A/N: This chapter took me exceptionally long because I got so distracted by the fun research and also felt so envious of people who can/are travelling that I kept watching videos and getting lost in the eager summer vibe that this chapter is so full of. Apologies for the wait! And thank you for being patient.
Above is my favorite chill summer/beach vibe track from Haikyuu and every time I listen to it I think of clear waters, beautiful skies and watermelons hahaha.
Also, while researching about summer outfits and stuff like that I came across this character from Tears of Themis (it's an Otome game, I think). His name is Vyn. I'll attach an image below.
I came across his summer outfit (I'll link it in the next chapter when it becomes relevant) and then backtracked to what he's depicted to wear every other day and felt like HOLY SHIT that's exactly how I imagine Vanilla to dress and he even has the glasses and and and and the snow-like hair and and and oh my god he looks perfect eep. AND HIS NAME ALSO STARTS WITH V hahahaha. Unfortunately, I don't play Tears of Themis but good god, does he make me want to play it. LOOK AT THAT WAIST. SO TINY. SO SLIM. WOW.
Anyways.
I'm taking a couple of days off the coming week for some alone time in a nice hotel where I can relax in peace and I'm bringing my laptop for some chill time and writing!
Next week's chapter will be the special AU I've been wanting to write for some time: the college AU with FigureSkater!Vanilla and IceHockeyAce!Leroy. Finally. Although I know some of you have been looking forward to the Hitman!AU too but unfortunately the college one won by a slim percentage ;-; I hope you'll still look forward to the special next week!
Enjoy.
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[Vanilla]
Thank goodness Chef Pao and Amelia were in the right mind not to simply allow an idiot the privilege of wearing the toque blanche. Though I was, admittedly, rather pleased by the portion of risotto he'd saved for me, I'd attributed half the positive sentiment to my hunger and his silly attractive face. Still, remaining objective in the final verdict was necessary and eliminating all bias, I couldn't see Leroy's dish being exceptionally stunning. Siegfried and the others were impressed, yes—the split-second innovation, the flexibility and knowledge of ingredients, the textures and immaculate flavors combined—but the kind of standards I'd held him to were incredibly high and, well, for good reason!
Flirting, teasing, staring openly across the room with a mic at his collar and cameras rolling; the audacity of this man was beyond the comprehension of mere sane human beings like myself! It was with great resilience and control that I managed not to toss a head of broccoli in his direction.
And so, I'd found myself delighted by Chef Pierson's Sicilian chocolate cannoli with ricotta and pistachios that looked quite as good as they must have tasted. The judging panel was taken by his dessert on the first bite and from the look in their eyes, I knew he'd be wearing the toque blanche of the episode. He'd dipped the shells in dark chocolate before dusting the edges with a delicate pistachio crumble, filling them with a classic vanilla and ricotta mix, served on a bed of crushed nitrogen-frozen strawberries for a breathtaking fog effect.
It was perfect.
Traditional, but elegant and refined. It fulfilled every ask of the evening's challenge and therefore, deserved the recognition. Layla herself handed over the sought-after badge right as Chef Pao announced the winning dish and the thought of the two being somewhat acquainted beforehand, perhaps back then during the interschool competition years ago, crossed my mind. An unlikely case, given the incredibly brief window of time that must've occurred, and the circumstances surrounding it.
Either way, Pierson had decided to go above and beyond to thank the contestants who'd agreed to his barters, specifically Leroy—who'd provided him the wine for his cannoli shells. An essential ingredient. In fact, so essential that he'd made an open promise to the helpful chef by vowing to keep him out of elimination for the upcoming challenges with the favors he'd be awarded with.
Frankly speaking, Pierson was too kind.
To attribute that much credit so someone other than himself was humble and foolish; the dish was his doing and red wine or not, it was very much possible that the toque blanche would still belong to him. That said, even if it did matter very much to him as some form of a morale boost, Leroy did not deserve the additional help. A criminal like him should experience every possible adversity and most importantly, well... it wasn't like he needed the help.
"Thinking about me I see." Right on cue, as always.
"No, not at all." "Lies." "You'd be surprised how often I think of your dog more than I do of you." "...first your cat and now my dog?" "What do you mean my cat? Also, that was sarcasm. In case you couldn't tell." "Knew it. You were thinking about me." "N—be gone." "What, jump out of the plane?" He laughed and I rolled my eyes, reaching across the aisle to do his top-most button as punishment. The man was a fool and it was contagious; if only I wasn't so susceptible to his diffusion.
