should have asked earlier if he could come over, but then again, his schedule had been so full. 

Sometimes, work clears up when it does, and sometimes that means it clears up thirty minutes before a particular friend’s lunch break.

Marius is familiar with the layout of Themis Law Firm — or at least, Artem and Zella’s floor. He hasn’t had much reason to explore the rest of the building.

After the elevator doors open, Marius walks out and takes another set of familiar steps. He passes Artem’s office — the door is shut, as always — and heads further down to Zella’s office. He raps on the door.

“Come in!” Zella calls.

Marius opens the door and steps inside. He blinks. “...Luke?”

Luke and Zella are both sitting around the desk (why is Luke sitting on the short end and not the opposite side like a normal person?), both with matching glass containers. They seem to be eating noodles covered in some kind of green sauce.

“Oh, hi Marius.” Luke raises a hand in greeting.

“Hey, Marius,” Zella says. “You’re not Artem.”

“No, I’m taller,” Marius says instinctively, and Luke coughs at that. Marius looks over his shoulder, then back at Luke and Zella. “Speaking of my second favorite attorney — where is he?”

“He’s supposed to be having lunch with Celestine,” Zella says. She picks up her phone and glances at the screen to check her messages. “Oh… I just saw your text. Sorry, Marius.” She gives him a small smile. “You’re still welcome to join us.”

“It’s all right,” Marius says, shrugging. “You seemed busy. Do you know when Artem will be back?”

Zella checks her watch. “Maybe in an hour’s time? Why?”

Marius gestures to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Zella’s office only has one extra seating-related thing that can count as a chair, and Luke has already taken that. Which means Marius could find another item of furniture to act as a seat for himself. But since Artem’s out, Marius figures that his office is likely to be unoccupied and has another idea.

Marius leaves Zella’s office and heads back to Artem’s. He opens the office door, half expecting for Artem to have locked it beforehand, but it gives way. Marius scans the room briefly — he’s here for a chair, not to snoop — but it seems like any other regular office. He glances at the tall windows; the blinds have been left up to let the sunlight in. The view is pretty nice, though.

For a moment, Marius is tempted to take the chair at Artem’s desk, the one that he obviously uses for work, but he takes an extra one from the other side of the room instead. “I’m borrowing this,” he says aloud.

No one responds, but he imagines a tiny Artem on his shoulder nodding assent anyway. Marius grabs the back of the chair and heads out of the office. Thankfully, its metal legs don’t screech as he drags it across the tiles. He lifts the chair as he leaves the office, making sure to shut the door behind him, and walks back to Zella and Luke.

“Where did you get that from?” Zella asks as he reenters the room.

“I’m very convincing when I want to be,” Marius says.

Luke looks like he wants to say something to counter that, but turns his attention back to the green sauce instead.

Marius places the chair across from Zella and sits down. He’ll return it to Artem’s office when he leaves. Marius begins to unpack the dumplings — something he’d picked up on the way to the law firm — and narrows his eyes at the green sauce noodles. “What… is that?”

Luke perks up. “Zoodles. It’s zoodle day.”

Riiight. Marius looks to Zella for an explanation, hoping his expression is confused enough for her to take pity on him.

“They’re just zucchini noodles,” Zella says. “Plus pesto chicken.”

“That sounds… healthy.” Marius makes a show of pushing the dumplings away from the pesto.

“Dude, it’s so good though,” Luke says, and Marius casts another doubtful look at the zoodles.

His gaze wanders over to the clear plastic lids, where Zella and Luke’s names have been written on. It looks like the same person’s handwriting, which means that someone has taken the trouble to cook for them, and Marius knows very well that neither of them can cook.

“Did… someone make this for you?” Marius asks.

Zella nods. “Mhm. Artem did.”

She says it so casually. Marius glances back and forth between her and Luke, still trying to process this. “He made lunch for both of you?”

“Yup.” Luke pokes a piece of chicken with his fork and uses it to wipe up the sauce on the edges of his container.

Well, that made some sense, at least. Artem and healthy food went hand-in-hand. Marius can’t imagine him taking the trouble to deep fry anything, not unless it was for a special occasion.

“It’s really good,” Zella says.

“Really good,” Luke echoes.

Now it sounded like they were trying to make a point, or were playing it up to make him jealous. That, or Artem’s cooking was just hypnotizingly excellent.

Marius prefers one of the former points. There was no way zucchini could invite such enthusiasm.

“Good for you,” Marius ends up saying, which accomplishes virtually nothing. He opens his box of dumplings and the little plastic container of sauce in the corner. He’d brought two pairs of wooden chopsticks, but it seems that he’ll only need one today.

Meanwhile, Zella and Luke return their attention to their food.

“Oh, I think he gave me too much again,” Zella says.

“I’ll finish it for you,” Luke immediately offers.

“How about you?” Zella looks to Marius. “Do you want some?”

He’s tempted to say no. Marius still isn’t buying into the supposed quality of Artem’s pesto, but the only way to prove that is to try it. And then his questions will be answered and he can go back to his superior lunch.

“One bite,” Marius says, which makes Luke laugh.

Zella pushes the container over, and Marius very carefully picks up one noodle with his chopsticks. Because he’s trying to be fair, it’s also covered in a reasonable amount of sauce. Marius pretends he’s a secret food critic working on behalf of Pax and snaps up the noodle like a peckish bird.

Zella and Luke exchange conspiratorial glances.

Instantly, flavor lights up on Marius’ tongue. Exclamation marks go off in his head, sharp and bright and vivid. There’s something vaguely herby in the sauce, and an inkling of cheese and pine nuts, and a refreshing element to it all. Hello? His mind goes. HELLO?? Thoughts swarm around his head as he tries to comprehend how and why exactly this, of all things, tastes as good as it is.

Marius swallows. Maybe he’s just never had good pesto. Maybe Artem makes fake pesto. Maybe the zoodles here aren’t actually made from zucchini.

Or maybe Artem has been hiding secret culinary powers from them all this time, and Marius is only realizing it now.

He can’t find the words to describe the sauce. There are no words.

So when a quiet part of him goes, take one more bite?

He does.

When Marius returns home that day, he spends half the evening looking up recipes for pesto zoodles. After he bookmarks the ones that seem feasible enough for a working lawyer, he seizes the opportunity to test them out over the weekend. It perplexes Payton, but the butler doesn’t question Marius no matter how many recipes he tries out.

Yet no matter how many recipes he goes through, Marius discovers it is impossible to recreate the exact taste from Artem’s dish. The sink at home piles up with pans and spoons and forks, and still he comes no closer to matching the pesto that Artem had made.

Marius ends up deleting every single recipe he’d bookmarked.

He has to be missing something.

It’s only the following week, when Marius returns to the law firm, when he finds out about the whole system Artem, Zella, and Luke have going on.

This time, Zella is alone in her office.

“Luke’s not here today?” Marius asks.

Zella shakes her head, and Marius notices that she’s having some kind of fried rice this afternoon. “He’s coming in tomorrow.”

