Work Text:
It was a peaceful night in Garreg Mach. Heavy clouds had settled over the land, blanketing the sky in a sleepy haze. The moonlight melted through them, gently bathing the empty walkways and remote alleys of the monastery in a silver glow. It slipped through the windows and touched down on the plant life, lightly caressing the nocturnal creatures that scuttled through the grass.
Those were not the only creatures awake at that time.
A crash from the kitchen shattered the dreamy atmosphere, coupled with a profuse curse that made the flowers on the windowsill curl.
“This isn’t possible!” said Sylvain. He sat bent over a tray that lay unceremoniously on the kitchen floor. It’s contents were splattered in a wide, goopy mess across the tiles, caking them in the faint fragrance of chocolate.
“Sylvain! Did you hurt yourself?” Ashe stood in the door way, pale as a ghost and clenching an already batter-caked mop in his hands.
Sylvain groaned and curled into a ball. “Yes. I’ve hurt my pride. Again.” He rolled over and lay on the floor as Ashe took the mop to the polished tile and began cleaning the mess.
“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again now,” said Ashe, “You need patience to bake.”
“It’s been hours,” Sylvain moaned, “I think I’ve been patient enough.”
“Usually, it takes hours to make one batch. You’ve attempted ten.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Sylvain rolled onto his other side as Ashe stepped over him. “Mercedes’ birthday is tomorrow, Ashe. I can’t take my time with this.”
Ashe sighed. “Then you should have asked for help sooner! If I’d known you were struggling with this I would’ve helped right away!”
The mop squelched dejectedly as it was dragged across the floor behind Sylvain’s head.
“Listen, Ashe,” said Sylvain, staring despondently at the gap between the floor tiles and the counter, “I wanted to teach myself because that’s way more meaningful. Going through all that effort for her? Learning a new skill just for her pleasure? That’d sweep any girl off her feet. But,” Sylvain slapped a weary hand against the floor in front of him, “I can’t do it.”
Ashe set the mop against the wall and plopped himself down onto the still sticky floor. “You said that on your fifth try, too.” A comforting tone slipped into his voice as he spoke. “It’s not like you to give up after all this effort.”
In contrast to Ashe’s voice, Sylvain’s was thick with despair. “That’s because I’ve never struggled this much to accomplish anything before.”
“Well then, therein lies your problem!” Ashe crawled over to his friend and placed his cheek on the floor to look Sylvain in the eyes. “It’s your first time committing to something. Try thinking about it this way. What’s your goal?”
“To make Mercedes smile.”
“And what do you want to do to get there?”
“Bake her cookies.”
“Wrong,” said Ashe, poking his housemate firmly, “You want to put in the effort to bake her cookies. That’s the key here. Stop worrying about the taste and just focus on putting your all into the process. As long as you try your best, I’m sure Mercedes will love it. That’s the kind of person she is, right?”
Sylvain’s dejected heart fluttered ever so slightly in his chest. After resisting stubbornly for an embarrassingly short period of time, a sigh escaped Sylvain’s lips.
“Ugh, yeah. I know.” He peeled himself up off the floor. “You’re good at cheering people up, Ashe.”
Ashe grinned bashfully as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just a little something I picked up back in the day. So,” he said, looking at Sylvain expectantly, “Let’s give it a try one more time?”
Sylvain’s mouth spread into a tired smile as he picked up the tray from the floor. “Yeah, yeah. But get off the floor first, you’re in the way.”
Ashe sprang to his feet, eyes shining and smiling from ear to ear. “That’s the Sylvain I know! I’ll do the dishes.”
Sylvain handed him the soiled tray and bent over the recipe once more as Ashe bounded away to the sink. He ran a slender finger over the steps, muttering under his breath.
“Not too much flour or they’ll fall apart, melt the butter later rather than earlier, don’t forget to grease your tray otherwise the cookies will stick. . .”
The clatter of dishes filled the air, complimented by Ashe’s cheerful whistling. Sylvain straightened up and got to work.
The first steps were simplest. Separating the dry ingredients from the wet left little opportunity for error, and Sylvain had long since memorized the required amounts of each. However, erring on the side of caution, he chose to double check each one as he added them to their respective bowls. Eggs, milk, butter, flour, sugar-
“Sylvain! That’s the salt!”
