Boiling Point

by miglior_nemica

Summary:

Powder is the newest recruit at Piltover's most prestigious restaurant, The Hexgate. Unfortunately, she spends her shifts cleaning forks and cutting vegetables instead of cooking glamourous dishes. As if this was not humiliating enough, her coworker Ekko seems to be very happy to bully her. Too bad he is also kind of hot and infuriatingly good at his job.

[Kitchen/Restaurant timebomb AU very loosely inspired by tv series The Bear.]

Chapter 1: Forks

“You're doing it wrong.”

Startled, Powder paused, her fingers poised over the row of forks she had been cleaning with a microfiber towel. Forty-five minutes into this mind-numbing chore and she already wanted to use one of those forks to stab herself in one eye.

“What?” she replied, irritation bubbling just beneath her skin as she turned to the source of the interruption. Beside her, a young man worked diligently, his focus steady as he polished the silverware. She looked at his busy hands, noticing several scars and burn marks. This was not his first rodeo.

“The utensils are streaked, you will get scolded.” he affirmed with a flat and factual tone. “Or worse: I will get yelled at because they will think I am as incompetent as you, since we are doing this together.”

She narrowed her eyes, feeling the heat of indignation rise in her cheeks. “Hey, mind your own business. This looks fine.”

“Fine?” he echoed, a hint of disbelief creeping into his otherwise steady voice, though his gaze remained fixed on the task at hand. “This is a three-star Michelin restaurant. ‘Fine’ doesn’t cut it here.”

“Okay, fork police,” she muttered under her breath, pretending to huff in mock annoyance. She inhaled deeply, the scent of polished silver and vinegar filling her lungs, while gripping her cloth a little too tightly as she returned to her work. She briefly looked at the sign above the wall clock that stated in capital letters EVERY SECOND COUNTS, which made her bite her tongue and suppress the urge to tell him to go fuck himself.

It was her first day in the restaurant she had dreamed of working at for so long, and yet instead of accomplished she felt useless. Even her uniform seemed to be against her, as it hung loosely on her tiny frame and the apron felt like it belonged to some sort of giant. Not to mention that she was assigned to the amazingly mundane task of polishing silverware besides this guy that she thought was hot for three minutes before realizing he was a complete asshole.

“Ekko.”

“What?”

“My name is Ekko.” He chuckled softly, finally meeting her gaze for just a heartbeat. Powder immediately regretted noticing that he had big warm, chocolate-brown eyes. “You look a bit lost. I thought you had to be at least somewhat bright to get hired here, but apparently not.”

Her blood almost started boiling at the sting of his words. “What is your fucking problem?” she slammed down her hands, frustration contaminating her features as she turned sharply to face him.

Ekko merely shrugged, his gaze going back to the forks he was now meticulously aligning; if he tried to hide that half smile, he was doing a horrible job. Infuriating. “So, do you have a name, or just a terrible attitude?”

Powder was seconds away from showing him just how bad her attitude could actually be, when the call came for the pre-service meeting. In an instant, all her irritation disappeared, replaced by an urgency that pushed her toward the main kitchen, leaving that Ekko guy behind without a second thought. She was done with that idiot anyway.

Everything happened in a sort of a whirlwind after that. The kitchen buzzed with anticipation for Chef Medarda’s discourse. Powder had been hired by the co-owners of The Hexgate, Viktor and Jayce, so it was her first contact with the Chef de Cuisine.

She was even more impressive in person than she could have imagined. She stood powerfully but gracefully, and Powder couldn’t help but think that the French brigade structure in that kitchen seemed very fitting. She was also even more beautiful in person. Some people just have it all, mh?

“Tonight, I will not accept any mistakes. You have all been working very hard this week, but it is not an excuse to not deliver excellence. Service starts in two hours.” Her voice, rich but delicate, resonated through the kitchen, silencing every soul present. It was strange to observe so many seasoned professionals straighten up as though bracing for an attack. “All of our clients are equally important and deserve the best. Every second counts.”

“Yes, Chef.” all voices resonated in unison, and just like that Chef Medarda strode out without any extra words. It felt a little underwhelming, somehow.

Well, most likely she was more a doer than a talker.

Caitlyn, the sous-chef, immediately took control, her demeanor reflecting some sort of polished authority. She pulled out a notepad, quickly taking Mel’s place at the helm. “Alright, there’s no time to waste. Every second counts, Chefs.”

“Yes, Chef,” they echoed at the same time once more.

“Our special tonight is the Cola-Braised Short Rib and Risotto. The menu remains unchanged, otherwise.” Her words were crisp, her focus razor-sharp on the notes she had in front of her.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Table 13 has a birthday celebration. They’ve been saving for a year to be here. Let’s surprise them with an extra dessert on the house.”

Powder stood quietly, keenly observing each movement as Caitlyn orchestrated the kitchen like a maestro conducting a symphony. Rumor has it that Caitlyn only had that job because her family had invested in the restaurant, but as Powder watched her in action, she had her doubts. Sure, Caitlyn seemed like the typical posh Piltovian, but no amount of money could secure a position as Sous-chef at the most prestigious restaurant in the country.

“You, new girl.” Powder's eyebrows shot up as she realized Caitlyn was actually speaking to her. The sudden attention felt like ice water over her body as all heads turned to watch her. “Yes, you. Your work with the forks was simply unacceptable. We cannot have any weaknesses here. You will be opening oysters tonight. Nothing else.”

“What? Why?” The protest slipped out before she had time to stop herself.

A collective sharp inhale swept through the room, the air thick with tension. Powder’s heart raced as she glanced around, staggered by their response. It could not be a good sign, right?

Caitlyn set her pen down, locking eyes with Powder in a way that both intimidated and electrified her. “This is not a democracy. When spoken to, you will respond with, ‘Yes, Chef.’ Understood?”

“But I—”

“Did I stutter?”

In that moment, she just wanted to yell and ran away. Yet, instead of unleashing her fury and falling prey to her frustrations, she took a deep breath, letting the fire inside simmer just enough to comply. Swallowing her pride, she mustered the courage to reply, “Yes, Chef.”

Caitlyn resumed talking to the kitchen team as if nothing had happened, but Powder noticed the tension in her shoulders, the way she remained poised yet still. The moment the pre-service meeting wrapped up, Powder immediately moved to the seafood station, her heart still pounding in her chest.

“Great work on your first day, new girl,” a familiar voice teased as it swept past her. She turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Ekko’s white locks disappearing around the corner, and she could imagine what kind of smug expression he must have had. Damn you, Ekko.

The shift ended after several hours and a countless amount of oysters later. Powder's hands ached, almost feeling raw while her legs screamed in protest from standing in one spot for far too long. By the end of the night, she had developed an even deeper hatred for both Ekko, whose incessant stupid comments only amplified her anger, and Caitlyn, who looked at her as though she was a gum stuck to the bottom of left her shoe. What a fucking day.

To make it worse, as if the universe had some sort of twisted sense of humor, she missed the last bus home. With the glow of her phone guiding her through the unfamiliar streets of Piltover, she relied on Google Maps, feeling like an outsider in her own life. Almost an hour later, the door to her tiny studio creaked open, and she was met with the reality of her new existence. This was home now: small, cramped, but at least it was just hers.

She collapsed onto her bed, the only piece of furniture in her place aside maybe from the kitchen cabinets. Even her clothes were half-buried in the suitcase she’d left on the floor, without a proper space to be stored in. “I know I’m filthy, give me a fucking break,” she muttered at the rabbit plushie sitting on her pillow, its button eyes appearing to stare with silent judgment. “Five minutes, and I’ll go take a shower. I promise.”

Except, the exhaustion crept up on her faster than she expected. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep still wearing her jacket until the frantic vibration of her cell phone in her pocket made her startle.

Squinting against the morning light streaming through the windows, confusion took over her thoughts. What time was it?

“Hello?” she croaked, her voice hoarse. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the taste of drool lingering. Gross. She sat up, still blinking the sleep away.

“Powder! We haven’t heard from you, is everything okay?” Violet’s voice screeched from the other end of the line, mixed with concern and urgency.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, her tone flat as she struggled out of her jacket and swung her legs off the side of the bed. “Had my first shift yesterday. My boss hates me, and I already have a bully. It’s fantastic!”

“You know this environment is competitive—they're testing you.” Vi replied, her voice tinged with a maternal edge that only made Powder groan.

“Yeah, yeah. I still think The Last Drop is better.” She shuffled toward the bathroom, stepping over the scattered cooking and recipe books to get to her destination.

“Oh, come on. This place is not good enough for you.” Suddenly, Violet’s tone softened, like it always did when it came to this topic. Powder absolutely hated it. Ever since Vander’s death, all her sister did was push her to do greater things, whatever that meant. “Anyway, I just wanted to check in and wish you good luck. I’ll come visit in a couple of weeks.”

“Sure, thanks, Sis. I’ll talk to you later.”

As she hung up, Powder had to admit she knew Violet only wanted the best for her, all things considered. Not that this felt like the best, but it was something. Probably. Right?

~

Her first week at The Hexgate felt more like a cruel initiation than a training period. Instead of mastering culinary techniques, she mainly learned how to scrub forks with vinegar until they shone. On her third night, Caitlyn had simply offered a short, "This is acceptable," which apparently meant that it was actually a great job. With the forks.

Each day was worse than the previous one. Caitlyn ensured she never had a chance to stand by any source of heat, sending her from one humiliating chore to another. She peeled potatoes, cleaned green beans, and opened peanuts. The most memorable night, however, was the one spent chopping a mountain of onions, leaving her with red, watery eyes that stung like a thousand tiny daggers - so much so that she showed up to the next shift still resembling a red-eyed addict. Ekko laughed so hard that she had to threaten him with a knife.