“Is he?” It’s a rhetorical question to begin with, but then Marius’ eyes wander to the bulletin board and the printed spreadsheet behind her. His gaze hovers over the accumulation of sticky notes with various food-related instructions. Was that there last time? Marius points to it. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” Zella instinctively glances behind her shoulder. “Oh, that’s Artem’s menu. It’s two weeks’ worth of all the lunches he’ll cook for me, you know, as a work partner thing.” She turns back to face him. “I think I’m supposed to get a new one soon — for the next two weeks.”

Work partners, yeah right, Marius thinks. “Artem… cooks for you?” He peers at her food again.

“Only my work meals,” she says. “Luke found out about two weeks ago, I think? He’s in on the schedule, too; I’m pretty sure Artem sent him a PDF copy.”

Schedules, spreadsheets, and PDF copies — everything Artem does just sounds work-related to Marius. 

Marius leaves the conversation at that, then takes the spare seat across from her. He sets his own lunch on the desk, which is yet another failed batch of pesto zoodles.

Zella blinks, a small smile blooming across her face like wet-on-wet watercolors. “Is that… pesto?”

“It’s supposed to be,” Marius says.

“I didn’t know you liked pesto.”

“I changed my mind,” Marius says. He pauses. “I changed my mind about zoodles, too.”

Her smile grows wider. “You can thank Artem for that.”

“Yeah,” Marius mutters, because Artem sure was responsible for a lot of things, wasn’t he? “I know.”

She slides the fried rice to him, and speaks in a hushed tone, like she’s trading contraband instead of a simple meal. “You want something else to thank Artem for?”

“No,” Marius says.

But he tries the fried rice anyway.

And just as Zella says, it becomes yet another thing to thank Artem for.

It's past midnight, and Marius is back in his studio, choosing his next canvas to work on.

It’s not an addiction, he tells himself. I am not addicted to Artem’s cooking.

But after he selects a medium-sized canvas, he finds himself picking up his tablet and checking his calendar, searching for the next time he’ll be able to drop by the law firm for lunch. Maybe he could reschedule that business partner meeting? Cut back on painting time for one night?

Okay, so maybe he is addicted. 

Hooked, even.

He’s taken the bait, and the draw of food is reeling him in, and the guilty fisherman at the surface is Artem and his mysterious cooking.

Marius circles a date on his tablet screen and carefully writes: lunch with Zella. Then he puts the tablet aside, sets his chosen canvas on his easel, and begins a rough sketch.

He’ll still bring his own food to the law firm, of course. 

But he’ll play the dancing rattlesnake for as long as Artem pipes his culinary tune.

The receptionist waves at Marius when he walks into the law firm, and he waves back at her. He goes through his usual order of events in the law firm: enter the elevator, press a button, walk to Zella’s office.

Marius discovers that Luke is joining her today.

“What’s on the menu?” Marius asks as he steps inside.

“Sweet and sour chicken,” Zella answers.

“I hear the pork version of that is Artem’s specialty, but it wasn’t on the schedule this week,” Luke adds. “This is good, too, though.”

“Oh, really?” Marius plays it casual as he pulls up a short ottoman-drawer combination thing to sit on. Zella really needed to invest in more chairs, because this certainly wasn’t one. “Can I try some?”

“Sure.” Luke spoons some of the chicken onto the lid of his container and slides it to Marius.

Marius is only having fried noodles for his lunch today, so he picks up the chicken with his own chopsticks and eats that first, since his palate is still clear. “That’s…” he says, trying to sound as professional as he can. What was in that sauce?

He feels like he’s been transported back into time as a small child, and Giann has just finished making dinner. Back then, even though they’d always had staff to cook for them, Giann had enjoyed experimenting at times.

Marius swallows. “That’s... really good.” He doesn’t have any other words. They all seem to have become flat and dull, like stray flecks of gray paint on his fingernails.

“Yeah.” Zella nods enthusiastically. “It’s crazy. So far, I’ve only ever scored one of Artem’s dishes a nine out of ten, and that was just a preference thing. The rest have had perfect scores.”

Artem sure hadn’t been kidding when he’d said this sauce was his specialty. It was doing things to Marius’ brain, pulling up memories that he had long ago locked behind bars.

Marius goes back for seconds. His own lunch can wait, Artem’s fancy sweet and sour dish comes first. “You get to eat like this every day?”

“Five times a week,” Zella corrects him. “Excluding public holidays.”

Marius shakes his head. “What a deal.”

“I know,” Luke agrees.

For the past couple of days, Artem has been chugging through his cases like a steady steam locomotive, only stopping to refuel his engine with black coffee, sleep, and great home-cooked food.

He stretches as he finishes reading through another set of documents, then checks his watch. He’s two minutes into his lunch break.

Today he, and by extent Zella and Luke, would be having homemade spinach ravioli for lunch, something Neil had taught him how to make. Artem has been getting more than excellent reviews from both of them, and he swears they get stars in their eyes when they’re talking about his home-cooked meals.

Speaking of Zella… Artem looks over to a stack of papers on his desk, a stack that he really needs to pass on to her. Might as well do it now. Artem yawns, then gets to his feet and picks up the papers.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be interrupting her lunch break.

As usual, Artem knocks on her door before entering. When he opens the door, Luke gives him a half-wave. He’s already making a start on the spinach ravioli.

“How is it?” Artem asks him, then turns to Zella and puts the papers down on her desk. “This is for you.”

“Tastes leafy,” Luke says. He looks like he’s glowing, Artem thinks. How is he glowing?  

Luke makes a vague gesture as he continues. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s like, a good kind of leafy? It’s hard to explain.”

Artem chuckles. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

Luke nods enthusiastically. “It is.”

Zella taps on the papers, drawing Artem’s attention back to her. “Do you want me to look over these now?”

Artem shakes his head. “Later is fine. I just thought I would drop by.”

“Oh,” she says, a tinge of disappointment coloring her tone. “You’re not able to join us?”

“Sorry,” he says, and as always, he means it. “I’ve got another meeting in ten minutes.”

She nods, then picks up her fork. “I see. No worries.” She pauses. “And thanks for the lunch, by the way. It’s always fantastic.”

Artem smiles. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He turns around and walks out, the compliment still sending little happy fireworks off in his brain. Neil had taught him well.

Artem returns to his office to pack his things, making sure he has everything he needs for the meeting. As he slips his tablet into his bag, he catches sight of a loose sheet of paper on the floor.

Had it fallen off while he was working? Artem picks up the paper and skims the first couple of lines.

It’s part of the stack that was now sitting in Zella’s office.

Time for a detour, he thinks. He checks his watch; he can still grab his ravioli from the fridge and make it to his meeting on time. Artem shuts his bag, swings it over his shoulder, and heads out again.

He goes through his usual knock-before-entering routine and opens the door, drawing breath to tell Zella that the paper is for her.

But all of that fades away in the shock of seeing—

“Marius?” Artem stops.

“Oops.” Marius is midway through the act of scooping up a single raviolo from Zella’s container.

Artem very nearly does a double take. How had Marius gotten here in the negligible amount of time he had been in his office? And what was it with Zella’s visitors and stealing her food?