Sylvain blinked down at the cup of what he had thought was sugar in his hands. Ashe stood next to him, dripping tray in hand and eyes wide with horror.
“Oh goddess,” said Sylvain, “Have I been mixing them up this whole time?”
Ashe frowned and dipped his finger into a lump of stray dough from the previous batch on the counter. He gave it an experimental lick, retched, and spat it out in the sink.
Sylvain paled. “So I have been confusing one for the other.”
Ashe shook his head as he bent double over the sink. “No,” he choked, “Too much baking soda.”
Sylvain’s eyes widened as he stared at the discarded dough in horror. “I swapped the sugar and the baking soda?”
“I don’t know, but please put the salt back in the bag. I’m getting anxiety thinking about it.”
Sylvain hurriedly dumped the salt back and grabbed the sugar, making sure to double check that it was the correct ingredient with Ashe before adding it. Ashe’s eyes started to water and he ran to the dining room in search of a cup.
Sylvain swallowed down guilt at his friend’s distress and pressed on, forcing himself to think positive thoughts. Imagine Mercedes smiling as she eats these. If you can survive a Demonic Beast, you can survive a few hours in the kitchen, too.
The cookies were in the oven and he was pacing anxiously by the time Ashe got back. Ashe double checked the temperature had been set correctly and then joined Sylvain as he reread the recipe yet again.
To ease the tension, the two cleared off some room on the counter and played a few rounds of chess. Unfortunately for Sylvain, Ashe was a terrible opponent, but it did take his mind off things.
“Hey,” said Sylvain, pausing in the action of taking Ashe’s king for the sixth time, “It’s starting to smell decent in here.”
The thick scent of warm chocolate was beginning to waft into the air. Sylvain’s heart beat with wary hope as Ashe gave him a confident pat on the back.
“It doesn’t smell like year-old eggs this time!” he said brightly.
“What doesn’t?”
The questioning voice was soft, feminine, and brimming with amusement. The duo looked to the door where Mercedes stood, hands perched lightly on her hips. Her eyes twinkled as they danced across the carnage that was the kitchen before settling on the perpetrators.
“What are you boys making?”
The chess piece in Sylvain’s hand clattered to the floor. His stomach sank as his heart leaped into his mouth. “We, uhhhh,” he swallowed, “What are you doing awake?”
Mercedes smiled. “It’s four in the morning! I wanted to bake a birthday cake for myself before class.” She prodded a stray lump of dough on the counter. “Did someone beat me to it?”
Sylvain felt like he was being prodded instead. The back of his neck felt warmer than the inside of the oven.
Ashe must have felt the tension because he laughed awkwardly, muttered a hasty apology of some sort, and bolted out of the room.
Sylvain watched him go, utterly betrayed.
Mercedes’ laugh was light and full of mirth. “Oh, poor Ashe! What did he get dragged into this time?”
“Nothing! And why do you assume he’s the one who got dragged into this? Listen, Mercedes,” Sylvain swung an arm around her shoulders, his charm switched on after recovering from his initial shock, “Why don’t you head back to bed? It’s your birthday! Surely you can allow yourself a few more hours of sleep. Annette will gladly make your cake instead.” He winked, his heart still racing. “I can walk you back if you’d like.”
“You’re trying to get me out of the kitchen.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Mercedes pat his arm gently. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m quite happy where I am right now. I think you should be more worried about the goodies your burning.”
“What?” Sylvain turned to find smoke billowing out of the oven.
Horror filled him as he flung open the oven door. The cookies inside smoldered cheerfully.
A part of Sylvain’s heart crumbled like the burnt bake in front of him. He stared at the cookies in dismay, as if his gaze could bring them back to life.
His throat tightening, he pulled the tray out. It was covered in burnt dough; there was no saving them. Tray in hand, he turned to Mercedes, who had entered the kitchen and was now staring at the cookies as well.
The jig was up.
“These, uh . . . “ He couldn’t bring himself to look up. “These were going to be a surprise for you.” His voice caught in his throat. He’d been less devastated when he’d been dumped by three girls in a row downtown.
Gentle hands cupped his face and drew him up to meet Mercedes’ eyes, soft and full of kindness. Their corners crinkled in amusement as her thumbs ran over the bags under his eyes. “You would finally show me your tears because of a few burnt cookies?”