“Look, you know I could always report you to Viktor,” Ekko said, raising both hands in mock surrender, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Powder shot him a glare, waving the knife one more time as she retorted, “I’m pretty sure if I just walked slightly faster, he’d never catch me.” With that, she put the weapon away and made her way towards the dreaded task of polishing the forks. It was always how she began her shift.

“Did you seriously just mock your boss’s disability right after trying to stab me?” he followed her with an amused whistle. “Not only are you terrible in the kitchen, but you're also a horrible person.”

Powder bit her tongue and refused to take the bait. Instead of engaging, she adjusted her apron, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric as she forced herself to focus on polishing the damn silverware. At this point, she didn’t mind it that much. At least she was somewhat good at this.

“Why do you even do this?” she inquired instead, looking at him with suspicion as he positioned himself beside her. “Aren’t you a pâtissier?”

“I am the pâtissier,” he replied, that familiar smugness lighting up his eyes. Her fists clenched, the urge to punch him very present every time he spoke. “I come in every day at 2pm and I set my station, do my mise en place, prepare my bases. You know, desserts are delicate things that take time and dedication.” He shrugged nonchalantly. As he picked up the forks, she couldn’t help but notice how deftly he treated them, as if they were fragile treasures. “So by the time it is 5 and everyone starts, I need to clear my head. This helps.”

“What a nerd.” she shot back, trying to stop staring at his hands. Truth be told, for once, he didn’t seem like a total moron. They worked in silence for a while longer, the rhythmic clinking of silverware a strange sort of comfort, until Ekko returned to his desserts, leaving Powder fuming silently as she was assigned the rest of the evening to chopping carrots. Beautiful.

Once her shift was over, she managed to catch the last bus home. And that night, she finally gave in and decided to look up who Ekko really was.

“Of fucking course,” she groaned, her heart sinking as she scrolled through the articles populating her screen. He was a fucking prodigy: graduated from culinary school at 17, worked alongside the renowned pâtissier Heimerdinger by 18, and won multiple awards. He even had a handful of original desserts credited to his name. Yeah. Fucking nerd.

She felt a surge of envy mixed with self-doubt, a storm of emotions battling inside her as she processed the information. Twenty-two years old, and already a legend in the baking world—while she was just... cutting fucking vegetables.

Frustrated, she shoved her phone back into her pocket, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. But before she could wallow too long, her fingers brushed against something unfamiliar in her pocket. With a flicker of curiosity, she pulled it out, revealing a small bottle of eye drops wrapped in some sort of paper. She opened it up, just to find the following note:

‘So you don’t look like a loser crack junkie anymore.
—E.’

The words made her cheeks flush, an unwanted heat creeping up her neck as well as an uninvited flutter in her stomach.

This was not great. Not great at all.

Chapter 2: Plums

Summary:

Powder keeps jinxing things while Ekko struggles with plums.

 

“Powder! There you are.” a very charismatic voice chanted, making the young woman turn around to look at its owner. “As you know, we’re very happy to have you.”

Her heart sank as she spotted Jayce loitering near the entrance, sporting a very political smile, as if he had been waiting for her.

Oh no. This could not be a good sign.

“Good evening?” She tried, the words coming out slightly shaky.

“You graduated top of your class, right? Yeah, you have quite excellent skills.” Jayce continued, his voice warm yet firm, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to guide her down the hallway toward his office. “Plus, all the establishments you worked at had pretty solid opinions on you.”

With each step, a growing sense of dread twisted in her stomach. Solid?

“Thanks, I guess,” she moved without much of a choice, feeling cornered. Once inside the room, she saw Viktor sitting behind a desk.

Okay, they were most definitely waiting for her. This was officially terrible.

“So… We've received some rather bizarre comments,” Jayce finally got to his point, expression shifting from cordial to serious as he closed the door behind her and walked towards the other restaurant co-owner.

Thoughts of Ekko flashed through her mind. He was always bothering and pestering her, so it wasn’t that hard to imagine him badmouthing to the co-owners. Did he want her fired this bad? That little shit.

Before she could voice her concerns, Viktor intervened, his tone direct and probing. “Would you mind explaining why our line cooks insist that you are… jinxing their stations?”

Powder froze, very surprised by that question.

To be fair, strange things had been happening ever since she started; however, admitting she was the common denominator felt like exposing herself for no reason. She just happened to be there.

Plus, she had just completed her trial month and signed a year-long contract. Over the past week, things were kind of improving and she was somewhat cooking. If she was being honest with herself, even spending the entire shift mixing a sauce so it would not burn felt like a reward compared to what she was put through in her first days. Obviously she was not about to complain nor let some petty mishaps ruin her progress.

“Jinxing?” that sounded very defensive to her own ears, so she tried to adjust her tone next. “You’ll need to be more specific, Viktor,” she replied, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her apron.

The two partners exchanged an incredulous glance. Probably the whole thing sounded ridiculous to them as well.

Or at least, she was really hoping that would be the case.

“Well,” Jayce began, clearing his throat. “According to the cooks, things seem to go… awry when you’re around. Ingredients burn, equipment breaks, and even the fridge handle snapped right after you used it. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?"

“This sounds completely unscientific.” Powder shrugged, though she was also trying to convince herself. “You’re a businessman, right? You can’t be accusing me of being… unlucky?”

There was a long stretch of time in which all of them let those words simply hang in the air. This was nuts, and the last thing she wanted was to be reminded of all the times Mylo teased her about being a jinx back at The Last Drop.

“You make a fair point. Apologies, it was not our intention.” Jayce admitted after a while, though his expression remained a little troubled. “It’s just unsettling and, well, unusual. If there’s something actually happening, please let us know.”

Viktor’s gaze remained completely skeptical instead, as if he could read Powder like a book. People that came from the undercity just knew each other better, maybe. She had to watch out for that one.

Before the other zaunite could say anything else and feeling desperate to escape his scrutiny, Powder straightened her uniform and took a step back. “Perfect! Thank you. Again, I’m sure these are just stupid coincidences.” She faked surprise as she glanced at the clock on her phone. “Oh no! Look at the time! I really need to get back to my station before Chef Kiramman notices I’m late.”

Neither of them had enough time to argue with her, which was a success. The funny thing is, Powder actually didn’t do anything wrong, but that word – Jinx – really had an odd weight for her.

It felt like a curse.

Once outside of the owners’ office, she darted past two startled waiters and made a beeline to the silverware polishing counter. She needed to stop dwelling and start working.

Just as Powder was about greet Ekko with a nasty look, she realized Seb was the one stationed there instead.

“Oh?” she blinked and tilted her head curiously. Powder looked around and yeah, it was just the two of them. Strange.

She picked up a fork, starting her shift as usual: there was no point in asking questions, especially because she was 97% certain that Seb was mute. Weird guy really. But not bad company, at least. Something still felt off, but Powder decided to ignore it.

For her own sanity, of course.

During the pre-service meeting that night, Powder caught sight of Ekko on the far side of the room, his face set in a scowl that hinted at brewing frustration. Powder squinted hard at him before noticing she had never seen him so… affected?

After maybe two minutes, she decided to let it go. Fine, then.

He didn’t even look at her, which was better! At least she didn’t have to engage with him in that mood; the guy was hard enough to manage even on a good day.

“Good evening, Chefs.” Mel’s voice cut through the room, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Tonight, the CDC seemed less composed than usual, her tone deeper and more commanding as she flipped through Caitlyn’s notes. Maybe she didn’t sleep well? What was happening?  “Tonight we’ll be presenting some experimental dishes from the new tasting menu set to debut next month. The restaurant will be open for a select few tonight, so it’s likely you’ll be able to leave early. Congratulations.”

Powder felt like cheering, but the seriousness of all the chefs deemed her excitement right away. No one else was happy to go home at a decent time, for once? Bummer.

“This means that we strive for perfection while embracing experimentalism,” Chef Medarda stated, steady yet commanding. “You all know your deadlines. Today is the day to showcase your progress.”

“Yes, chef!” Powder echoed alongside her colleagues, acutely aware that many of the chefs de partie had been struggling with recipes lately. She even tried to assure herself that their nervousness was the actual source of all those jinxes. Logical, no?

But thinking about it, it was now clearer why everything felt kind of strange: most likely the introduction of the new tasting menu was a strategy to retain their three Michelin stars. The pressure was high, and none of the chefs wanted to be the weak link that would tarnish The Hexgate’s reputation.

They all cared about that place, so much so that all that dedication was almost touching. She could only imagine what it meant for Chef Medarda to keep raising the stakes, as well as for everyone to follow suit.

Powder wondered if this applied to a genius like Ekko too.

Not that there was much time to reflect on that, as the shift turned out to be particularly frantic. Powder dedicated herself entirely to prepping for a very creative wagyu beef tartare with truffles: the beef had to be cut in triangle shapes, and the truffle combination came in three different techniques. Hours flew by as she carefully prepared every element that would then be plated by the line cook. It felt endless, so much so that by the end of it her hands had such a strong smell that she had to wash them with vinegar.

Despite that, only minor occurrences set her back: two knifes just happened to be dull and only one very expensive truffle rolled under the counter, which gained her a very strong yell from the chef she was assisting. All things considered, it was not really that bad. She was becoming very used to being scolded.

Powder was not sure that was positive.

As the service came to an end, she rushed to clean her station as soon as possible; she had the next day off and she was finishing before midnight: a very rare occasion. Pure bliss! Powder even made it to the bus stop in record time - only to realize she had left her wallet back at the restaurant.