“You’re back?” Zella glances up at him, and Marius very swiftly takes the whole raviolo and transfers it to his own container.

Artem presses the sheet of paper onto the stack he’d just given her. “I missed this one.” He steps back and alternates between looking at Zella, Luke, and Marius, because it’s very difficult to hold eye contact with all of them at once. “How long has this been going on for?” The phrasing sounds awkward the moment the words leave his tongue. He feels like he’s accusing them of worse crimes.

“How long has what been going on for?” Zella asks.

Artem makes a vague gesture at Marius. “Has he been stealing your food?”

Luke shakes his head, speaking up before Marius can. Suddenly, it strikes Artem that the three of them resemble very guilty children. “Stealing,” Luke says, “with consent.”

“I don’t think consent is part of the concept of thievery in the first place,” Zella says.

“I just found out about the lunch schedule,” Marius jumps in. “And I’m not stealing all of their food.”

That was what Luke had said, too.

“You just found out?” Artem echoes, even though he doesn’t have time for this. All three of them seem to be happy with the system they’ve created, which is great, but what was it about his cooking that lured in NXX members like stray cats? Who was next, Vyn? Artem almost laughs at the sheer absurdity of the idea.

“Weeeell…” Marius says. “Just found out, as in: a couple of weeks ago, give or take.”

A couple of weeks. A couple of weeks? This is baffling to Artem. It’s just pasta, it’s just a spreadsheet menu, it’s just a couple of weeks’ worth of simple meals and care and effort. And these dishes weren’t hot off the stove, either, they were either made the night before or the morning of. How much did they like his cooking to keep coming back for more?

But then again… Artem relaxes his stance. As long as Zella had enough to eat and all three of them were happy, it was fine. It wasn’t as if Marius was stealing her lunch portions and forcing a lonely, hungry Zella to scour the pantry for the last cup of instant noodles, with Luke placing his hands on his hips as he cackled in the background.

That particular image in his head was probably overly dramatized, anyway.

Artem sighs. If Marius enjoyed his cooking so much, then he might as well extend a previously made offer. At least, before he had the chance to regret it. “Marius, talk to Luke about my deal with him. I'm offering the same thing to you.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose as he turns around. “Just… be reasonable, all right? Don’t eat me out of house and home.”

He checks his watch again as he heads out. Now he really needs to get to his meeting.

As he closes the door behind him, Artem thinks he can hear Marius, speaking in a low but audible voice.

“Is it just me, or did he seem kind of tired?”

At the end of the work day, when Artem is just packing up to leave, someone raps on his office door.

Artem glances up just as the door opens, and Marius walks in, notably still in formal attire. He must have driven back to the law firm after a business meeting.

“Are you free?” Marius asks.

Artem nods once. “Yes. Is Zella not with you?”

“She said something about working overtime,” Marius says.

“I see.” Artem files that away in his head. If Marius wasn’t able to drive Zella home, he’d be happy to stick around and wait for her. “You’re here to talk?”

“Something like that,” Marius says, and an element in his tone indicates that this could be a serious kind of talk. Artem readies himself for a business conversation, or updates on Pax, or maybe an NXX-related chat.

But instead, Marius reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his checkbook. He’d likely filled out a check earlier, because he tears one out and hands it to Artem. “This is for you.”

Artem hesitates before he takes it. He knows Marius is honest, he knows that this isn’t bribery. His fingers close over the check, and he reads the sum written on it before it’s too late to back out. “This is…” Ridiculous. There’s no other way to put it. It’s a ridiculous amount, and he has no idea why Marius is giving this to him. “Is this for me?”

“Yup,” Marius says, popping the ‘p’. “I’ve been thinking, and… uh. This is for the food. Or at least, it should cover the cost of your groceries. Since you’re cooking so much for us.”

Evidently, Marius does not know how much groceries cost.

“I… see,” Artem says again.

Marius keeps going. “I don’t want you to feel like we’re exploiting you, or being a burden, or anything like that, because that’s not cool.” He gestures awkwardly to the check. “So I thought I’d give you some financial compensation in addition to my, uh, my undying respect for your craft.”

Undying respect for your craft. Artem almost expects someone to jump out behind him and reveal that this was a prank all along. 

Was his cooking really that good?

“Marius?” Artem says.

“Hm?”

“This is too much.” Artem hands back the check. “I can’t accept this.”

“Oh, did I overestimate?” Marius takes a pen from Artem’s desk, crosses out two zeroes, and hands it back. And even then, it’s still too much. “Hey,” Marius says. “Do yourself a favor and get some filet mignon with this, okay? Or maybe some lobster, or truffles…”

“I’m not a fine dining restaurant,” Artem says.

Marius smiles, then shrugs. “All right, fair enough. Just some suggestions.”

Artem looks at the check again. He takes the pen from Marius, crosses out another zero, and shows the edited amount to him. “If you must give me something, this should cover the expenses for my groceries.”

Marius glances at the check. “That’s not a lot.”

“I don’t need much.”

“Huh,” Marius says. “Maybe I should have saved myself the trouble and just given you a blank check, then.”

That makes Artem smile. “And put that much trust in me?”

“Good point,” Marius says, grinning. “Maybe you’d just write the maximum amount, cash it in, and spend it on a nice tie or something.”

“A good fountain pen.” Artem plays along. “A limited edition one, possibly in gold.”

“Well, all right then.” Marius pauses, then gives him a hesitant thumbs-up. “Keep up the good work.” He’s silent for another moment, then he clears his throat. “So are you gonna pick up Zella, or should I stay behind and wait?”

Chapter Text

It isn’t Valentine’s Day today. Not even close.

But when Vyn steps out into the morning sunlight and stands on his porch, a cool breeze weaves invisible threads through his hair and sends papers flying off the coffee table in the living room.

The wind is changing, and the roses have bloomed.

Vyn draws in a deep breath; it’s cool and sharp and it makes him feel alive. He’d stopped seeing the world through pink-tinted lenses a long time ago, but for an hour or two today, Vyn thinks he might be able to step back into time and entertain the notion.

The text comes in during her coffee break. When her phone vibrates, Zella steps back from the coffee machine, letting another coworker go on ahead while she checks her messages.

Zella tucks her phone away so she can grab a hot cup of coffee before her break is over.

It doesn’t hit her until much later that two other people are scheduled to visit her today.

Vyn wraps the flowers in brown paper and twine. It isn’t as neat as a florist might have made it, but perhaps there is a dash of personal charm in the imperfection of its presentation.

Vyn imagines entering the law firm, handing Zella the flowers, and asking her out for lunch. There is a nice outdoor café by the Stellis River, and if they walk in early, perhaps they’ll be able to get a table with a nice view.

He wonders if she’s had the chance to go out for lunch recently. They haven’t had the opportunity to speak in the last week, and he would rather not wait for the next NXX meeting to ask her how she’s been.

It is a plan tinted with soft peach and crystalline gold. Vyn rubs a finger against a rose petal and thinks he might be feeling optimistic for once.

