Archive of Our Own ^beta

Noelle looked out the window with a sort of bored expression on her face. It was raining right now, and she had nothing to do. Usually, being bored in the black bull's headquarters was a death sentence. Every time you get bored, something far more interesting than you want to be happens, but today.

She sighs and looks out the window again, this time watching the raindrops race along the glass. Stupidsta had gotten himself sick earlier this week, and now she, the beautiful and wonderful Nolle, had to watch him. 

It wasn’t fair; all the black bulls, other than her, Asta, and Henry (the last for obvious reasons), got to go on a mission while she was stuck on babysitting duty. She walks away from the window, deciding to at least do something while stuck here.

Walking back to her room, she opens the door. She thinks back through the things she needs to do and decides that it might be a good idea to clean it. Yeah, that sounds good.

Deciding to start by organizing her perfume box, she zoned out as she went into a sort of rhythm. When she was younger, sometimes the maids were told not to clean her room (often by Solid), she would often clean it herself. This was one of the only things she often didn’t object to. She liked cleaning, the distraction, and the way it made her feel afterwards.

It was relaxing.

Softly humming to herself, she almost danced around her room in a very peaceful way, which she hadn’t even thought of since she joined the black bulls. Huh, guess it is pretty chaotic.

His sweet sleep is suddenly interrupted by someone, or something, downstairs making a defining crash noise. She covered her ears, what on earth was that– if it's him, il kill him. She thinks as she walks– half runs downstairs.

“Stupidsta, I’ll kill you,” she states as she makes it downstairs only to find exactly who she expected surrounded by at least 50 pots and pans all over the floor. 

Asta and her stared at each other for a second, he delirious, she flabbergasted. Before she finally found her belief again and started going off like a bomb. 

“HOW DID YOU EVEN DO THIS? WE ONLY OWN LIKE TEN PANS AND THEY'RE ALL IN DIFFERENT DOORS. HOW DID THESE ALL FALL OUT, HOW DID YOU PULL THIS ONE OFF, STUPIDSTA!” Asta wasn’t even paying attention, instead staring into space unblinking.

She sighs, realizing there's no point in arguing with someone who isn’t even paying enough attention to realize what they did. She takes a deep breath before walking over to the white haired boy. “How are you feeling?”

Asta finally looked at her and gave the same stupid grin he always gave, the one that made him look really cut- dumb, dumb is the word she meant. 

“I was feeling a lot better, so I came down here to do push-ups, no idea what happened with these pans though.” Noelle shook her head.

“That makes two, and for your information, you will not be doing push-ups. You’re sick, dumbass. And you are going back to bed,” She reaches out a hand, but nearly flinches back when she feels his hand. “Why are you so sweaty?” She asks, knowing the answer.

“I don’t know, I’m really cold, actually. Can I have a blanket when we get to my room?”

Noelle looks at him like he’s insane. She can feel the heat room his skin that rivals that of a furnace. “How about absolutely not.” If Asta didn’t give her the look of a kicked puppy earlier when she told him he couldn’t do push-ups, he certainly does now.

Yet she still ignores him and leads him upstairs back to his room. After making his promising him promise not to leave (and after having him promise her not to leave as well, like the child he is), she goes down to clean the kitchen.

She stares at a monument contemplating whether it's really worth it before deciding that it's either this or she gets murdered by Charmy for wasting all her pans, making him unable to cook. 

She decided to start with organizing them by size, so that she could more easily fit them into the cabinets later on. She also has a rather quick dilemma on whether she should clean the pots or not, deciding that no one will ever have to know if she doesn’t.

Getting into the swing of work, she gets an oddly domestic feeling. Her cleaning a mess for Asta while he’s sick, it being (almost) just the two of them. Blushing, she throws one of the pots to the floor in anger. 

“I’LL NEVER LIKE STUPID ASTA, ESPECIALLY WHEN HE’S ALL GROSS AND SICK AND NOT ALL CUTE AND I HATE HIM, I HATE HIM, I HATE HIM!” She took a deep breath and a little humph. She really hoped she didn’t wake him up.

As she picks the pot off the floor, she notices a few things about the particular one she threw. Number one: it's a soup pot. Number two: It’s oddly sized, being only enough for a few people. And number three: it gives her an idea. 

Disregarding the half put-away pots, she quickly opens the cabinets where they keep food and gets to work. Carrots, chicken, spice, and celery. All essentials for good soup. And who could forget the noodles? She smiled to herself, proud that Asta would soon witness firsthand how amazing her cooking skills are.

When finished, she practically ran upstairs before remembering. It's just stupid, Asta; no reason to be excited.

When she got up to his room and after a quick fight about the last time she cooked and how Asta never wants to eat her food again (it's not her fault, it caught on fire last time), he finally tried it.

As both sat in science drinking the soup, they felt content. Maybe staying behind wasn’t as bad as she thought.