“Fuck.” She groaned in frustration, remembering that her public transport card was tucked inside it. Of course that was just her luck. Defeated, she turned on her heels, running back in hopes to still make the last bus afterwards.

The girl entered through the back door, which luckily was still open. She darted toward the changing rooms in search of her locker, not taking too long to find it. Powder soon grabbed the forgotten item, dumping it inside her purse. She smiled to herself in relief, ready to leave again, when a loud crash echoed through the kitchen, followed by a stream of colorful curses.

Curiosity immediately creeped in, and a sigh departed her lips: now she had to go check what was going on, didn’t she?

She stepped deeper into the now very quiet kitchen, the clock on the wall reading twenty minutes before midnight.

Powder followed the only muffled sounds she could hear, just to find Ekko hunched on the floor, seemingly cleaning up a dish that very obviously had been thrown at the wall. Aggressively.

“Uh… what are you doing?” she asked, one blue eyebrow raised quizzingly.

“Ah, shit!” Ekko exclaimed, startled – the movement made him reflexively cut his finger on a particularly sharp piece of the broken plate. Wincing, he brought his index to his mouth, glaring at her with annoyance. “Why are you lurking around? It's late. Go home, chef.”

Powder scanned the chaos, noting that Ekko's usually pristine station looked more like a flavorful warzone. The dessert area was a little hidden, but she had been there before. This was new.

She snorted. "Looks like someone has been busy.”

The pâtissier stood up, throwing away the broken pieces and turning on the sink water to wash away the blood from his hand. Powder rolled her eyes, opened the first aid drawer, and retrieved a band-aid, offering it to him in a gesture of truce.

“Thanks,” he murmured, drying his hands on his apron before accepting the little curative bandage.

“So, are you going to tell me why you are here past your shift or should I just fuck off?” she leaned against the counter across from him, now noticing a notepad filled with sketches and notes laying on that surface.

Was he studying a recipe?

“Chef Medarda asked for something… interesting.” He held up the pages for her to see the sketches of an intricate dish. “She wants a combination plate: sweet and savory, to pair with a special wine Jayce is investing in. You know, we’ve got that new tasting menu coming up.”

Powder hummed in understanding, peering at the notes. She was immediately impressed by how Ekko's drawings looked more like fine art than mere recipes. It was pretty annoying, to be fair, that he was also good at that. She really wanted to flip through the pages, but knew it was off limits.

Biting her lip, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Walk me through it.”

Ekko hesitated, maybe expecting a more aggressive response from his coworker, but his uncertainty faded pretty quickly as he began to talk.

“The base is pretty straightforward: konjac rice with saffron and salt, and just a hint of garlic to tie it all together.” He gestured to a small pan on the stove. “I envision four types of plums in this dish. Realistically, I think we’ll need at least eight people to prep this once it’s officially on the menu. Crazy, I know.” He chuckled lightly, seeming amused by the absurdity of the demand.

“Hopefully I’m not one of those losers.” Powder retorted, crossing her arms. It was strange to not bicker, for once.

“Well, if we let Chef Kiramman pick, you might just be the one climbing the tree for the fruit." he teased, as if it was stronger than him, just to return to his explanation right away. “First, we have a syrup, which is simply plum wine boiled for hours and hours. This one was cooking for literally ten, and I think we could do more. Then, the consommé, which is made of black plums cooked with black vinegar, salt and sugar.”

As he spoke, Ekko began plating the new recipe with precision, as if it helped him map it mentally. His passion was taking over and it showed: Powder found herself captivated by his dedication; his movements were both methodical and passionate, and it looked like a proper performance unfolding before her.

“Then we’ll add fresh plums, perfectly cut as four centimeter cubes, to balance the strong flavors.” He laid six of those artfully cut cubes over the konjac rice using tweezers, before showcasing one to Powder and placing it in her palm for her to observe it a little closer. Yeah, the cut was immaculate: each cube looked like it belonged in a gallery.

Ekko paused, glancing down at the plate in contemplation. Powder could tell something was missing; the dish was not complete yet.

“You mentioned four types of plums, but I only see three,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “Is the fourth one the reason you’re back here swearing, working and bleeding?”

He regarded her with mild surprise, as if her insight had exceeded his expectations. Powder couldn’t help but feel a mix of offense and pride in response.

"Yeah, for the fourth component, the Chef the Cuisine asked me to create a gelée using this same consommé."

“That shouldn’t be too difficult for a little genius like you. What’s the catch?”

Ekko scoffed. “She wants it to have the same consistency as Haribo gummy bears.”

“Oh.”

“You damn right, this is an ‘Oh’ situation.” He sighed, gesturing toward three different gelées on his counter. “I’ve been struggling with this for over a week, and my deadline is Saturday. No matter what I do, it’s never firm and chewy enough.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “It’s always too soft or too hard. The last one melted far too quickly. I have no idea what the fuck I should do.”

Powder remained silent, getting a spoon to taste the dish without addressing his last comments. She could feel Ekko's gaze trained on her as she took a bite, savoring the medley of flavors that danced across her tongue, eliciting a soft sigh of appreciation. She realized it was the first time she ever had eaten something prepared by him.

It was good, sure – just not good enough, and they both knew it.

“It is delicious,” she began, meeting his skeptical eyes: he knew that was not all. “But yeah, it needs something. Consistency wise, I understand why Chef Medarda would ask you to add a gelée. I guess simple gelatine does not cut it, mh? What about adding a crumble instead?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just tell the Chef de Cuisine that her idea is impossible, and I’ll find something else to throw in instead. A crumble! What a great idea.” Ekko's sarcastic tone dripped with disdain.

“It just needs something else, that is what I mean.” She crossed her arms over her chest, assuming a defensive pose. “You know, to bite onto. It is too mushy.”

Ekko suddenly raised his voice, taking the dish he had just plated and throwing it in the sink. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t how things work in a kitchen like this. You don’t get to pick. What the CDC says, goes.”

Powder thought that was a bit of an exaggerated response. “Jesus. You need some anger management.”

“No, I need to find a way to make this happen. No idea why I am wasting my time talking to you instead.”

“Hey, I was just trying to help.” Powder knitted her brows, perplexed by his sudden shift in tone, the warmth of their brief collaboration dissipating almost immediately.

Ekko let out a laugh, starting to clean his station as the tension thickened in the air. “No offense, Chef Powder, but you are the least qualified person in this kitchen to help me.”

Powder felt the anger paint her cheeks red, hands balling into fists. Obviously that little truce was an illusion: Ekko was still a fucking insufferable jerk.

“Ekko, you are a great chef. Really, incredible.” She spit out those words, just to see him turn around and look at her, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “But you are also a fucking shitty person.”

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her almost as an afterthought. Their exchange of words hung heavy in the air, the most hurtful she had heard in her short time at The Hexgate.

As she rushed to catch the last bus, her mind teemed with a whirlwind of thoughts. She contemplated quitting entirely, go back to Zaun and never set foot in Piltover again.

But that would be too damn easy. No, no, no – something murmured in her ear - you have to prove him wrong.

Once home, Powder sank onto the floor, surrounded by her scattered cookbooks. She flipped through the pages, sketching notes wherever she saw potential connections and useful information.

“We will show them,” she muttered, speaking to the empty room that somehow seemed filled with shadows. “I will show him.”

Once morning came, Powder left her house extremely early.

She came back one hour later with all the plums she could find.

Notes:

I have been a little obsessed with this story so I hope you guys enjoyed the second chapter too!

Chapter 3: Veal Fat

Summary:

Jinx figures out how to make the gelées. Vi shows up unannounced, and apparently chefs also enjoy bars.

Powder dropped a plastic container onto Ekko’s counter with an abrupt thud.

“Veal fat.” she announced.

“What?” He glanced up, pausing mid-chop on a pile of fresh strawberries.

“Veal fat congeals when it’s cold.” she explained as if it was obvious, her tone laced with irritation as she lifted the blue lid to reveal a purple gelée cut into four squares. “That’s how you get your Haribo gelée.”

The pâtissier glared at the small container, then shot her a skeptical look. He straightened up, clearly mulling over her words.

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, almost palpable— she thought that maybe it would be possible to cut it with the knife still in his grip. Their last altercation happened less than fifteen hours before, so it was no surprise that they still felt that same intensity in the air.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Ekko asked instead, as if just realizing that her appearance was different. He looked at her up and down after freeing his hands, making her feel extremely self-conscious.

“Stop staring and just try it.” Powder urged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Overalls and a crop top might not have been the most professional attire, and her hair was down instead of styled in her usual two small buns, but what the hell – today was her day off and she was allowed to wear whatever.

Plus, she could not wait an extra second to shove her findings in his stupid face, even if that meant coming in when she was not scheduled to be there.

He opened his mouth to argue but seemed to decide against it at the very last moment. Ekko sighed, likely thinking she was hopeless, before picking up one of the gelée squares. He squeezed it, and surprise washed over his face as his eyes widened.

“How—” The question was unnecessary, but she could tell it was a knee-jerk reaction. After an extra second he popped it into his mouth, chewing with visible disbelief. “Veal fat?”

A long moment went by in which they stared at each other, and Powder realized that yes: she had nailed it. Who was not qualified enough, now? She could tell he was astonished. What was that phrase… The one who laughs last laughs best? She for sure was about to do so.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, asshole,” she said, feeling pleased with her small victory. She immediately decided her work there was done and turned on her heels, ready to leave without so much as a goodbye.

But Ekko had other plans: a firm hand gripped her wrist, and she turned back to see furrowed brows and those infuriatingly big brown eyes staring back at her. “Why did you do this?” he let her arm go as if it burnt him, assuming a more defensive stance with his arms crossed. “It will help me. You know that.”