Vyn nods at the receptionist as he passes her. She gives him a curious look — likely because of the flowers in his hand — but doesn’t say anything as he steps into the elevator and pushes the button for Zella’s floor. He glances at his pocket watch as he waits for the doors to open, trying to ignore the jazz playing through the speakers.

When the elevator doors open, Vyn steps out and makes his way to Zella’s office. He stops outside the door, hand hovering over it to knock, but pauses when he hears laughter coming from inside.

It sounds like Marius.

Had he and Marius both decided to visit on the same day? Vyn lowers his hand, and the pinks and golds from this morning fade into newspaper gray and concrete solidity again. What were his chances of taking Zella out to lunch now?

Vyn stops that train of thought and derails it entirely. He may not be able to bring Zella to a café, but he knows for certain that Marius doesn’t have any home-grown flowers. And that, he thinks, will give him the upper edge. Decisively, Vyn raises his hand again and knocks.

“I’ll get it,” he hears Marius say.

Well, great, Vyn thinks. He considers walking away so that Marius opens the door to an empty hallway, but flowers are flowers, and Vyn wants Zella to see them when they are looking their best.

So Vyn does not move, and lets Marius open the door to meet him.

“Oh, hey Doc,” Marius says. His gaze drops onto the roses. “Ooh, who are those for?”

“Zella,” Vyn says plainly.

“Is that Vyn?” Luke calls from inside, and Marius steps aside to reveal that there were, in fact, a total of three people in Zella’s office before Vyn had arrived.

“Surprise,” Vyn deadpans.

“Hey, Vyn.” Zella greets him with a small wave. “Care to join us?”

Vyn’s gaze jumps from Luke and his odd position at the short end of the desk, to Marius sitting on a drawer-like thing (which did not appear to have been created as a seat), to Zella twirling a fork in her hand.

Vyn steps around Marius and Luke to present Zella with the flowers. “For you, my lady.”

Luke hiccups. Marius makes a show of reaching for the flowers, but Vyn holds it out of his reach until he gives up.

“Thank you, Vyn.” Zella puts her fork down so she can take the flowers. She brings them close and breathes in. “These are lovely. You said they were from your garden?”

“I did,” Vyn says, offering her a small smile.

“Hey Zella, pass me those flowers?” Marius says, which makes Vyn instantly suspicious.

Zella blinks, but hands them to him. “Sure.”

Marius takes them, shuffles around on his strange not-a-seat, and leans forward to offer the bouquet to her. “For you, my lady.” 

“What,” Luke says. 

Vyn’s smile fades.

But even as Vyn’s smile vanishes, Zella’s only grows brighter. “Why, thank you, Marius.” She takes the flowers back from him, the lightness in her tone indicating that she is only playing along.

Vyn shoots a glare at Marius, but unfortunately, he isn’t looking. This is unfair, Vyn grumbles inwardly.

Before Zella can put the flowers down, Luke taps her shoulder and holds out his hands for the bouquet. “Do I get a turn saying Vyn’s line as well?”

Zella tips her head to one side, and for a moment, Vyn thinks she might actually refuse him. 

“Yeah, okay,” Zella says, and Vyn wants to slump forward and hit the desk with a dull thud. “Show me,” she says. 

Luke takes the bouquet and clears his throat. “Wait, I gotta practice first.”

“Oh, oh, do a couple of vocal warm-ups,” Marius says. “Here, repeat after me…”

Together, Marius and Luke run through a few tongue twisters as Vyn tries not to roll his eyes at the exaggerated show the two of them are putting on. At least he had been classy with Zella. Respectable, even. These two, on the other hand, were acting like court jesters.

“Okay, okay, I got this.” Luke says. He stands up, sets the flowers down on his chair, and bends down to touch his toes.

Vyn crosses his arms and resists the urge to sneak a peek at his pocket watch. It occurs to him that he hasn’t yet considered what to do after giving Zella the roses. He had simply assumed that he would be having lunch with her, but now he isn’t so sure if that is plausible any longer.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Luke straightens; his face is flushed from having his head down for so long. He picks up the bouquet and clicks his tongue as he holds it out to Zella. “For you,” he says, pirouetting toward her. “My—” Luke doesn’t get to finish. He trips over the chair and stumbles, banging his elbow on the edge of the desk. The bouquet lands safely in Zella’s lap.

If he wasn’t actually mildly concerned, Vyn would have considered it justice for making fun of him.

“Ow,” Luke says.

“How are you a secret agent again?” Marius says, as Luke, wincing, heaves himself back onto his chair.

“Are you okay?” Zella’s eyebrows crease together. “That sounded like it hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Luke squeaks.

Zella pats his arm, then puts the flowers to one side. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have encouraged you.”

“No, no. It was funny.” Luke gives her the tiniest of thumbs-ups.

“I should hope that you would be better on the field,” Vyn says, which is perhaps a little passive-aggressive. But seeing that Luke is all right, he doesn’t really regret saying it.

“Oh, I am,” Luke says, nodding. 

Zella turns to Vyn. “I’m apologizing to you, too,” she says. “I really do appreciate these flowers.”

Vyn only shakes his head. “It is your gift,” he says, and the apprehension disappears from her posture. “You should be able to do whatever you like with it.”

And just like that, any remaining tension vanishes from the room, melting away like ice on a summer day.

Marius tips his head to one side. “Wait, so why did you need to touch your toes?” He directs the question to Luke. “Was it just so you could spin around?”

Vyn realizes he wants the answer to that as well.

“Huh?” Luke says. “No, that was to make it look like I was blushing. I thought that was obvious.”

Before any of them can respond to that, Luke’s eyes widen, like he’s only just noticed something. “Hang on. Vyn, you’ve been standing for a while. Come join us.” He gestures for him to sit down.

“There are no chairs,” Vyn says.

“We can sit on the floor?” Luke suggests.

“No, it’s fine.” Zella rises from her seat. “I’ll borrow one from somewhere. I should be back soon.” She puts a lid over her glass container and shuts it, then heads out.

“So…” Marius throws a glance at Luke. “Back to lunch?”

While Vyn waits for Zella to return, he studies the room for all the new changes Zella has made since the last time he had been here.

The stacks of papers and files in the room are always different each time, but the messy, colorful squares of notes on her bulletin board stand out from the sleek, modern interior of her office. Vyn wanders over to have a closer look; there is a spreadsheet underneath all the sticky notes.

It looks like… a list of meals?

“Are you joining us for lunch?” Luke asks, and Vyn turns around to face him.

Vyn shrugs. “Probably.” Zella had already gone to the trouble of finding a chair for him. It seemed rude not to stay. “Did you both make individual lunch appointments with Zella?”

Luke and Marius exchange glances.

“Sort of,” Marius says.

Luke nods. “You see,” he says, “it’s filet mignon day.”

“Got one.” Zella opens the door and walks in, carrying a chair. “Sorry I took so long. Kiki wanted to chat about something.”

“It is all right,” Vyn says.

She gives him the softest of smiles, and Vyn finds himself relaxing instantly. Zella sets down the chair opposite to Luke — on the other short end of the desk — then returns to her own seat. She opens her container. “Vyn, what did you bring for lunch?”