To be fair, we were all holding on to our final bits of sanity six hours into the second flight we'd hopped on for the day after a three-hour layover in Munich, bound for Singapore before another layover, and then, a third flight to Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia. It would've been incredibly easy to put it all on poor planning but there had been weather forecasts predicting heavy rainfall in the next month; which would then account for the planned route.
And as much as I harbored a current distaste for air travel, I wasn't going to dismiss the possibility of further aversion towards... the sea.
The production team had boasted the chartering of a luxury motor yacht to Bali from Jakarta Bay and the idea was to host the episode's first challenge on the yacht. Pao had been delighted; Amelia, wary; and myself, pessimistic.
Clearly, the intention was to milk a large following that would have, by now, developed a sense of Travel Envy, thereby answering to the many sponsors linked to tourism in the area and thereby generating more overall growth in numbers and revenue. That aside, the mere thought of hosting a team challenge on a yacht cruising through beautiful tropical islands in the hot summer seas was enough to produce bait-worthy shots like a certain someone in less clothing than usual, hair in the wind, shades on his—
"You got a swimsuit?" 'A certain someone' asked, looking over from across the aisle whilst reclining his seat. The lights were dim and we were likely the only ones awake in business class.
I paused blinking twice. "No. I don't intend to be doing any swimming. Well... um. Unless... I mean, a-are you? I didn't think you were going to be so well-prepared."
"I packed one set of clothes for summer," he snorted. "What makes you think I'm prepared?"
"Yes of course, thank goodness. That sounds more like the Leroy I know. Either way, it looks to me like we're in the same boat because sadly, I own a grand total of two collar-less shirts."
He laughed, undoing the top button I'd so painstakingly done up. "World's greatest tie advocate—for once, without a tie. Can't wait."
"Is that a challenge?" I quipped. "You think I wouldn't dress formally under the hot sun? We'll see about that. Anyway, I was thinking... well. It would all depend on the updated schedule we'd receive upon landing but... if time permits, we could, um, do some shopping. Together."
It would be our first experience, discounting trips to the grocery store for ingredient-shopping; for some reason, the idea of purchasing clothes, accessories, or mere pairs of socks never crossed our minds. In theory, experiencing this first together in a foreign land was going to be an exciting and likely unforgettable instance. Still, concerns about possibly being seen together by other contestants had to be factored in, however minor.
There were less of us on the flight to Indonesia than the one to Italy. Apart from the single chef who had been eliminated (for an average pepperoni calzone because, well, competition among top chefs was tough and one minor disappointment could really send a person home), several translators and assistants, including Raul, were not required in the next shoot. Instead, local fixers were to join the team upon our arrival.
"You pick my clothes, I pick yours?" He had the gall to offer in return, the hint of a smirk on his lips.
I pretended to give his proposition some thought, gently stroking Leo's back while the latter slept, curled up, in my lap. "Oh I don't know if you'd like having a tie around your neck in the summer heat, Leroy. If I were you, I'd be careful of what I wish for."
The idiot proceeded to present his indecent finger from across the aisle. "Can't wait. I'll make you choose between shades and a tank top."
"Leroy, I wear glasses. There's no way I could wear shades on top of that; it'd look ridiculous!"
He smiled. Criminal. "Exactly."
===================
[Leroy]
I don't mind some heat in the air. Most of the times.
Realistically speaking, nothing compares to standing beside a blazing structural fire in PPE with a hose in hand, steaming under the suit with smoke in the way and ash in the air. If firefighting wasn't enough to brace me for the kind of weather they have in tropical islands near the equator, nothing was. And fuck, was Pao right about it being hot as hell.
"You good?" I caught his eye while we were waiting in line for the private coach bus, about an hour since landing in Jakarta. He was in a dress shirt, a tie, and a vest on top of all that; so three layers—two, he'd argue, but the tie counts. The skin on the back of his ears was flushed.
"Hm," he glanced sideways, met my eyes, then back towards the front. "Melting, quite frankly."
I watched him push up his glasses and tuck a stray lock of hair behind an ear. One. One set of clothes for summer. You could hear voices down the line talking about the heat, the sun, the humidity. A drink. A pool. The beach. There was an excitement in the air going around; many firsts in this part of the world and I was feeling the same.