Powder hadn’t anticipated that reaction. Searching for an answer, she found herself stumped. Why had she done it? To prove him wrong? Out of pride? She wasn’t entirely sure.

“I deserve to be here just as much as you, chef,” she replied, crossing her arms in turn, unconsciously mirroring him. “And supporting the menu is in my interest too.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. Ekko picked up another gelée cube with two fingers, squeezing it as if to confirm she actually managed to get the right consistency. “You’re an interesting person, Chef Powder.”

Heat crept into her cheeks, leaving her puzzled by her own reaction. “And you’re still an asshole.”

Ekko laughed, then ate the little purple square. “So, are you going to explain how you integrated the veal fat, or should I just start with the wild guesses?”

“Taking notes from a simple apprentice, huh?” her voice sounded amused, but she could not avoid the pride swelling in her chest. “You should be embarrassed.”

“Oh, believe me, I am.” He glanced her up and down again, yet this time it felt different. “But they say it’s wise to keep your friends close and your competition closer, right?”

“Competition? I don’t want to make desserts.”

“Are you sure? This is the toughest gig in a kitchen. A pâtissier can do everything a line cook can, but the opposite isn’t always true. Maybe you prefer the easier path like the rest of them.”

She considered that for a moment, looking at the outcome of her hard work on the counter before turning back to his irritatingly smug expression. The way he was able to make her feel at fault even when she outdid him was just ridiculous.

Powder pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and laid it on the counter. “Here, this is the step by step. You can thank me by leaving me the fuck alone.”

Ekko unfolded the paper, and she watched as he reacted to her notes: when he caught sight of the doodles depicting him as a little ugly demon amidst the writing, he looked up, visibly baffled.

“Very mature.” he remarked, furrowing his brow.

“Mature enough to beat you.” she mocked his tone before stocking out her tongue.

Ekko suddenly adopted an entertained look. “Didn’t you just say this was not a competition?”

“Just accept that you lost and shut up.” Powder threw her hands in the air, before taking one of the strawberries on his counter and eating it out of spite. “Do you enjoy being difficult, or is that just a side effect of your existence?”

He shrugged, seemingly uncapable to drop that amused expression. “Oh no, I train daily. CrossFit for the problematic.”

Powder laughed but suddenly stopped to curse herself for finding his joke funny. “You are exhausting.”

“Admit it, I am growing on you.”

She scoffed at his audacity. “Like mold, but sure.”

Ekko was obviously about to retort once more when more voices were heard coming from the main kitchen – likely other chefs arriving for their shifts. Powder groaned, not looking forward to hearing any questions on why she was there on her day off.

So without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there.

~

That same week Vi came to visit, showing up unannounced.

Initially she was supposed to arrive over a month ago, but kept postponing it. The timing was off, but all things considered, still pretty early for her standards. Violet was not the best at keeping promises. Overall Powder was glad to see her, but at the same time also not very pleased: her sister was her polar opposite—loud and brash like a truck driver, yet somehow the most popular person she knew. It hardly seemed fair.

“Wow, this is a mess.”

Powder, hunched over a pile of cookbooks, scoffed. The previous night she had ruined the same sauce three times, so Caitlyn was on her case again. “Pretty rich coming from Miss Dumpster herself,” she retorted, focused on understanding what she had done wrong.

“Piltover is so fancy, but in here, it feels like Zaun. Home sweet home,” Violet snickered, sprawled on the bed.

“Are you here just to insult my apartment?” Powder shot back, without breaking her concentration.

“Come on, Pow. I’m here to drag you out of your little cave. When was the last time you had any fun?” Violet leaned back, tilting her head and making her hair fall into her eyes.

Powder pretended to ponder for a moment. “Let’s see… right before you walked through that door.”

“You are hilarious. After you are done with work tonight, we are going to a bar.”

The bluenette laughed, locking eyes with her sister as she closed her book more forcefully than necessary. “We are absolutely not going to a bar after my ten-hour shift.”

Vi scoffed. “We will see about that.”

And somehow, several hours later, there they were at a bar just ten minutes from The Hexgate. Powder had no idea how that happened. Literally none.

As she sipped on her very sweet lychee martini, it felt good to observe the environment around her. The girl was actually very fond of loud music and crowded spaces, but since she started seriously dedicating herself to her culinary career, work had filled her schedule, pushing aside any other fun activities.

And that included whatever was going on right now. Vi of course was already half drunk by the time Powder got there: she found her older sister laughing and joking with a burly stranger named Loris. She smiled a lot at least, which was somewhat nice.

Powder promised to get one drink and then dip out. Well, the current one was actually her third. It had been a long week, okay?

“Pow, how much are you betting that I can beat Loris at arm wrestling?”

“Why in god’s name would I bet on that?”

“Have you seen these guns?” Violet shot back, flexing her toned arm to show her bicep. “Stop being so serious. Let’s have some fun.”

Powder rolled her eyes, standing up from the stool she was sitting on as she tilted her head in mock consideration. “I bet Loris can beat your ass, even with those fat hands of yours.”

“They are great for flipping burgers among other things.” Vi answered with a wink.

Powder almost barfed at the innuendo, but had little time to ponder it as they cleared a small table for their looming match.

“What are you guys doing?”

“You said that you do bet!”

Powder shook her head, thinking that maybe this would not be that bad. “You are making an idiot of yourself.”

“Pow-pow, stop playing hard to get! You are amazing at this. Like good old times.” Vi insisted, looking at her with hope in her powder blue eyes. She was truly helpless, wasn’t she?

The younger sister laughed, downing the last of her drink in one gulp before giving in. If she wanted fun, she would get some fun.

Clearing her throat, Powder felt the warm buzz of alcohol settling in as she raised her voice. “Ladies and gentleman! Hopefully you are in for some entertainment, as you stumbled upon an ugly and mean spectacle of two obnoxious scumbags in an epic battle of strength!!”

Vi blurted out a hey!, but Powder did not care: she was in her flow and now multiple people seemed to be very interested in her little presentation.

“In the right corner, a rising star, this guy I just met whose strength is matched only by his willingness to engage in dumb games – give it up for… Loris!”

The bar suddenly felt alive, and she was pretty surprised when people actually cheered. Powder kept going, as she could not stop herself from smiling, the exhilaration driving her forward. “In the left corner, the undefeated redhead with alcoholic tendencies and not many functioning neurons but the fattest of hands – Violet!”

Another hey! From her sister was muffled due to the many voices that now joined the crowd appealed by the arm wrestling.

Powder’s confidence swelled as she took in the chorus of cheers. “Please place your bets now!” she declared, her voice ringing through the din as the two contenders squared off.

“So? I don’t have all day.” Violet chided in, placing her elbow on the table and gesturing for Loris to join her right after drinking the rest of her whiskey.

Loris laughed and mirrored her stance, gripping her hand firmly. “Prepare to lose, Violet.”

Powder placed her hands on theirs, looking back and forth between the two. “Rules: no lifting up your elbow nor helping with the other hand. You are not allowed to touch your body at any point of time. The first one to force your opponent’s arm to touch the table wins.”

“Are you ready?” the bar was soon populated by whistles and further cheering. Powder fulfilled completely her duties as referee once she strongly stated, “Ready, set… Go!”

The match was incredibly quick and apparently easy: most likely Loris was not expecting a woman half his size to come in as strong as Violet did, and his arm was slammed to the table so fast he barely had any time to process it. The crowd literally went mad after that, chanting Vi’s name as Loris looked completely baffled. Granted, he was probably drunk too, but that was beside the point.

Soon many matches followed. Other people wanted to try, and suddenly a whole championship came to be. Arm wrestling became quite an entertainment and even the bar owners seemed happy with the outcome. Powder had fun announcing the competitors, and even got a few free drinks in the meantime.

“Who will try to beat Violet?!” she asked to no-one in particular, doing a 360 before sitting on the table. Her sister actually was undefeated until that moment, and had just came back from a break with a heavy drink. Powder heard many discussions going on around her and giggled while wiggling her feet, before noticing that someone had pulled a chair.  “Oh, we have an oppon—”

Her eyes met Catilyn’s and her heart suddenly dropped to her stomach. The sous chef rolled her shoulders back, preparing for the match. Without her uniform she looked different, less composed, maybe younger. The woman also didn’t make any mention to acknowledge that they knew each other. Had she been there the entire time? Alone?

Powder stepped down from the table, feeling dizzy, as if the alcohol had hit her a bit harder at her sight. “I was saying—we have an opponent!” Powder’s voice sounded hoarse to her own ears, but she kept going, looking elsewhere to control herself. What was she even doing there?

She glanced at her sister Vi, who had positioned herself at the table, elbow propped up, eyes sharp and ready to challenge the next competitor. Her gaze squared the other woman’s, and Powder noticed how her pupils dilated even with the dim light of the bar. What was happening?

“Loris, would you do the honors?” she passed the duty to the man that was right beside her, who accepted which a bemused look.

She couldn’t bring herself to be as enthusiastic as before in front of the woman that literally tortured her daily, so getting out of that situation was the only plausible way. As she was leaving, she caught Vi’s voice cutting through the noise, “Come on, Cupcake, show me what you got.”

Cupcake? Yeah, she needed to go home.

She stumbled through the mass of people, feeling the floor under her feet wobbly. Shit, she was drunker than she initially thought. The world swirled around her, and she leaned against a nearby wall, her stomach rolling in protest.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She’d recognize that voice anywhere, even over the pulsing music. Turning, she blinked to focus on Ekko, worry carved on his face, making him look almost cute. “Ekko? What the hell… are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He retorted, and his expression softening as he stepped closer. “You were doing great over there. Did you finally realize that you are a terrible cook and that you should switch your career?”

