Remembrance of things past
“And once I had recognized the taste of the crumb of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-flowers which my aunt used to give me...immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like the scenery of a theatre to attach itself to the little pavilion, opening on to the garden, which had been built out behind it for my parents...all from my cup of tea.” - Marcel Proust, À la recherche du temps perdu
“What the heck is all this?”
Luna is a storm in the kitchen when Seven returns to the apartment. The counters are littered with open packages of raw meat and fish, platters of sliced vegetables, a bucket of uncooked noodles set off to the side. There are jars holding sauces of various colors and fragrances she can’t even begin to name, and a pot of something is left to boil on the stove.
“Hi, Seven! Happy New Year!”
A head pops up from beneath the counters, and Luna greets her with a big smile. She pulls out something large from below: it’s a portable stove, attached to a small propane tank.
“Happy… New Year to you too? Is that what we’re celebrating?”
Luna nods happily, oblivious to the wariness in which Seven regards the large amount of uncooked ingredients as she brings the stove to the small dining table. Behind them, steam begins to billow up from the pot as its contents are finally brought to a boil.
“Yup! I wanted to have hot pot, so I got all this stuff just for the occasion. Help me get all this stuff onto the table, won’t you?”
Hot pot. Seven’s at least seen the term before, written on some packages she’s seen when Luna takes her grocery shopping at the local Asian market. She assumes the titular pot in question is the one that’s currently boiling; she ferries as much as she can over to the table as she keeps watch over Luna out of the corner of her eye. The latter sets the portable stove alight before gingerly transferring the boiling pot onto it. Through the glass lid, Seven can finally make out some of its contents: the pot is split into two sections, one half containing a pale yellow broth, while the other houses a scarier, oily red liquid.
“Lunes, at some point you’re gonna have to explain how this works to me.”
It takes several more minutes of setting the table and beckoning from Luna before Seven feels comfortable to sit. A bowl of mixed sauces topped with cilantro sits in front of each of them, with a fork and spoon—and a set of trainer chopsticks, a joke on Luna’s part, much to Seven’s chagrin—included with hers. With a dramatic flourish, Luna lifts the lid to the pot, and they’re both hit with a brief wave of heat as a plume of steam blossoms. A wonderfully rich aroma fills the small apartment, and the February winter chill instantly melts away.
“I guess it’s like, uh, fondue?” Luna explains. “Not that I’ve ever tried that myself… But watch, you just take what you want here, like this, when the broth is boiling...”
She pries away a slice of what appears to be finely cut lamb, swirling it around in the pale broth to cook for a few seconds before placing it in Seven’s bowl.
“Make sure to get it real good in that dipping sauce, and if you need a little extra spice,” she waves a hand over the angry red half of the pot, “then you use this side.”
The smell is truly divine, a hearty aroma rising from one half of the pot, cut with the peppery fumes from the other half. Its oily surface bubbles in a magma-like fashion, and Seven can’t help but regard it with a hint of fear.
“Is it normal to have a spicy side? It looks so…”
Luna laughs. “I’ve just never had this kind before! It’s always fun when there are two, don’t you think? I think they pair well together.”
She’s skeptical, but it’s hard to resist Luna’s enthusiasm as she begins throwing in ingredients to simmer, tending to the pot like a witch tends to her cauldron. Before long, the small apartment is filled with delicious aromas and raucous laughter. (and the occasional tears, as Seven discovers very quickly how truly hot one half of the pot is). The table quickly becomes a mess, splattered with water and sauce as the careful arrangement of raw ingredients scatter all over, yet neither of them pay any mind. Seven can’t remember the last time food as ever tasted this good, or the last time a meal in general has ever been this fun.
It shouldn’t surprise her, really. It’s always fun when it’s the two of them.
The night wears on, food is steadily finished, and eventually the time to clear the table comes. Seven has to lean back in her chair, feeling as though her stomach will burst.
“Ugh… Luna, how are you even moving? I’m so full.”