"Lose some clothes?" "Sir, this is a public venue. I suggest you exercise a decent level of self-restrain." Kalm. "So in private then." Flustered. "U-unbelievable." "We'll see." "I refuse to allow you an ounce of satisfaction from teasing me." "We'll see." "Wh... what do you mean? I said I refuse. I won't be giving in, if that's what you think." "...we'll see." "Please put your finger away."
The chartered coach took us straight down to Jakarta Bay where the ferries and yachts were docked. Traffic was bad. Real bad. So bad that our fixer got us McDonald's while we were stuck in a jam; hopped right off in the middle of the road, walked a couple of minutes to the store in the distance, and came back with bags full of what looked like boxed platters instead of burgers.
"This is McDonald Nasi Uduk," she'd said, handing over a portion size that came with a packet drink labelled Tehbotol. Inside the boxed platter was a palm-sized fried chicken thigh, a McMuffin-style fried egg, rice, and something they called sambal goreng on the side. It tasted different from the chili sauces I was used to—much sweeter, textured, and very fragrant. Still... rice from McDonald's was a first. Felt pretty cool, actually.
I had to give Chicken the premium stuff while I was having my meal. Otherwise, he wouldn't stop staring at the chicken thigh on my platter. I also promised him a fun time at the beach as soon as we arrived at the docks since I had the feeling more waiting around was due. Which turned out to be the case.
Walk the dog; run with dog; think about cat and his owner; frisbee with dog; water with dog; think about cat and his owner. An hour of free time went by. Locals were nice and friendly. Some tried to have a conversation in English but then my phone started going off from the number of text messages they were sending in the chat group to gather up for boarding time so I left.
I arrived shortly on scene, noticing the judges all huddled up in a corner, heads buried in what I assumed was the updated script with last-minute edits. Siegfried stood right beside them, talking to the director while the contestants stood in line to board the huge-ass boat to Bali. I say boat, but.
They called it a superyacht for a reason. The thing was massive. Fancy. Luxe. The on-board service crew had their chief steward give us a short tour around the boat while explaining a couple of facilities they'd upgraded to accommodate the shoot.
"This space was cleared and set up for the first challenge introduction with the judges," he said after leading us into the main saloon that looked pretty much like a place for cocktail parties in the kind of movies I wouldn't enjoy. "Upstairs is the upper saloon, where the piano bar is located. We kept the lounge chairs and sofas in place instead of moving them out of the way since most of the filming is taking place on the main deck so if you're in the mood for a drink, we'd be happy to serve you at the bar."
"Right down the hallway is our dining room, seating up to thirty-two guests and featuring two teppanyaki-style cooktop stations for an intimate dining experience with our five-star chefs. Though in this case, that would be you guys, I believe." Assuming that was all the equipment we were going to have access to, I'd say... another team challenge. A maximum of two people from each team actually doing the cooking.
We were then shown a couple of less-important facilities like the gym, cinema room, spa room; the swimming platform, jacuzzi on the aft deck and surrounding outdoor seating for sunning. Get this, I'm no expert when it comes to interior design or even basic color-differentiation (red and purple look... almost the same) and I mean no offense when I say something looked 'okay' but this yacht was the real deal. It looked and felt expensive as fuck.
Eventually we stopped by the side deck for an overview of things, and this was where a couple of production assistants joined us for our cabin assignments.
"On the upper deck we have three VIP cabins, all equipped with a queen-sized and marble bathrooms with spectacular views of the bridge deck, and... I see many happy faces but, unfortunately, these rooms are reserved for your judges... haha, although!" The chief steward gestured to the cabin doors on the lower deck within our view. "We have here two executive suites and five designer twin cabins that are equally luxurious and prepared with great attention."
Intern-Julianna-who-took-care-of-our-laundry-back-in-Portofino stepped forth with a box. Everyone groaned.
I had zero complaints about anything lottery-based (we drew lots all the time back in the firehouse) but Layla Tenner had the funniest look of disgust on her face I had to laugh. She leaned over to catch a glimpse of my lot. I let her. It was an executive.
She cursed aloud. I snorted, taking the square of paper out of her hands and swapping it with mine. She stared up at me in awe. "For free? Roy you can't be serious."
I shrugged, glancing down at the cabin number on her lot. People were already starting towards their rooms. "Mm. I have VIP access."
"...access." She rolled her eyes but laughed all the same. "Right. Okay, if you hadn't just handed me that room of yours on a silver platter I would've straight-up asked Vanilla to wipe that smirk off your face. Thanks, anyway. Mwuah."