“Oh, leave me the fuck alone.” she snapped, but it lacked any real bite. She pushed him away with the tiny bit of strength she had, only to stumble forward. Ekko caught her before she could fall, and she found herself laughing, the sound bubbling out unexpectedly.

“Come on, you need to sit down and have some water.”

“I need to…” A hiccup interrupted her thoughts, setting off another fit of giggles. She looked up at him, her brows furrowing as her cheeks warmed. “Why are you not at home?”

“I also like to have fun.”

“Liar, liar, liar.” she sang, swaying slightly. “You are boooring.”

“And you are drunk.”

“I am Jinx!”

Ekko sighed, clearly exasperated. “What does that even mean.”

“That is how Mylo used to call me, you know. Stupid Mylo. The chefs also say I jinx. I am a Jinx I mean. Also why is Chef Kiramman here? Are you friends? That adds up.” Powder blabbed while leaning back against the chair Ekko helped her into.

“Well, you always run away after your shifts, so how could you know we actually come here every Thursday?”

“Traitors!” She crossed her arms dramatically, her faux pout more endearing than intimidating.

He chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. “Let me get you some water, Jinx.” As he started to leave, she nearly lunged at him, halting his movement mid-action.

“No!”

They looked at each other, and even in her intoxicated state the girl realized her own overaction and tried to pull back slowly. Yet their stares remained interlocked, neither of them making a move to look away. She could feel something twitching around in her gut, and was not sure if it was caused by the alcohol or by Ekko’s presence. This was dizzying, unfamiliar.

“Who the fuck are you?” Vi’s voice pierced the moment, and Powder moved her gaze to find her very worried sister right in front of them. “Get away from my sister!”

Suddenly, Powder found herself being lifted off the chair, her world tilting. This was not great.

“Hey, no! I am her colleague. I was trying to help her.”

“Shut the fuck up.” she snapped, pushing Ekko back with surprising strength. Powder’s head spun as she tried to process the escalating situation, feeling utterly helpless. “Can’t you see she’s drunk? Just leave her alone.”

“Look, lady. I am not interested in your sister. I was just being nice.”

Those words somehow hurt, even thought Powder could not understand why. Confused and caught in the middle of the confrontation, she swayed slightly, feeling her stomach churn again.

“Touch her again and I will break both of your legs.”

“I would rather eat broken glass than touch her!” Ekko shot back, fists clenched at his sides, though his gaze darted uncomfortably to the floor.

As if that was some sort of trigger, Powder felt her stomach finally give up — like a dam bursting. The nausea rose uncontrollably and she suddenly spewed the contents of her stomach directly onto Ekko’s shoes, her body reacting before her mind could intervene.

Life was the fucking worst.

~

“How long did it take you to figure it out?”

Powder lifted her attention from the station she was cleaning to find Mel looking at her with her arms crossed and a very calm stance. “Oh, chef Medarda.” Powder quickly wiped her hands on her apron, pivoting to face the illustrious chef. “I do not follow, figure what out?”

“The veal fat. How long?”

“Maybe… seven hours?” she answered approximately, even though at this point she was particularly surprised the chef de cuisine even knew about this. So, apparently Ekko did not take the credit for her finding.

They hadn’t talked ever since the bar incident three days ago, so this was a surprise. Actually she had avoided him at all costs, making sure to have as many late shifts as possible. She just could not face him, plus he had made it pretty clear he didn’t enjoy her company at all. Why force it?

Mel hummed as if contemplating the information. “Impressive. You see, this is a test I always give to the most promising cooks, because it is not an intuitive solution, and I cannot recall a cookbook with this type of knowledge.”

Powder simply nodded, unsure of how to react. She was uncertain where this line of questioning was leading.

“Some people take months of trial and error. Chef Caitlyn took four weeks to find out, for example.” She stepped closer, and Powder fought the instinct to retreat. “Do you know why there is such a disparity in the time it takes to figure it out?”

“I am not sure, Chef Medarda.”

“You are young and talented, chef Powder.” Mel breathed out, meeting her inquiring eyes. “But I would like you to keep in mind that obsession will overpower talent every time.”

Powder raised her eyebrows, curiosity piqued, and listened intently, her mind racing. Obsession?

“I wonder how you managed to solve it so quickly. Was it your competition with Ekko, or are you simply obsessed with your work?” Mel shifted her weight, one hand resting on her hip while her eyes remained locked on Powder. “I would like you to create a recipe with him for next month's menu.”

Her jaw went slack immediately, almost not believing her own ears. “Me? With him?”

“Exactly, you two.”

“I—” Powder hesitated, ready to refuse, but a sense of resignation settled in. She remembered that in the world of culinary arts, the hierarchy was absolute; what the Chef de Cuisine said was law. “Yes, Chef.”

It was actually an amazing opportunity, incredible even for someone that had been there only for a couple of months, but... Really? With Ekko?

“Good.” A smile danced on Mel’s lips, and Powder felt a little more relaxed almost instantly even though she did not like this situation in the slightest. “I will share the details with the sous chef tomorrow.”

“I will not disappoint you.”

“I am sure you won’t, chef Powder.”

Powder looked at the clock on the wall, reading that it was almost one in the morning. She looked back at Mel, nodding in agreement. She wondered what was the Chef de Cuisine’s real goal with this, but did not dare to ask.

As if sensing her thoughts, Mel’s smile softened, brightening her sharp features. “Every second counts. Good night, Chef Powder.”

“Yes, chef.”

That night, Powder barely even slept at the thought of working with Ekko. It was just her luck, right? Mortified and embarrassed, the prospect of quitting once again became increasingly appealing.

She just knew this would be hell on earth.

Stupid Ekko.

Notes:

I love writing their interactions! Thank you all for reading, let's see how these two with figure out their homework in the next chapter :D

Chapter 4: Oysters

Summary:

Ekko and Powder are assigned to make a cannolo out of oysters. It does not go as planned.

Powder was fixing her hair in front of the cracked mirror in her tiny bathroom when the door slammed shut.

Blinking in surprise, she stepped out to see a very wobbly Violet walking in, a half-smile lingering on her lips. Vi was wearing a black jacket she did not recognize and her make-up was pretty smudged. Mind you, she hadn’t seen her sister in literally two days.

At least she seemed fairly okay.

“I thought you went back to Zaun without saying goodbye. Where the hell have you been?” Powder had both hands on her hips, an edge of irritation creeping into her tone.

Vi unsteadily made her way to the kitchen, soon yanking open the fridge just to immediately let out a loud groan. “How are you a cook with no food? Wait…” she paused, “Why do have so many- are these plums?”

Powder rolled her eyes, going back to the very challenging task of fixing the right bun in her more-than-usual rebellious hair. Today, it truly seemed determined to defy her. When the sound of something crashing down distracted her, she sighed as loudly as possible. “Are you drunk? Again?” she asked, more out of habit than anything else. Vi turned into a high functioning alcoholic since the death of their parents a few years prior, this was no news.

A hiccup came right before her sister’s words. “I don't judge you for your coping mechanisms.”

Finally kind of satisfied with her hairstyle, Powder walked out of the bathroom, snagging her purse from a hook.  “It's not a coping mechanism if you're not actually coping.”

“Touché.” Vi said from the floor, mouth full. There was nothing else to eat, so she seemed to have settled for the fruit. “Where are you even going?”

Powder hesitated, stepping over her sister as she made her way to the door. “To work? You know, that thing you should get back to, eventually. Or even better, asap? Mylo and Claggor will burn The Last Drop to the ground.”

“It’s okay, we have insurance!”

“Yeah yeah. Go to sleep.” Powder replied, grasping the doorknob—only to feel a surprisingly firm grip around her ankle. She looked down to find Vi's narrowed eyes locked onto her figure.

“What is going on, Pow-pow? I can feel that something is off.” Vi whined. Well, maybe she wasn’t as drunk as she seemed to be. “Why are you so grumpy? Tell meeee.”

Knowing there was no escaping this, Powder let out a long sigh. “You remember the guy from the bar.”

“Man, you destroyed his shoes.” Vi laughed, clearly remembering the scene. “I felt bad for him. Also… he is strangely familiar, you know. Have I seen him before?”

“Yeah, maybe in a magazine,” Powder muttered as she sank down beside her sister, curling up and hugging her knees. “He’s a pâtissier genius or whatever. We’re supposed to work together. Yesterday, Chef Medarda asked me to create a dish with him.”

Violet straightened as she sat up, an eyebrow raised. “Well, it is a great opportunity for you.” She let her ankle go just to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, soon receiving a hard stare as a response. “But… obviously you are fucking embarrassed to work with him.”

The smell of alcohol on her sister’s breath was kind of nasty, and Powder grimaced. “You don’t get it. He hated me even before this. Now that we will have to work together, it will be, like, virtually impossible to pull this off.” She averted her gaze, “Plus, Chef Medarda is insane! She creates these bizarre dishes that are actually incredible, but if she assigns something bonkers to us, I might as well pack my bags and leave for good. He won’t cooperate, I just know it.”

Vi stayed silent for a second, and Powder looked at her, curious.

“Pow, let it rip.”

“But —”

“Let it rip.” The redhead repeated, her face soft. She reminded her of their mother, in those moments. “No point in beating yourself up now. Just do your thing. It will be fine.”

Powder pursed her lips, knowing deep down that her sister was right. They had endured so many losses in their lives, that to keep going was the only option. In the great scale of things, this represented a very small mountain to climb. So she nodded, receiving a small smile from the redhead in response.

Finally rising to her feet, Powder fixed herself out for a moment as she stood in front of the door. “You better be sober when I get back.”

Vi attempted to rise as well, but her dizziness stopped her mid-motion. “Shit. See you tonight!”