Vyn eases into his chair and places his hands in his lap. “Nothing. I will eat later.”

“Really?” Zella looks unconvinced. “You know best, I guess.”

Vyn straightens his posture. He looks over at each of their individual meals; it looks like they’re having… the same thing? Vyn can pinpoint pan-seared steak, mashed potatoes, and mixed grilled vegetables. Suddenly, Luke’s words begin to make some semblance of sense.

“What is…” Vyn begins. “Filet mignon day?”

Marius gestures to the spreadsheet Vyn had been studying minutes ago, and Vyn instinctively follows the direction he is pointing in. “Artem made us filet mignon to share.”

“Which Marius totally bribed Artem for,” Luke says.

“Uh, no,” Marius counters. “I only paid for the groceries.”

Vyn adjusts his glasses and takes a second look at the spreadsheet. Just as he’s been told, it does seem like filet mignon is on the list. “Interesting,” he says. He lingers over the bulletin board for a moment, then turns back to the rest of them.

The sight that meets him gives him pause. They’re all focused on their food, eating with more joy than is strictly necessary.

“Do either of you want more potato?” Zella asks.

“I’m good, thanks,” Marius says.

“I’ll eat it if you can’t,” Luke says.

Zella looks to Vyn. “How about you?”

Vyn usually wouldn’t appreciate being seen as a figurative trash can, but he sees the care in her eyes and realizes she’s only concerned that he’s hungry. In that case, he calculates that the safest option to take would be to simply say yes. So he nods. “I can help you out.”

Zella brightens significantly. “Here, Artem gives me a little too much sometimes.” She takes a plastic container lid and begins piling on a little bit of everything.

“I can have lunch later,” Vyn reminds her.

“I know, but it’s not fair to make you watch us eat,” Zella says, and Luke contributes to the cause by spooning on a small heap of mashed potatoes and grilled carrots. She glances up at Vyn. “Not if it’s Artem’s food, you know?”

Vyn’s mind hones in on those words. That… was an interesting comment. It strikes a match of intrigue within him, a flicker of curiosity sparking where there once was nothing. And if the food could draw in Marius and Luke, there had to be an exceptional element to it.

That, or perhaps Marius and Luke just really liked filet mignon.

“Think of this like an appetizer,” Zella says. “Or that you’re doing me a favor by helping me not waste food.”

Vyn gives her a small smile, just to reassure her. “Since you insist.”

Zella begins to get up again. “Do you want a knife and a fork? I can borrow a set from the kitchen.”

Vyn shakes his head. “I can go. If anyone asks, I will just tell them you sent me.”

Zella pauses, then sits back down again. “All right,” she says. “If you’re sure.”

Vyn doesn’t take long to find cutlery he can use. He makes it to the kitchen and back to Zella’s office in less than five minutes. By then, Marius is finished with his food, but Zella and Luke are still eating.

“Artem made this?” Vyn clarifies as he sits down. He taps the lid Zella had given to him.

“Mhm,” Zella says, and Luke nods in between a forkful of mashed potato.

“Okay,” Vyn says.

He uses his fork and knife to cut off a tiny piece of the steak, then pops it into his mouth. Hm. Of course, it isn’t the same as fresh steak, served after it’s been taken off the pan and left to rest. This, understandably, has been made in advance. The texture is pretty good. So is the flavor.

“Not bad,” Vyn says, because it feels like three pairs of eyes are on him, and they seem like they are waiting for him to say something.

Vyn scoops up a forkful of mashed potatoes and tastes that next, not really expecting anything out of the ordinary.

But the moment the potatoes hit his tongue, he knows that something is different. Different, in a good way. Vyn’s eyes widen in surprise, and he glances down at the fork. Potatoes were potatoes, but… what was in this? “This is… hm,” Vyn manages.

And then immediately goes back in for a second bite.

Vyn knows how to make good mashed potatoes, or at least mashed potatoes that he enjoys. All it takes are some good potatoes, salt, pepper, butter, milk, and maybe a little bit of cheese if he’s feeling fancy. He keeps the ingredients simple.

But after two bites of… whatever this was, his recipe drops right down to second place. Artem had made this? Vyn can hardly believe it. He had known Artem could cook, but he’d never imagined he could make potatoes taste like this. What were these, special potatoes that he’d never heard of?

Vyn realizes that Zella, Luke, and Marius are still staring at him. “These are…” He struggles to put the compliment into words, especially when the compliment is directed at Artem. “Quite exceptional,” Vyn finishes weakly.

Marius blinks. “Hold on,” he says slowly. “You said the steak was not bad, but the potatoes are exceptional?” He throws his hands up. “Consider my expectations defied.”

“To be fair, they are pretty good potatoes,” Luke says.

They are better than pretty good, Vyn almost argues, but decides his energy could be better spent by going in for a third bite.

He doesn’t know how to describe it, but the flavor of the mashed potatoes brings back something he’d once thought he’d lost. Something he thought he would never find again, something he can’t quite put a label on. It’s an odd feeling, but a warm one, and Vyn drifts into the curious familiarity of it all.

Vyn isn’t reeled in all at once, but gradually, in sharp spikes that he tries to fight like the marlin in Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. But after such a long battle, he begins to tire. And slowly, eventually, he finds himself letting go.

It is a small sensation at first.

It is having lunch with Zella, and trying some of her food, and reflecting on how remarkable such simple dishes can taste.

It is quietly appreciating the effort Artem takes to cook for Luke and Marius, who aren’t even his work partners at the law firm.

And it is the slow realization that after that first bite of mashed potatoes, Vyn had found it nearly impossible to go back to normal food again.

But Vyn is mostly content with the food he makes and the food he buys. He does not want to develop a dependency on something that might not last, does not want to intrude wholly on what belongs to Zella.

But still, he finds himself returning for more.

Artem can’t be more grateful for the fact that Luke and Marius are reasonable people. They make sure to tell him in advance if they want lunch, they don’t ask too often, and they try not to take him for granted, either. While Marius has been covering some of Artem’s grocery expenses, Luke has also been putting in the effort to buy him a coffee from time to time.

So when Artem’s schedule finally, finally clears up, he’s excited to have a lunch break to spend with Zella. Luke and Marius have both opted out today, with Marius being busy and Luke simply deciding to skip out on today’s meal.

Artem sends his laptop to sleep and leans back in his seat, taking a moment to finally breathe. Then he’s up from his seat and out the door, heading to the kitchen to get his lunch from the fridge.

He and Zella are both having pita bread with a falafel-inspired dip today, which means neither of them have to heat up their lunch — not unless they really want to. Zella’s container is missing from the fridge, and she’s not in the kitchen, either, so she’s probably in her office now. Artem grabs his own container, shuts the fridge, and travels the well-tread path to Zella’s office.

He knocks on her door and enters.

Only to find a visitor he had never thought to expect.

Vyn turns around in his seat to meet him. He looks at Artem with an expression that is neither friendly nor unfriendly. “Oh,” he says. “Hello.”

Zella glances up at Artem. “Hey.” She smiles as she greets him, then her gaze lands on the container he’s holding. “Are you going somewhere?”