Her companion truly doesn’t look much better off than her, yet Luna continues to do her best to clear away as much of the table as she can. Muttering a promise to help her in a bit, Seven painstakingly moves to the old couch nearby, collapsing onto it with a groan.
Minutes pass by, and the sensation in her stomach doesn’t fade. Even with her eyes closed, she can still hear Luna shuffling about, her footsteps slow. She can’t stand the thought of hauling that large pot of broth anywhere in their current state, and Seven calls out, “Luna! We’ll get it tomorrow. Come sit before you throw up and we have to clean up more.”
There’s no response, but she feels the weight of someone plopping into the space next to her. The sudden jostle elicits another whine from Seven.
“Don’t… I’m gonna barf.”
“Not on me, you’re not.”
It’s instinctual and automatic, the way Luna crawls into Seven’s arms, the way the latter opens them for her. Their tangled forms are unceremoniously draped over the couch, smelling rather unpleasantly of meat. Yet in spite of her roiling stomach, how much she wishes to simply turn into a formless blob right there and then, somehow she feels content and peaceful in that moment. There’s nowhere else she’d rather be.
“So, is there a reason you wanted to turn us into overinflated beach balls for New Year’s or…?” she mumbles.
Luna doesn’t answer immediately, and Seven can almost hear her thinking.“We’d have it whenever we visited family. Not so much with my folks here though.” She shifts, lifting her head so she can look at her. “Hot pot is always better with family and friends, you know?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s just me here,” Seven snorts in response.
Luna smiles peacefully, lowering her head to tuck it against her shoulder. “That’s all I need.”
Seven doesn’t say anything, because what more needed to be said? With Luna, she knows they could find fun and joy in nothing more than a brown paper sack. Seven and Luna, Luna and Seven. What more did they even need, when they already had it all?
“Hey, Sev?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think I’m gonna move from the couch until morning, just saying.”
She lets out a laugh, wrapping her arms tighter around her as she brings her closer. The discomfort in her stomach hasn’t abated, but she finds she doesn’t mind much, feeling nothing but warmth and content in this little space just for the two of them.
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Later…
Luna, with a grunt, has contorted her body on the cool floor of her tiny kitchen as she rummages through the lower cupboards. Various mismatched pieces of dishware are extracted and sorted in a slow, painstaking effort to organize.
Without a light, she can’t see all the way into the dark interiors of the cupboards, and she extends her arm deep into one, searching for anything left in this particular spot. Her fingers brush against something cold and metallic, and Luna, confused, pulls it out.
Its weight and odd shape are explained when the object comes to light; it’s a small portable stove, covered lightly in dust from sitting forgotten in the back of a cabinet for who knows how long. She recognizes it as the one she used for a very specific type of meal, one she hasn’t had in about as long as the stove has gone unused. Memories involuntarily bubble up to the surface, ones she thought she buried.
A boiling pot of broth. Startled shrieks as hot liquid splashes. A diverse, colorful spread across the table, as close to a modern feast they may ever know. A pot split in half, mild to spicy, light to dark, two halves of a whole. Boisterous, joyous laughter, warm smiles.
After all this time, she’s always taken by surprise, again and again, of how it can sneak up on her. The silence within the apartment suddenly becomes too loud: no other footsteps to be heard, no other voice besides her own to listen for within this tiny space. No matter how hard she tries to look away from it, it dances in her periphery, the frayed edges of the Seven-shaped hole in her universe.
With a huff, Luna unceremoniously shoves the burner back into its dark corner. Abandoning her kitchen to a state of unorganized stacks of dishes and kitchenware, Luna grabs her keys and throws on a jacket. She storms out of the apartment, begging for escape from its claustrophobic stillness, for the release that may come with the air that could blow it all away.
Yet no matter how long she runs, she can’t shake off the faint scent of broth that clings to her wherever she goes.
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BONUS:
A bell rings as the door opens, the members of Soft Violence laughing as they step into the restaurant. Avina halfheartedly tries to hush them as they signal to staff, who eventually lead them to an available table.