“See you later, sis.” If she didn’t die of embarrassment, that is.

~

“Good, you are finally here.” Chef Kiramman didn’t so much as glance up from her notes, her voice almost dismissive, as if she were somehow talking to the paper.

Powder had been waiting for at least ten minutes for the older woman to acknowledge her, so she raised an eyebrow in confusion. Since Chef Medarda hadn’t given her any specific instructions, she figured approaching the sous-chef before her shift was the most logical choice. “Err… I’ve been here. For a while, actually.”

“She meant me.” Ekko’s voice came unannounced from her left, and she almost jumped, looking back at him with a startled expression. “Thank you for your patience, Chef. I had a small set back.”

And there he was: brow furrowed, jaw tense, arms crossed. Ekko was wearing a white t-shirt under his apron instead of his usual chef’s jacket, revealing muscles she hadn’t noticed before. His biceps literally bulged. Wow. He was incredibly jacked. For a second she thought about how easy it would be for him to lift her up and immediately felt like slamming her own head against the wall to stop her stupid mind.

Life was torture.

“Chef, every second counts.” Caitlyn finally looked up, her expression bordering on boredom. It was barely four p.m., and the kitchen was almost empty. Yet, Ekko’s apron was already a little dirty, which means he had been working already – why didn’t he come up right away? Was he avoiding her?

“Yes, chef.” he replied without missing a beat.

Caitlyn sighed, closing her notebook. “As you know, the CDC has requested that you create a dish for the new menu. A curious choice, if you ask me.” Her gaze shifted directly to Powder. “Very… brave, even. Especially with only ten days to go before implementation.”

Powder kind of agreed, but refrained from speaking. Apparently silence was the correct decision, since the sous-chef simply kept going.

“The request is straight forward, to be fair: you will revisit a classic dessert and turn it into something savory.” Caitlyn paused, looking at the two in front of her, likely preparing to drop a bomb. “She wants you to make Cannoli with oysters.”

“Oysters?” Ekko and Powder said in unison, looking at each other for a brief second before simultaneously moving their attention back to the chef in front of them. What the damn hell?

“Yes, chefs.” Caitlyn stated matter-of-factly, picking up her notebook as if to signal that her announcement was final.  “Cannoli with Oysters.”

“Any other details?”

“Chef Ekko, you heard me perfectly," Caitlyn replied, her tone slipping into irritation. "This is a creativity task. It will be paired with the only Muscadet we have in-house. I’m sure that information will be helpful. You have two days to present your first version.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as they all stared at each other, and for a few seconds the only thing audible was the clock ticking on the wall.

“Yes, Chef.” Ekko finally answered, while Powder kept her mouth shut as her mind raced. This was way worse than the freaking gelée.

“Chef Powder?” Caitlyn asked, her voice lowering slightly.

Feeling the weight of two sets of eyes on her, Powder responded, “Yes, Chef.”

“Great. Two days. I wouldn’t show up empty handed if I were you.” Chef Kiramman warned before leaving them there.

Powder took a deep breath, still confused by the request – in all honesty, this was both terrifying and exciting. She turned to speak with Ekko, only to see him walking away. “You! Where are you going?”

“I am getting to work.” He answered without even looking back, pace immutable.

Gritting her teeth, Powder followed him, feeling hopeless. She knew she lacked his experience, so her only chance for success hinged on setting aside her ego. Yet, she still felt embarrassed from their last interaction – ergo, when she puked on his damn shoes -, so it was truly easier said than done.

“We should brainstorm some ideas, or something.” She muttered as she trailed behind him, “I was thinking, maybe, we could do mh- a mousse? Just infused with oyster water?”

When he remained silent, she continued. “Or- I don’t know, like a very neutral cannoli with Oyster Ceviche? This one time in culinary school I did a ceviche like that with citrus and avocado! Yes, maybe that could—” Suddenly, Ekko stopped short, and she collided against his back. He was not tall at all, but if felt like crashing into a brick wall. She stumbled back, eyebrows knitted together. “Hey!”

“Service is starting soon.” He looked over his shoulder with an upset expression, which immediately made Powder just as irritated. “We will talk about this once we are done.”

With a huff, she noticed a few line cooks arriving early. No point in making a scene in front of everyone. “Fine.”

She had a lot of mis-en-place to prepare anyway.

He nodded and continued walking. “Your ideas are a disaster, anyway. Think a little harder.”

Ekko was lucky Powder wasn’t holding anything at that moment; otherwise, she might have thrown it at the back of his neck. She had good aim and very little patience at this point.

That service was a blur. Powder was still dealing with the tartare and the truffles, which sounds like a very fancy task in theory, right? Wrong. In reality, slicing beef and zesting those potent, expensive components inevitably pushed her into auto-pilot mode. It was something she actively fought against, but sometimes lost the battle. Since all she could think about was the stupid oyster dish and how Ekko would make her life miserable, it was no surprise that by the end of the night, her hands bore several new cuts, far exceeding the count from the morning.

Once the shift was done and after cleaning her station, she retreated to the backroom to assess the damage.

“Jesus, were you trying to turn the restaurant into a cannibal tasting?”

Powder groaned as she removed her glove, the one she had worn to prevent contaminating food, since she hadn’t had time to properly tend to her own injuries during the frenzied cooking hours. “Chef Ekko, how are you… everywhere?”

“That looks bad.” he said, ignoring her question as he stepped closer but halted at arm's length. “Can you bandage yourself? We have work to do.”

Powder turned on the sink faucet, washing her injured hand to clear away the blood. It was indeed bad. “Do we need to do this tonight? I can come in early tomorrow.”

“As usual, you don’t get it. We need to deliver perfection, and we are already behind.”

“Every fucking second counts. Yes. I know.” She sighed, exasperated. “I will think about options, okay? We meet tomorrow and we start. Just give me a break, please.” she grimaced, flexing her fingers, overwhelmed to the point of feeling utterly helpless.

“You’re a lost cause.” Ekko reached over and turned off the water before grasping her wrist, lifting it most likely to reduce blood flow. He grabbed a cloth from the open first aid kit and applied pressure to her cuts. “This will hurt. Stay still.”

To her surprise, he treated her hand with the same calm diligence he used while aligning forks or decorating his beloved dishes. Even when she flinched at the sting of the disinfectant, his focus remained immutable as he meticulously cleaned each wound before covering them with bandages. His touch was gentle yet firm, and despite her reluctance, she accepted his help in complete silence.

“Uhm, thanks.”

“Last time I tried to help you, your sister nearly punched me, and you ruined my Air Jordans. I should just let you bleed.” he shot back, though he didn’t sound annoyed this time. Powder watched him dry his hands on the apron, as if squeezing every drop of water from his skin.

“Were you scared of a girl?”

“Have you seen her?” he sounded perplexed by her question, as if she was asking something both ridiculous and obvious.

Powder pondered for a second. Yeah, Vi could be kinda intimidating. “Okay… Fair.” She chuckled, looking at his startled expression. “It was nice of you, though. To try to help me. I am not used to drinking.”

She conveniently left out the part where she found his comments mildly offensive, thinking that it could be interpreted in the wrong way. She also didn’t want anything to do with him, so it was all good! Very fair and reciprocated. She would also rather eat broken glass than be touched by Ekko, of course.

Right?

“You may not believe it, but I’m actually a decent person.” Ekko averted his gaze for a moment, lost in thought, before focusing on her again. “Look, I know it’s late, but this is a big deal. I’ve only been here a few months myself, and most chefs wait years to create dishes like this. If we can pull it off, you could even become a line cook.”

Powder considered his words. Honestly, she wanted this to work, so she didn’t need convincing, but his approach surprised her. “And what’s in it for you? You’re already the pâtissier here.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He shrugged, as mysterious as ever. It was unsufferable. “Truce?”

He extended his hand as a peace offering, and Powder accepted it with a firm shake. “Truce.”

“I’ll let you off the hook tonight. But I expect to see you tomorrow at nine a.m.”

“Where? Here?”

Ekko chuckled. “Don’t be silly. Of course not.” Noticing her confusion, he added, “My place. You’re in the group chat with management, correct? I’ll text you the details.”

All her facial muscles twitched in sync. His place? That had to be a joke. “Are you serious?”

In the meantime, Ekko was busy typing something on his phone. “Done. Don’t be late.”

The vibration from her iPhone in her pocket confirmed that he was indeed serious. Sighing, Powder just nodded — too tired to question the sudden invitation. Besides, she had a bus to catch.

The next morning, Powder woke up at seven and by eight forty-five, she found herself standing in front of a very fancy building in an equally fancy area.

“All those awards did pay off, then.” she muttered to herself as she rode the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

Ekko lived on his own in an apartment on the upper part of Piltover, and he let her in without even a half hello. She stepped into the place feeling self-conscious and doubtful – she had very casual clothes on, since she also took a bag with all she needed to clock into work right after they were done there.

“So, I have been thinking about what a cannolo is, really. It is important to go into the basics when revisiting something.” He guided her through the corridor to the main room: an open space that combined a kitchen and living area, lit by floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed everything in warm sunlight. The furniture was fairly minimalistic – very bachelor like, Powder thought to herself -, but the fair amount of evergreen plants provided it with a lot of character. Off to the side, she noticed a couple of doors that likely led to his bathroom and bedroom.

“Nice place,” she said without thinking, setting her bag on the sofa.

Ekko stopped and looked at her, puzzled. “Uh, thanks. Can we focus?”

Nodding, she joined him at the beautiful kitchen island, admiring its blend of wood and grey marble. Yet, the most striking thing had to be Ekko wearing a black tank top and grey sweatpants, his hair cascading down rather than being diligently tied up as she usually saw it.