Artem shakes his head. “I was planning on joining you.” He looks to Vyn. “That is, if you’ll welcome me.”

Vyn shrugs.

“Yeah, come on in,” Zella says.

Artem places his lunch on her desk, then searches the room for a place to sit.

Vyn points to a short, drawer-like object. “I am not giving up my chair,” he says. “But you can have that if you wish.”

Artem follows his gaze. “That's a chair?”

“It works as one,” Zella says.

Artem pauses, then decides to trust her on that and pulls the drawer over. “Remind me to give you one of the chairs in my office.” She seemed to need them more than he did.

“I’ll see if I remember,” Zella says.

Artem turns his attention back to Vyn. 

“I brought hummus to share.” Vyn indicates the center of the desk. “And a salad.”

Artem eases himself onto the drawer thing. It seems to be able to hold his weight. “That’s… nice.”

Vyn nods, then gestures to Zella’s container. “That is a good dip, by the way.”

The sentence is only eight words long, but it takes an additional moment for the compliment to sink in. Artem looks at the falafel dip, then at Vyn. “You mean… the one I made?”

Vyn nods again.

Artem feels like all his words have been swept away. What had happened to the Vyn he knew? Even something as simple as a compliment felt unfamiliar when it came from Vyn.

“Thank you?” Artem says. He wishes it didn’t sound so much like a question.

The briefest of smiles flickers over Vyn’s face. “You are welcome.” He tears off a piece of bread, and Artem notes that it looks very much like the one he’d made. “Also,” Vyn adds casually. “I have been meaning to ask you something for a while.”

Artem prepares himself for the worst, because nothing good usually came from that sort of opening. “Yes?”

“Do you use a recipe for your mashed potatoes?” Vyn asks, and Zella coughs as she unsuccessfully hides a laugh. Artem’s gaze flicks to her — was there something she knew that he was supposed to be aware of?

“And if so,” Vyn continues, “may I study it?”

It hits Artem exactly what Vyn is asking for. He stares at Vyn.

Vyn stares back at him.

Zella continues munching her way through the falafel dip.

“That is…” Artem begins. “Oddly specific.” His eyes wander over to Zella, silently pleading for her to notice. Maybe she could provide some additional context?

As always, she comes through for him. “Vyn came over on filet mignon day,” Zella explains.

That long ago? Artem glances back at Vyn, his mind whirling over a) Vyn actually sampling his food, b) Vyn liking his mashed potatoes, and c) Vyn liking his mashed potatoes enough to remember it and ask for a recipe.

“Uh,” Artem says. “I usually just wing it.”

Zella snickers softly.

Artem arches a brow at her. “That pun was unintended, but fair enough.” He turns back to Vyn. “I could, however, write a list of ingredients for the mashed potatoes? And their approximate ratios?”

Vyn nods. “That works for me.”

Artem nods back, unintentionally mirroring him. Half of his brain is still buzzing with surprise, and the other half is convinced that he’s dreaming. 

Vyn? Enjoying his cooking? The two do not seem to add up.

But however unlikely the math appears, Artem cannot deny that together, they create quite the interesting surprise.

Late at night, Zella sits cross-legged on her couch, scrolling through her text messages. An hour ago, Kiki had sent her a link to a restaurant she wanted to try, and Zella now clicks on it so she can skim through their menu.

As she scans through pictures of food, prices, and descriptions, she vaguely wonders what she’s supposed to have for lunch tomorrow. Zella leaves the website and pulls up a photo of Artem’s spreadsheet menu, zooming in to read it. Chicken curry, mixed vegetables, and turmeric rice.

“Hm,” she says aloud. That seemed pretty good.

Her question now answered, Zella leaves her photo album. She’s about to turn off her phone and get ready for bed, when another thought strikes her.

When is she going to get the chance to give back to Artem?

Between cooking meals and working together on cases, he already did so much for her. He’d told her that it was because they were work partners, but she suspects that he’s doing it as a friend, too. And while Zella knows that he knows that she appreciates him, it would be nice if she could do something in return.

Plus, he had been busy with work recently.

Zella chews on her lip as the inklings of a plan come to her, and she opens her text messages again.

Chapter Text

In the days that follow that first glimmer of an idea, Zella reaches out to Luke, Marius, and Vyn to gently drag them into her scheme.

Once they’ve all nailed down exactly what they want to do, Zella delegates the tasks that need to be accomplished to everyone.

They’ve decided on the NXX headquarters as the location of the potluck; an easy choice since the mansion belongs to Vyn. While Vyn plans ahead to bake a batch of cupcakes for the potluck, Marius and Luke have been assigned decoration duty.

“There’s no way I’m cooking,” Luke had said. “Not unless Artem really likes tomato omelettes.”

“Fair enough,” Zella had answered. “I guess a good takeaway place will have to do.”

They’re all busy people with hectic schedules, so they start prepping for the potluck several days in advance.

Out of the four potLuke planners, Zella’s the one who spends the most time with Artem in any given week. So she assigns herself the easy task of asking about his schedule, as non-suspiciously as she can, in order to identify a good date for the event.

Zella gets involved in almost every aspect of the preparations. She accompanies Marius to the mall to select fabric they can use as a banner, debates back and forth with Luke over the potential dishes she could make, and looks up recipes in her free time. And when they are close to the potluck date, she drops by Vyn’s place to taste test his latest batch of cupcake frosting.

What Zella loves is how sincere all three of them are about this. Granted, maybe part of them were doing this simply because she had asked, but Zella likes to think that they’re doing this because they care about Artem, too. Even if they tried not to admit it.

And with the potluck date looming closer and all their preparations coming to an end, all that is left to do is to carry out their operation.

A grin spreads across Zella’s face the moment she reads Artem’s message. 

Operation PotLuke is a go.

The NXX headquarters is a flurry of action as everyone scurries to finish everything before Artem arrives. Zella had talked to Celestine about leaving work an hour early, and after Celestine heard the gist of their plan, she’d agreed to let Zella go.

“Artem could probably use a break anyway,” Celestine had said.

Luke, Vyn, and Marius have also all cleared their work schedules in order to meet early at headquarters.

As Vyn sets beautifully frosted cupcakes onto a wooden cake stand, Luke and Marius hang their thank you banner on the back wall. Marius had painted the banner the night before, carefully lining silver letters on the smooth, black fabric. He’d also gone over it briefly with white splatters, in a sort of dialed down Jackson Pollock style.

Zella checks her phone for the time; they still have half an hour left. She gives the room a quick survey. Twenty minutes ago, Luke and Vyn had transferred a dining table from a separate room into the room they used for their headquarters, and Marius had tossed a newly-purchased tablecloth over it. Like a bumblebee, Zella hovers anxiously over the table, examining the food laid out on it.

She doesn’t need all of this to be perfect, but she’d like it to be as close as possible.

The spread of food across the table is colorful and varied. With all the chairs surrounding the table, Zella feels like she’s been transported back in time to a family reunion dinner. Idly, she rubs the edge of the tablecloth between her finger and thumb, trying not to think too much about her absent parents. They had their own responsibilities, after all.