He frowned indignantly. “This isn’t about the cookies, it’s about failing to show my love for - “ Sylvain coughed and bit his tongue.
Mercedes raised a knowing eyebrow as a smile played across her lips.
“ - for baking,” Sylvain finished lamely. He knew Mercedes saw through his lie. She always could.
Even so, she didn’t say anything as she reached out to dust flour off his nose and run a tender hand through his hair. It rested on his cheek for a moment before she removed it and Sylvain clung to the memory of her touch.
He continued to gaze at her as, without hesitation, she plucked a cookie from the baking tray and popped it into her mouth.
Sylvain choked as if he’d been the one to eat it. “Mercedes, don’t eat that, they could kill you!”
The crunching of the cookie as she chewed was grating to the ear.
“Oh, Sylvain,” Mercedes said through a bright smile, “These are awful.”
He groaned.
She dusted her fingers on her apron as she continued, “And yet, somehow, they’re the most wonderful cookies I’ve ever eaten.”
Sylvain did a double take as he glanced between the charred cookies and Mercedes’ now blackened fingertips. “Stop being nice.”
Mercedes laughed, “I’m not! The ratio of flour to butter is all off, it’s crumbling to ash in my mouth, and it feels especially unpleasant when I swallow.” She clasped her hands together. “I love them.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She held a cookie out to him, laughter playing on her lips. “Try it!”
Was this punishment for his sins? Sylvain hesitantly took the lump of burnt dough from Mercedes. It looked even worse up close. Parts of it seemed to be disintegrating from his touch alone but, after a few encouraging nods from her, he took a bite.
An eruption of disappointment flooded his mouth. It was bitter but sweet, dry but sticky. It was a taste that he’d never experienced before and was sure he’d never experience again. He imagined the sewage out back would taste better. It was so awful he had to laugh.
“How did all those ingredients come together to make something this bad?”
Mercedes was also laughing as she ate another one, tears of mirth rolling down her cheeks. Sylvain joined her, and soon, the kitchen was bubbling over with their laughter.
The cookies were the worst thing the Garreg Mach kitchen had ever birthed, which was precisely what made them so special. Before long, there were only a few cookies left, and the two agreed to set them aside for Ashe if he returned.
The quiet of the early morning settled over the kitchen once more as the laughter slowly died down. Sylvain rubbed at his eyes, now truly exhausted, his face aching from smiling. “I have a talent for baking.”
Mercedes was still giggling as she dumped the abundance of dirty dishes into the sink. “You really do! I should have you join me in the kitchen sometime.”
“I’ll do the dishes, Mercedes.” Sylvain was already rolling up his sleeves in preparation, but Mercedes laid a hand on his arm.
“No, I’ll do them. Look at you, you clearly haven’t slept a wink and you’re swaying on your feet. How are you going to charm any girls if you let your face get haggard like that?”
“You know you’re the only girl for me, Mercedes.”
Mercedes’ eyebrows rose at his words. Sylvain acknowledged her reaction with a smile. He’d known for a while that no other girl would ever make him feel so comfortable, so accepted, and so loved. He finally felt he had the strength to express it.
Or maybe he was just delirious from lack of sleep.
He was beginning to ponder whether he should regret his words when Mercedes set the bowl she’d been holding into the sink and reached for his shoulder. He hardly had time to react before she planted a kiss firmly on his lips.
Sylvain felt his eyes glaze over as she pulled away. The room span as he stared at nothing, gripping her hand for support.
“Did that just happen?” he asked, dazed, “Please tell me I didn’t fall asleep without realizing.”
Mercedes responded with a sharp pinch to his cheek.
Sylvain winced. “Okay, I get it! Ow! Let go!”
“Classes start in two hours,” Mercedes said cheerfully, releasing his cheek as if nothing had happened, “Go get some rest.” A teasing tone slipped into her voice. “Shall I walk you back?”
Her hand was soft in his, and he felt comfortable as he tightened his grip.
“Actually, I’d like that.”
Mercedes looked taken aback for a moment, but then that gentle smile Sylvain had grown to love spread across her face. “Well, my cake won’t make itself. We’ll have to hurry.”
“Ah, one last thing,” Sylvain’s heart danced as he leaned in and returned the kiss she’d given him.
“Happy Birthday, Mercedes.”
He smiled warmly at her.
“I hope you don’t get a stomach ache.”