The universe hated her with a burning passion, no other explanation.

“So, as I was saying… I went back to the basics of this dish.” he pushed an open book towards her, picking up a pen to continue on a drawing he had been working on his own little sketchpad. “By definition, a cannolo is just a deep-fried pastry tube with creamy filling. I have done millions of variations in the past, just- never savory. But I dig the idea.”

Powder glanced at the book, which had a very classic cannoli recipe. “Yeah. It means little tube, right?”

“Exactly.” Ekko didn’t look up, and she studied him with curiosity. “I envision something like this, just not sure how to reach it.” He slid his notebook toward her, revealing a beautifully drawn cannolo that resembled an oyster with a hole in the middle.

“Wow. You are an artist.” The compliment slipped out before she could stop herself, and then she hurried to keep the conversation going to avoid stroking his ego any further. “Mh… did she ever say it needed to taste like an oyster…? This could be a little loophole.”

Ekko’s eyes lit up with interest. “What do you mean?”

“Chef Kiramman said it needed to be savory, which, fair. Very clear instruction, if you ask me. And that it had to be done with oysters. But does it need to taste like an oyster?” Powder shrugged, tossing out the idea to gauge his reaction.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“To do this.” She pointed a finger towards his drawing, feeling more fierce than usual. “We can use oyster shells as molds for the pastry, then create a mousse for the filling. Garnish it with caviar.”

“Ricotta mixed with smoked leek purèe, perhaps.”

“Yes! We could have a very neutral pastry dough to not overpower the flavors.”

 “As crispy as possible, I have a good recipe for that.” He reached for the book, turning it to a page with said recipe. “But we'll need to adjust the measurements — oyster shells have so many folds that if we want to use them as molds, the dough needs to be sturdier yet malleable.”

“I will leave that to the genius pastry chef.” Powder teased, a smile creeping onto her lips. She was pleasantly surprised by how well they collaborated, their thought processes meshing seamlessly. So much so all the bickering was almost forgotten.

Almost.

“No way, you are trying to get out of this.” He scoffed, opening his cabinets to gather ingredients. “I have some oysters we can use as molds. We’re starting on the dough right now.”

Powder rolled her eyes. “Every second counts?”

“Look at that. So you do listen… when you are not too busy burning everything.”

Needless to say, Ekko earned her middle finger in response.

It turned out that creating an oyster cannolo (or "oysterolo," as Powder insisted on calling it—a nickname Ekko hated) was far more complicated than they'd anticipated. Two hours into the dreadful task of crafting a dough that could both fit into the crevices of an oyster shell and mimic its delicate texture, Powder was completely done.

“It… just… keeps breaking.” She groaned right after the tenth failed attempt. They were both pretty dirty with flour, and the sun had climbed higher in the sky. Powder had insisted on working with music, resulting in a brief, loud debate about what to play before they settled on some R&B. The volume was not to her liking, barely audible really, but it was still his house at the end of the day. So whatever.

“You're doing something wrong. I told you to use 33 grams of all-purpose flour. How much did you add?”

“Why do you assume I’m the problem? Maybe your stupid measurements are off! I think we should have a fourth of dry components, this is too much.”

Ekko stared at her, disbelief etched across his face. “Oh, you think you’re so clever.”

She shrugged one shoulder, a small pout forming on her lips. “No, I just think you’re easy to outsmart.”

“I’ve never worked with someone so immature. Just use the measurements I gave you. I’ll be watching this time.” He placed the ingredients in front of her, eyes challenging. “Go ahead.”

“Do you think you’re my boss? I’m not here to prove anything to you. I should be working on the filling anyway — you’re the dessert guy.”

“Dessert guy?” he echoed, stepping around the kitchen island to confront her. “You are barely an apprentice, and you think you can talk to me like that?”

Well, their truce did not last long. She was not surprised at all.

“I think your little awards have fried your brain,” she gestured towards a shelf with said awards on the wall, “You sound like a stupid piltie.”

Ekko let out a dry laugh, moving even closer, his scent a mix of flour and fresh pine. “You don’t realize what kind of opportunity we have here. You’re being so fucking ungrateful and don’t even see it.”

“Ungrateful?!” Powder threw her hands up in exasperation, taking an involuntary step back. “To whom? The people who enslave me in that restaurant? I’m this close to telling all of you to fuck off and just going back to Zaun. Cooking shouldn’t be this humiliating.”

“Listen, Chef.” He sighed, taking a moment before meeting her gaze. “Do you know what your problem is?”

“Working with you!”

“No, let me tell you what your problem is.” He raised an accusatory finger, brows furrowed, cornering her against the counter of his kitchen. “You came in thinking that you are the only zaunite with a hard past that is trying here. You expect a red carpet under your feet, and don’t even realize all the blood sweat and tears people put into this work.”

Powder’s eyes widened in shock as she watched Ekko’s strong lay on each side of her over the kitchen island, the heat of his body radiating against her, trapping her against the cool surface of the counter. “A thousand people would kill to be in your place,” he spat, his face inches from hers, “but you think you should be praised for doing the bare minimum. Grow the fuck up.”

Her heart raced, intoxicated by his closeness, his presence overwhelming. Should she push him away? Should she fight back? But, disturbingly, a small, traitorous part of her was tempted to lean in closer, to lose herself in this dance between anger and desire. That fight felt different, as if it carried a tension that had been building up between them since the moment they met until now.

Ekko’s voice snapped her out of her inner spiral. “You think you are so fucking special, but you are just a brat.” He continued, with a stare so intense she felt it in her soul. “An entitled little brat.”

She opened her mouth, ready to unleash the torrent of her indignation, but the only words that came out were, “I hate you.”

Ekko laughed loudly, and she felt like screaming. What else could she do? But then, before she could collect herself, his lips descended on hers—firm, demanding, invading. The kiss was raw, and she could feel the strength of his grip as his hands found her hips, anchoring her to him, as if he feared she might slip away.

Her body reacted against her will, instinctively pushing him away. Or maybe, that was her will. She had no idea, to be completely honest, and everything felt heavy. The kiss broke, creating just enough of a gap for her to move her arm. Adrenaline surged through her as her hand flew up, connecting forcefully with his cheek in a resounding slap that echoed in the thick air between them. Powder flicked her eyes open, realizing she had acted on impulse, driven by emotions she couldn’t quite name.

Or maybe she could. She did hate him.

Ekko stared at her, shock written across his features, his cheek flushing a bright red. But instead of annoyed, that surprise looked delighted—the corners of his lips lifting in a grin that was almost infectious.

Powder hated his face.

Frustration and rage battled within her, but before she could decide which one was stronger, she was the one to grab his face, pulling him down just enough for another kiss—this one deep, sloppy, and untamed.

Ekko tasted like the sea. She hated that too.

Notes:

Next chapter will be steammyyyy! Or maybe not? Thanks for reading!

Chapter 5: Basil

Summary:

Kissing doesn't end up well, but at least all that basil Powder cut becomes useful.

 

The kiss wasn’t gentle — it was war. Teeth, lips, breath, the same ferocity they usually threw into shouting matches. It felt like trying to win and lose at the same time. Too much, too fast, and still not enough.

Ekko’s hands locked on her hips, lifting her up without effort. One second she was pressed to the kitchen island, the next she was sitting on it, his body crowding her in, his heat swallowing the space between them.

There was only one little problem: they had been working in that kitchen.

This means the counters were cluttered, smeared with utensils and stray ingredients from their failed attempts.

Powder suddenly groaned into his mouth: this time not from pleasure, but from the sharp sting in her palms as she braced herself on the messy surface. A knife, a spatula, something unforgiving pressed against the cuts from the day before on her hands and pain flared up.

Her breath hitched. “W–what are we doing?” The words slipped out before she could bite them back, shattering whatever spell had taken over them. Powder’s eyes fluttered open, colliding with his—still right there, so close her whole world narrowed to the heat of his breath.

She even observed how his cheek was still slightly red due to the slap, which ironically brought her even more to reality.

Ekko froze, confusion flickering across his face, hands still at her hips like he wasn’t sure if he should hold on or let go. “…Is that a trick question?”

She shifted back an inch and looked elsewhere, noticing the damn awards on the wall, a reminder of where they were and who he was. This was Ekko: the guy who made her life hell at work, the one who rolled his eyes at her mistakes, who seemed to despise her very presence. And yet here she was, lips swollen from his kiss.

She couldn’t even look back at him; words dissolved before they formed.

Life was a fucking joke. Universe: 1, Powder: 0.

Powder could see with her peripheral vision how he slowly lifted his hands from her, palms raised in mock surrender, just like he did whenever a dish was plated and waiting for pick-up.

“Did I… do something wrong?” he asked, quieter this time.

Powder almost got whiplash from how fast she moved her head back to look at him. She forced a laugh, brittle and nervous. “Is this a trick question?” She shoved hair away from her face, feeling suddenly exposed. “You— we—”

Ekko moved back just enough to make her shiver at the absence, but his eyes never left hers. “We’re adults, Powder,” he said, raw and unpolished, like it was the only explanation he had to throw at the disaster between them. As if adulthood was a get-out-of-jail-free card for kissing your nemesis on the damn kitchen counter.

 “What the fuck does that even mean?”

He studied her face like it was a recipe he hadn’t quite mastered: his silence dragged until it was unbearable, and right when she was about to tell him to fuck off, Ekko finally offered, “The line between hate and passion can be very thin. Don’t you think?”

She blinked, stunned. Shocked.

No, outraged.

…Was he trying to be a poet just now?

The laugh that escaped her was loud and dry. Powder slid off the counter, grateful for the distance, rubbing her palms out of habit. Pain pulsed there, dull but insistent. She only then noticed the cuts from the night before had split again, band-aids darkened with blood.