“Damn, look at what they’ve got over at that table,” Pope points out. “Maybe we should get that.”
“Pope, don’t just stare at someone else’s food!” Avina chastises.
Seven grins at their boisterousness, switching her attention to the menu. Compared to the others, it doesn’t take her long to pick out what she likes, and after a bit of waiting their table is laden with various dishes, family style. Pope and Kieran waste no time piling food onto their plates as they dig in.
“Damn, Seven, you were so right ordering this,” Kieran praises through a mouth full of food. “This is so good!”
“That’s great, man, but do you think you could tell me without spitting all over the rest of the food?” she laughs.
She spoons some mapo tofu onto her plate, a personal favorite of hers. The sauce isn’t quite the shade of red she likes, but she doesn’t fault it too much as she takes a bite. It’s got a strong flavor profile, expected of this particular dish, perfectly fine, and yet…
“It’s so good.”
Seven purses her lips, contemplative. “It’s not bad, but to be honest it’s not as good as when Luna ma—”
The name slips out before she can stop herself, and her throat immediately closes after. Everyone at the table freezes, in a moment that really only lasts for a second, yet it feels like it stretches for an eternity. Seven claws herself back to reality, forcing words out her lips.
“I mean, it’s fine, I guess. Yeah.” She conspicuously piles more tofu onto her plate, aggressively shoving more pieces in her mouth, even though she feels like throwing up. Even though all she wants is to spit it out, to tear away at the inside of her mouth, to rip out the memories that she now knows are painfully sewn into not just her soul, but her very flesh.
It just isn’t fair. She wants to run out and scream. To curse the one person in the world responsible, to scratch away at her own skin in hopes of exorcising the ghost that haunts her every step, every breath, and down to every last bite.
She never could have imagined sitting at a table of four could be lonelier than sitting at a table of two.
But she has to remind herself that it’s lunchtime, and they’re in a public restaurant. So Seven swallows her food and her pain, like she’s done so often before.
Avina, as always, is the first to recover. “Oh, is it really that good? I’ll try some.”
The tense moment passes as everyone else refocuses on the meal, leaving Seven woodenly chewing for the rest of the night, trying hard to ignore the way everything turns to ash on her tongue.
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Another ask for you to ignore as you see fit; after answering serious BL questions all week, you leave me nothing but leftover irrelevancies to propose. So here it is:
How damaging is it to the already strained suspension of disbelief that is required of the BL viewer, when he or she (sorry) witnesses meals begun in restaurants or at home and almost immediately abandoned when a new imperative pops up in the script ?
As l write, 13 minutes into "Irresistible Love" (on your recent recommendation) seme Shu Nian has prepared a sumptious short-order meal for his boss, seme Xie Yan, who couldn't wait to eat--when the subject turns to bed, whereupon Yan leaps from the table and urges Nian to follow him without delay. There on the table are the heaped platters of a shared meal, apparently abandoned without another thought.
The promise of "sleeping together" renders the previous impulse, to enjoy food, moot ? What ?
We've seen this before, too, more than a couple of times. Is this bad writing, or is it essentially inevitable, in service of keeping the story moving ? And is it credible ... or is it another example of a distracting error, of continuity if not of good taste (pun acknowledged) ?
Your thoughts, if any ?
OMG I worry about this EVERY time it happens!
They didn't eat that?
Why did he leave his WHOLE drink behind? He just got it!
Why are you ordering if you aren't even gonna wait for your food?
Did you even PAY for that?
He brought you that cake as a gift and you're just gonna leave it out of the fridge? YOU LIVE NEAR THE EQUATOR
Why is the adorable Korean boy always just eating 2 grains of white rice?
BL is a nation of eating disorders and food poisoning and I am too much a feeder not to be seriously upset about it.
Malnourishment = The real reason they faint all the time (not the rain, surprise surprise). Also the real reason other boys keeps trying to stick things in their mouths (no not that.... well maybe that...) anygay....
I think I like What Zabb Man partly because he finishes his damn food. He is the seme tho.
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