Vyn places the cake stand of cupcakes at the end of the table, then moves to the other end to pick up the sandwiches Luke had brought. Zella watches as he brings them to a separate table, then unwraps them and begins cutting them into smaller triangles.

“What are you doing?” Luke dusts his hands as he moves over to Vyn. 

“Making these look pretty,” Vyn answers.

“By cutting them into finger sandwiches?” Luke says, and Vyn nods in response.

Marius joins Zella at the table to inspect the food. “Hm,” Marius hums. He switches the bowl of fruit salad with a pot of pasta, making it so that the pasta is closer to the center of the table. He turns to Zella. “What do you think?”

Zella’s gaze travels from one end of the table to the other. “It looks great.”

“Glad you think so,” Marius says. “I mean, for a potluck, someone had to bring a pot, right?”

Luke shrugs as he plants himself into the conversation. “As long as the pasta’s good.”

Zella pulls out her phone to snap a picture of the table. After she does that and exits the camera app, she glances at the time. Artem will be leaving the law firm soon.

Zella opens her text messages and taps on Artem’s name.

Something feels off the moment Artem reads Zella’s message. It is a nagging feeling within him, something that has been tugging at him all week, but has now surfaced to the point where he is beginning to be concerned.

If he thinks about it, Artem can’t identify an exact reason why something is wrong, but he figures it was due to a combination of little details that don’t sit right with him the longer he lingers on them.

The first thing was that no one had visited Zella for lunch this past week. Artem hadn’t received any texts from Marius and Luke, and for a while, it had seemed like he was back to preparing meals for two people. That would have been fine in and of itself, but added to everything else, it felt… strange, somehow. More quiet than usual.

The second thing was that Zella had seemed distracted lately. She still kept up with her work and never fell behind, but it also appeared that she’d had a number of other things to do this past week. Artem wonders if she was dealing with a personal issue, maybe to do with a friend or a family member?

He doesn’t ask for such specifics, though. If she needed to tell him anything, he trusts that she will. Maybe it was only a matter of time.

For now, he has an NXX meeting to get to. Artem isn’t sure what they are supposed to be discussing today, but he guesses that they’ll inform him when he gets there. And he’ll be able to see Zella as well, and possibly ask if she’s feeling all right.

He thinks it might be a decent plan.

Zella, Vyn, Luke, and Marius all step back to look at their handiwork. The NXX roomba whirrs quietly in the background, a part of the white noise along with the air conditioner.

“Do you think we’re missing anything?” Zella cocks her head to one side. The dishes and cutlery are set out neatly, the food smells amazing, and there are enough chairs for everyone. In fact, she’s probably stared at the dining table for too long, but nothing of major importance is coming to her mind.

Vyn steps forward to adjust the flowers on the table; he’d brought them from his garden.

Marius snaps his fingers. “Water. That’s what we’re missing.”

Luke immediately volunteers himself. “I’ll get a jug.”

“Take the nice glasses as well, please,” Vyn says.

Luke nods, then jogs out of the room.

“Did we plan to do anything after we eat?” Marius asks.

Zella opens her mouth to answer him, but then realizes she hasn’t thought of that at all. The roomba continues to make its journey across the room, completely oblivious to their problem. “Uh,” Zella finally says. “We could play musical chairs?”

Marius winces.

“Not to worry,” Vyn says. “I keep a deck of cards in one of the upper rooms. And perhaps snakes and ladders.”

“Ooh.” Marius’ eyes widen, the idea of musical chairs completely brushed off. “I haven’t played snakes and ladders in ages.” He forms a square with his hands. “We used to have one at home with purple snakes.”

The headquarters door swings open, and Zella’s gaze snaps in its direction, just in case it’s Artem.

“I’m back,” Luke sings. He carries a tray of empty glasses and a jug of water. “Where should I—”

Luke stumbles over the roomba. He gasps involuntarily. The tray and glasses go flying, and Zella and Marius surge forward, but they’re too far away to help. Everything seems to slow as Luke leaps over the roomba and lands on his toes. He snatches the tray as it falls and uses that to catch the glasses with one hand, then the water jug with the other. Nothing breaks, nothing spills, and Luke lands on his feet like a lucky cat.

Zella’s heart is pounding in her chest.

“Whoa.” Marius’ eyes are wider than before. “I guess you really are a secret agent after all.”

“Told you I was better on the field,” Luke breathes. He relaxes his stance. “Guess I’ve redeemed myself.”

“Maybe,” Vyn says, moving forward to take the tray from Luke. “But you still need to stop tripping over things.”

Artem steps out of his car, locks it, and walks up to Vyn’s mansion. He checks his watch; it’s 5:29 p.m. exactly. Still early. Artem unlocks the door, twists the doorknob, and enters the house.

As he heads closer to the room designated as the NXX headquarters, Artem thinks he can hear voices. He can’t make out what they’re saying, but it sounds like everyone has already arrived.

In that case, he had better not keep them waiting.

Artem types in the passcode at the door and enters the headquarters.

“Surprise!” Zella, Luke, and Marius chorus. Vyn echoes the same word, but in a much more deadpan manner.

Artem freezes. With wide eyes, he takes in the painted banner, the dining table, and all the food spread out over it. Zella is grinning at him, and so are Luke and Marius, and even Vyn is looking less grumpy today. Slowly, it dawns on Artem that his calculations about Zella had been horribly far off.

“This is…” Artem trails off. He clears his throat, trying to find his voice as he rephrases his question. “What is this?”

It wasn’t his birthday. Nor was it any public holiday, for that matter, or even Be Kind to Lawyers Day.

“It’s a potluck,” Marius says. “We’re hosting one for you.”

“But…” Artem is still at a loss for words. “I didn’t bring anything.” That was the point of a potluck, after all. Everyone was supposed to bring something.

“You weren’t supposed to,” Zella says, completely contradicting that particular thought.

Luke walks over to Artem and loops an arm around his shoulder. “The point is,” he says, leading Artem to the dining table, “we wanted to thank you for cooking so much for us.” He nods to Zella. “It was Zella’s idea.”

Artem stares at the frosted cupcakes and the flowers and all the food on the table, and all he can do is open and close his mouth like a goldfish. He looks to Zella, then at the rest of them. “You did this?”

“Mhm.” Zella gestures to the spread of food. “Think of it as a token of our appreciation.”

Token of our appreciation. It takes a second, but a sense of wonder flowers in Artem’s chest, gentle and warm and unexpected. He thinks about how busy Zella had seemed, and how Luke, Marius, and Vyn had been mysteriously absent from the law firm. Artem furrows his brow slightly. “Does that mean we don’t have an NXX meeting today?”

“Nope,” Zella says.

Artem swallows and makes sure to look each of them in the eye. “Thank you,” he says.

A garden is sprouting in his heart, but he doesn’t seem to be able to unearth better words than those.

Artem doesn’t know where to start. Vyn had simply pressed a plate into his hand, and then Zella had gestured to the food. “Help yourself,” she’d said.