I made a face. She flipped me off. We headed to our cabins in separate directions.
"Oh!" Person I was bunking with turned out to be Pierson. Hm. "Leroy! Hi."
He'd already placed his bags on the bed by the window and had his suitcase propped up on the table nearby so I settled with the bed closer to the door. Which was fine either way since I wasn't actually going to be sleeping in it; but then again, I wasn't sure if Pierson was the kind of person to pry into their roomie's night activities the next day. Could possibly mean trouble if he were to go around asking everyone if they'd seen me around.
"Thanks again, for helping out that day."
"What day?"
"The wine that we exchanged. I needed it for my recipe and um, without that I might not have won the challenge, so..."
"You already thanked me. Does red wine really make that much of a difference?"
"Yes it does! It would've altered the flavor of the cannoli shells and would not have complemented the chocolate and ricotta as much as it did."
"Okay."
"So thank you, really."
"You can stop thanking me," I laid out, feeling my social battery drain by half and not quite knowing what else to say to a stranger so weirdly grateful to a small gesture that was really not out of kindness but convenience. I ended up using the white wine we bartered and it did enhance the risotto. Made for a pretty good dinner dish. A certain someone admitted the same when he dug into the plate I saved him.
I waited for Pierson to leave the room, hopped in the shower, put on something casual, and headed to the upper deck of the aft with Chicken to take in the sea breeze. We lounged on a sunchair each, taking in the rays of light that were hardly ever present back in London and hearing the sounds of a busy port in the distance to the gentle rocking of the yacht. A nap.
"Your dog is exceptionally well-behaved."
I opened one eye, raising an arm for some shade. It was Siegfried's sous chef. "Thanks," I sat up a little, watching her take the seat across Chicken and I with what looed like freshly-squeezed orange juice in her hand. "His name's Chicken. Search-and-rescue certified."
"Chicken?" She laughed like I'd just named my child Chip Honeycutt. "That's—haha! Why the name? Not that it's an issue, I love it, but there must be some sort of story behind it. Does he like chicken very much? How old is he?"
"He's been with the crew for about five years now," I reached over to scratch his chin. "Everyone loves him."
"You mean your firefighting crew?"
"Yeah."
"You must miss them very much," she said out of the blue, stirring her glass. I gave it some thought.
"...yeah. They were my family." I paused. "Still are."
She smiled. Left it there for a bit and seemed like there was something she wanted to say; something she wanted to get off her chest but decided against it. "You, um... so... his name. Chicken. You were going to explain it?"
I snorted, craving something cold all of a sudden. Maybe even sweet. "It's a long story. The short version is that I like it a lot. Chicken."
"You?"
"Yeah."
"Well then, you should have asked me for that ingredient back in our previous challenge. I would have gladly traded that for any vegetable you had in your crate. There was... much to improve on; the dish I presented the judges with."
I vaguely recalled something along the lines of chicken parmigiana. She was being a little hard on herself. "Siegfried had as much to say about my dish as he did about yours," I shrugged. "That's just him."
"Oh I know that," Du Bellay smiled behind her glass of juice. "And I don't mind criticism as long as it is constructive. I've received my fair share in the kitchen, and it has undoubtedly shaped me into the chef I am at present. I am, and will always be, grateful."
Her response pretty much checked out; Siegfried wouldn't have kept her around if she wasn't the kind of person to take criticism like a tank and absorb all his feedback like a sponge. Thing was, Annie had always taught me to do the same. To be open to being corrected. To fuel the drive of constant improvement.
Still, there were certain fires within that refused to be put out and as malleable as one could be, there remained temperatures that kept things stubborn and hard.
"Just like yourself and Mr. White," Du Bellay went on to say and my attention returned at the sound of snow. "It seems to me that you, too, understand the importance of helpful advice."
"... fair."
"I can tell you like his company. I mean there's nothing not to like about a man with a cold exterior and incredibly warm heart."
She'd made the most surface-level description anyone could've given about him but for some reason, it didn't sit well in my head. Could've been the way she'd put our names together. Could've been the way she was making this personal. "You knew him before the show?"
"Well," Du Bellay hesitated. "Not really. He did stop by our restaurant a few months back, but. I haven't actually spoken to him very much since then." Back when he first arrived in London... right. I remember recommending the water.
I wasn't going to come up with a wordy response to whatever she said to continue the conversation so when we heard the sound of a marine horn and an announcement from the yacht's PA system to gather in the main saloon, we headed straight down.
Stan and the judges were waiting around the stairs to the upper saloon, scripts out and voices low while contestants filed in. I caught a stray bespectacled gaze, taking in the kitten that was perched over his shoulder and playing with his hair. We locked eyes and he looked away as though he'd wandered a little too close to the flame by accident.
See? VIP.
"Aight everyone! It's been a long journey here but," Stan clapped his hands together, standing on the first couple of steps for added height. "We're finally getting started. How's everyone feeling about the yacht? We like it? Of course we do. Now, on to some serious talk: just like how it was in Portofino, we'll be having our local learning experience first thing in the morning tomorrow, followed immediately by the team advantage challenge.
"And as some of you have already guessed... the team challenge will be held on board. I'll be seeing all of you here in the main saloon at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow, understood? You have the rest of the day to deal with the jet lag, sleep it off, or just relax and unwind on the aft. Half the crew will be here in the main saloon setting up for the shoot and the other half, on the yacht next door. Yes, we got two boats. Any questions?"
"What are we learning?" I took a shot in the dark. In case they were feeling a little generous with info. Pao was grinning at once.
"Ay, that's my boy! Tomorrow you learn spearfishing," he revealed in a heartbeat and his fellow judges were trying very hard not to look surprised or amused. "Taught by local experts."
That... actually sounded cool as fuck.
"What if, um, we can't swim?" Voices from the back echoed up front and Stan had to start reassuring everyone that this was a voluntary activity and there were options to choose from. I looked at Chicken and Chicken looked at me, wagging his tail. He could tell I was excited.
"Leroy," a certain genius fell in step as soon as we were dismissed. I'd hung back on purpose. He knew. I knew. He knew I knew. "Wait for me on the upper side deck, close to the aft. I'll—"
"VIP access?"
"W-wh... access? What are you... is that... goodness me you sound perfectly childish but, but yes, that is, if you're referring to what I think you're referring to. Yes. You may rest in my suite. I'll be there in a minute, so just wait upstairs—inconspicuously, please." "You know I don't know that word." "Correct. Google is your friend, dear enthusiast of learning." "Okay spell it." "I-N-C-O-N-S-P-I-C-U-O-U-S-L-Y. There." "U-N-D-R-E-S-S." "??? That was not what I said!" "Mm, repeat?" "I-N-C-O-N-S-P-I-C-U-O-U-S-L-Y." "S-T-R-I—" "Good heavens you are enjoying this aren't you Mr. Cox, and I'm the idiot, practically feeding you every opportunity on a silver spoon now leave, please, and yes wait upstairs." "Manners, Mr. White." "Sir you have none."
I held back for the rest of the day, enjoying a nice reward in return that consisted of a comfy queen-sized bed for a long cozy nap, an interesting evening taste-test of six Indomie flavors he'd been extremely curious about and had our fixer recommend, and even more sleep. He woke me up at five in the morning for a view of the sunrise from the aft and the four of us (Leo and Chicken included), enjoyed a private moment before the start of a long day.
We parted right after for a change of clothes and I slipped right back into my twin cabin where Pierson was still fast asleep. Which was good news. I joined a couple of other contestants, Garland, Saito and Rahman on the upper saloon after getting dressed for a quick bite, overlooking the main deck below where crew members were busy setting up. They even had a guy on the drone for a fly-in shot.
Wardrobe started making their rounds and everyone had to go through the obligatory outfit check. Thankfully, I passed. The first shot had us walking through the main deck and into the saloon where the stairs to the upper saloon were, and the next was the waiting game for the judges to arrive in style.
People were expecting a summer get-up. I on the other hand, knew exactly what we were in for.
Pao descended the stairs first; dressed unsurprisingly for the occasion in a blue, short-sleeved button-down with tropical print and a nice pair of casual Bermudas. Boat shoes. Shades. A cool bucket hat. Summer.
It was Amelia next with a huge straw sun hat—the kind with fancy wide brims—in hand and her hair done up, dressed in a long yellow summer dress. The kind you'd see in ads on a beach in the Maldives. Never thought she was the kind of person to dress up but guess she nailed it, pretty much. Summer.
And then there was Vanilla.
Looking like he'd come out of the arctic cold, snow, icicles and all; dress shirt, pants, vest, tie, polished shoes, sleeves all the way up to his wrist and top button done up to perfection—this was winter. He was the avalanche. The one and only winter.