Artem examines the pesto rotini, the miniscule triangle sandwiches, the tossed fruit salad, and the cupcakes. He feels like he’s been standing without doing anything for too long, so he shifts to face Zella. “Which one’s yours?”

“The fruit salad.” Zella gestures to the large white bowl, where cubes of fruit have been thrown together.

“Cute,” Artem says. The salad will work as an appetizer. He spoons the fruit onto one side of his plate so he can reuse the rest of the space later, for the other dishes. A thought strikes him, and Artem smiles before he speaks his mind. “And devious,” he adds, as solemnly as he can. “Very, very devious.”

It takes Zella a moment to get it, but then she laughs. “What can I say?” She leans over to grab an empty plate for herself. “Maybe I was inspired by you.”

Artem returns the fruit salad spoon to its bowl, and moves on to the rest of the food. The sandwiches look small and neat, so he picks up two triangles and puts them on his plate. “Who made these?” 

Luke glances toward him. “Oh, those aren’t homemade,” he says. “They’re from That One Sandwich Shop.”

“What sandwich shop?”

Luke and Zella exchange delighted glances.

“What’s so funny?” At the end of the dining table, Artem selects a spoon and a fork.

Luke snickers. “No, that’s the joke.”

“And their marketing strategy,” Zella adds. “That One Sandwich Shop is the name of the shop. It gets people to spread it by word of mouth.”

Marius crosses his arms. “More like, That’s Kind of a Long Name Sandwich Shop.”

Vyn’s cupcakes aside, the food is not particularly excellent. They’re literally having cold sandwiches, cubed fruit, and slightly under-seasoned pesto rotini, but Artem doesn’t care. Because Zella, Luke, Marius, and Vyn — they had done this for him. They had planned this and pulled everything together, just so they could show him their appreciation. And he is going to return the favor by fully savoring every moment of the potluck.

It’s one of the best meals he’s ever had in his life.

After everyone fills their plates, they choose their own seats around the table, and Artem finds himself sitting in between Zella and Marius.

Midway through the meal, Marius rises to his feet. He holds up one of the mini sandwiches on his plate. “A toast,” he says, tapping the top slice of bread.

Vyn groans.

“To Artem,” Luke agrees, picking up another sandwich. “Cheese.”

“Cheese,” Marius says, and he and Luke raise their sandwiches to each other.

“This is absurd,” Vyn says. But he uses his fork to stab a grape and hold it up to them. “Fondue.”

Zella claps her hands. “That was nice,” she says, then winks at them. “Or maybe I should say, grate.”

Artem only smiles and shakes his head.

He's never had a toast like this before, but in the company of friends, it isn’t totally unwelcome at all.

The five of them collectively save Vyn’s cupcakes for last. While Artem selects a blue one for himself, Zella and Marius take ones with mauve frosting. Vyn and Luke each go for a cupcake with pastel green frosting.

The last time Artem had had a cupcake, he had been by himself, in Zella’s office.

But now, with four other people in the room, he feels like he’s opening himself up to judgement if he doesn’t eat the cupcake in a socially acceptable manner.

That’s a ridiculous thought, Artem tells himself. They won’t care. After going through so much effort to put this together for him, they probably wouldn’t think much about how he eats his cupcakes. Decisively, Artem breaks off the bottom of the cupcake and places it on top of the frosting, just as he always does.

And no one cares. 

In fact, each of them has a different way to approach eating their cupcakes.

Zella simply picks pieces off the cake and eats them together with the frosting so she can savor them together. Marius eats all of the frosting first before touching the cake, which is horrifying, but not surprising. Luke seems to finish his cupcake in two bites. And Vyn… Vyn goes in with a knife and fork.

Artem bites into his cupcake. The frosting is rich, buttery, and gorgeously combined. It’s vanilla-flavored as well, his favorite kind of frosting. It is absolutely, one hundred percent better than the one he’d had for Devon’s birthday.

Sorry, Devon, Artem thinks. It wasn’t even a competition.

Vyn always did make fantastic cupcakes.

After dessert, Luke and Zella clear the table and head to the kitchen to wash up, and Artem, Marius, and Vyn are left to decide how they want to spend the rest of the evening.

“Snakes and ladders?” Marius suggests.

Artem supposes he has time to spare. He shrugs. “No objections from me.”

“All right.” Vyn spins around and heads for the doorway. “I will retrieve the game. I should not be long.”

He leaves the room, and a few moments pass in complete and utter silence. Vaguely, Artem thinks about switching off the roomba.

“So…” Artem begins. “Do you like snakes and ladders?”

“Do I.” Marius’ expression lights up. “I used to play it with my dad and my brother.” His smile softens. “Our house rules were that snakes were up and ladders were down.”

Artem arches an eyebrow.

“You know.” Marius makes a vague gesture. “Because of the family crest.”

Ah. Artem nods slowly. “You and I grew up with very different versions of snakes and ladders, then.”

They end up playing one game of snakes and ladders.

One game, singular, because it took nearly two hours for someone to finally come out as the winner. 

That winner is Marius.

“House rules rule, suckers!” Marius leaps up from his seat. His token sits smugly on the final square, a mere two squares away from Artem’s own token. He’d been so close to winning.

But apparently, the snakes had simply preferred Marius over the rest of them.

“Finally.” Zella slumps onto the table. She’d fallen down the tallest ladder five times.

“The dice were not on our side today,” Luke says.

“Is probability ever on our side?” Vyn says.

They’d only decided to play the game Marius’ way because of his enthusiasm, and because it had sounded intriguing at the time. But Artem had found himself instinctively wanting to go down a snake multiple times when he should have been ignoring it entirely.

“That was fun,” Marius says.

Vyn begins collecting the tokens. “Maybe for you,” he says. “I, however, intend to lock this board game into a closet for a very long time.”

Back at his apartment, Artem finishes typing up Zella’s lunch schedule for the next two weeks. His desk lamp is growing warm after being left on for so long, and he taps it to feel how hot it is.

The sky had been dark when they had left headquarters.

Artem had ended up dropping off Luke and Zella, while Marius and Vyn both went their separate ways. Artem had stopped at Luke’s place first before driving to Zella’s.

“Thank you,” he had told Zella, one more time, when it was just the two of them in the car. “I hadn’t expected it at all.”

She’d smiled at that, the dim street lights painting golden glints on her face. “You’re worth it,” she’d said, turning to him. “I hope you know that.”

The words had been so simple. So easy to say. And yet, they held so much meaning and warmth and depth. Artem had found himself making a note to write a short thank-you message in the NXX group chat.

He’d sent that text fifteen minutes ago. Now, Artem reads over his spreadsheet one last time. It’s short, since it only covers two weeks, but there’s at least one meal in there for everyone. Chickpea curry for Luke. Zoodles and something with truffles for Marius. And everything works out for Zella, because she likes most of the dishes that he makes. Artem draws a small star in his calendar; it’ll remind him to call Vyn when he’s making mashed potatoes.

Artem saves the spreadsheet as a PDF and sends it to Zella, Luke, and Marius. A second later, he sends it to Vyn as an afterthought, just in case he was interested.

He hopes they know that they’re worth it, too.