Ekko simply turned back to the mess, casually picking up dirty bowls, moving as if nothing had happened.

Yeah, she couldn’t hate him more if she tried.

 “It’s impossible to do anything with you,” she snapped, words sharper than she meant them to be. His nonchalance was infuriating.

“Really?” His laugh was quick, humorless. He shoved the dishwasher shut with more force than necessary and turned, eyes catching hers. “Funny you said that… You know, since you didn’t seem so unhappy doing something with me a minute ago.”

She looked away, shame prickling.  “That—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, then tried again. “That was just… a stupid impulse. And you started it.” The words tasted hollow. A beat passed before Powder added, this time softer, “Let’s just pretend it never happened, okay?”

Silence stretched once again, as uncomfortable as before. Against her better judgment, she looked at him—always too curious, always needing to know—and the sight made her chest cave in. His brown eyes, usually lit with warmth, were shuttered now.

Cold.

“Fine,” he said at last, clipped and final. “I guess you’re right.”

Her brows furrowed. “I am?”

“Yes. It is impossible to do anything with you.” His voice was flat, but the echo of her own words made them sting all the more. Then he turned away, wiping down the counter as if she weren’t unraveling behind him.

“I—"

“Out.” She interrupted her, and the finality in his tone left no space for argument. “Just get out.”

Powder did not need to hear it twice.

~

That evening, the kitchen was already humming when Powder walked in: steam rolling, pans clattering, the air thick with oil and citrus. She tied her apron too fast, nearly knotting it wrong, then froze when she saw Ekko at the forks station with Seb.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed she was four minutes lat—

“Chef Powder.” Caitlyn’s voice didn’t even let her complete the thought. Powder slowly turned around, meeting the sous-chef’s gaze.

“Yes, chef?”

“You are late.” Caitlyn’s voice stated, cutting through the noise like a knife. “You know what happens to those that don’t respect time. Enjoy your time washing dishes before going home, tonight.”

Powder restrained an eye-roll. The thing is, after everything that went down with Ekko, it was a miracle she was even at work to begin with.

Yet, she just answered while already going away, “Yes, chef.”

“Not so fast.” Chef Kiramman crossed her arms, then called out, “Chef Ekko, come here.”

Ekko set the last fork down, spotless, then walked toward her, stopping half a meter from Powder.

“The Oyster cannoli. I want ratios on paper by tomorrow, official prototype the day after. I will try it before Chef Medarda. She seems very excited about this, so you two better deliver.” Her gaze flicked between them, lingering like she could smell the tension, “Also: Oysters are delivered fresh and rather expensive—don’t waste them.”

“Yes, Chef,” Powder managed.

Ekko just nodded. Didn’t break stride, didn’t move his eyes away from the sous-chef, even as she turned on her heel and strode toward the main line. He didn’t even glance at Powder. Not once.

The moment the older woman was gone, silence rushed back in, louder than the clatter of pans from the other stations. Powder shifted her weight, opening her mouth to say something—anything—but Ekko beat her to it.

“Don’t.” His voice was flat, low, like he’d been waiting for her to open her mouth. “Not here. Not today.”

Her chest went tight. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes you were,” he cut in, finally moving his gaze to meet hers. The look in his eyes made her pulse stutter. Cold, reserved, but underneath there was something else. Something she didn’t dare thinking too much about. “Just… do your prep or whatever and stay out of my station.”

The sting hit harder than it should have. Powder bit down on her tongue and spun away, pulling open the fridge a little too hard. Cold air blasted out, along with the unmistakable thunk of a container falling.

“Shit.” She barely caught it against her chest: pickles. Of course. A gallon of fucking pickles.

There she was: jinxing things once again. At least it did not end up on the floor.

Ekko’s head turned as he was going back to his station, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Smooth, chef.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, shoving the container back onto the shelf—too hard, again. The brine sloshed over her hands, dripping onto her apron.

Now he did laugh, low and short, before smothering it into silence. Powder’s ears burned, but for the first time all day, the tension cracked just slightly.

The rest of the shift, they circled each other like ghosts. Ekko worked in clean, perfect lines. Powder fumbled through her prep, the smell of pickle juice clinging to her clothes.

Well, maybe she passed by his station more times than necessary, but this was nobody’s business.

On one of those “useless” walks to grab a whisk in the back of the kitchen—while Ekko perfected some fancy panna cotta—Chef Caitlyn passed by again. Her eyes flicked from Ekko’s immaculate dishes to Powder’s damp, stained apron.

Powder forced a grin; Ekko didn’t bother looking up.

“Chef Powder,” Caitlyn said, voice smooth as steel, “take that crate of basil into the walk-in.”

Powder gawked. “That’s… like a thousand leaves. It’s heavy, why don’t you ask Chef Ekko?”

“Then I am sure it will be great practice for you to also chiffonade it all.” Caitlyn replied, already halfway across the kitchen.

Powder face-palmed herself, but she really just wanted to cuss her own big mouth.

Ekko muttered without glancing up, “Better than bleeding on the truffles like yesterday.”

Powder gripped the whisk she was holding, seriously considering throwing it at his head.

The shift slowly went on, and by the time she finally dropped her knife into the empty crate of basil, the kitchen was silent—except for the soft hum of the dishwasher and the occasional drip from a faucet. At this point her hands ached, her arms burned, and every muscle screamed for her to stop.

She glanced at the clock and froze. The last bus had left nearly twenty minutes ago. Great. Just fucking great. She was stuck. Alone. And hadn’t even finished with the damn dishes.

Powder then kicked the crate aside, rubbing her palms over her apron and cursing under her breath. After putting all the chopped basil in the fridge, Powder started loading the last of the dishes, moving on autopilot, trying not to think about Ekko, the kiss, or every infuriating, maddening thing that had happened today.

Come to think of it, that single day had felt as long as two weeks.

When she finally opened her locker to stash her apron, something fluttered against the side—a small folded sheet of paper tucked between the shelf and her things.

Her heart skipped a beat: that handwriting was very familiar.

Powder unfolded the paper carefully. Neat, precise notes stared back at her: sketches of cannolo shells, ingredient ratios, oyster placement, even a sprinkle of fried sage she hadn’t considered. At the bottom, in Ekko’s handwriting, a single line made her eyebrows shoot up:

‘If this works, Chef Kiramman might temporarily stop acting like you’re under criminal investigation.
-E.’

Powder blinked, heart pounding. So, he still wanted to work together. This was good. Yeah, good! Or at least, less worrisome than having to deal with this on her own.

Relief, warmth, and something electric stirred in her chest. Right then her eyes caught a small detail she hadn’t noticed at first, a little star he had drawn next to one particular combination: oysters, lemon zest, and a tiny dab of something labeled “surprise.” A tiny version of her—space buns included—looked shocked right next to it.

Yeah, this was most definitely retaliation from her doodles on the plum gelées recipe.

The soft click of the kitchen door made her jump, cutting off the half-smile she hadn’t realized was creeping onto her lips. Vi leaned against the doorway, hands tucked in her jacket pockets, eyes scanning the empty room. “Powder?” she said, voice low, concern clear. “You’re still here, huh? I knew it.”

“I… yeah,” Powder muttered, hastily tucking the note into her pocket. “Finishing up some stuff.”

Vi gave a small shrug, looking innocently casual. “You shouldn’t be alone this late. Not safe. Come on, I can give you a ride.”

Powder narrowed her eyes slightly, realizing that she had never invited her sister to The Hexgate, and it was really strange she could just swing inside like it was nothing. “You just happened to be here?” she narrowed her eyes, “Do I see lipstick on you?”

Vi smiled faintly, smooth as ever. “Of course. Pure coincidence.” She shrugged while cleaning her mouth this the back of her hand, “You know me. Just wandering around kitchens late at night, making sure no one’s trapped under a crate of basil.”

“How do you even—" Powder squinted at her some more. “Whatever. I don’t even want to know. I will pretend to believe you.”

“Hey, I am going back to Zaun tomorrow morning. Figured I’d swing by and pick you up. You know… public service.”

Powder huffed, crossing her arms. “Your habit for appearing at oddly convenient times is starting to piss me off.”

Vi grinned, stepping closer. “Just admit you love me and you are happy to see me.”

“Keep it up and one day I might kill you.” Powder shot back, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Vi rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t worry, I will come back.”

Powder shoved her shoulder lightly, trying to hide how much she actually enjoyed their little banter.

Ah, maybe she should also go back to Zaun.

~

The next morning, Powder slipped into the restaurant before sunrise, timing her entrance with the delivery truck. The familiar rattle of crates, the slam of the back door, and the faint smell of herbs and citrus greeted her. One of the suppliers—his name permanently slipping her mind, no matter how many times he’d told her—grinned when he saw her. He held the door open with exaggerated glee.

“Thanks, Chuck!~” she chanted, ducking inside with her backpack.

“That’s not my—”

But she was already halfway to the lockers, snickering to herself. He was harmless. Sweet, even.

Not that sweetness was the flavor dominating her thoughts. She hadn’t slept. Again. She’d spent most of the night hunched over Ekko’s notes, scribbling her own additions in neon pink and purple ink, testing flavor combinations with the scraps she had at home. Nothing had worked right. Not enough equipment, and let’s not even mention the lack of ingredients. Which was why she was here, sneaking into the restaurant way before her shift like some obsessed apprentice who didn’t know when to quit (which is exactly who she was).

And Ekko sure as hell wasn’t going to invite her back to his place. Not after… yesterday.

“I thought you’d be here.”

The voice snapped her out of her thoughts: Powder jumped or her way to the main line, thinking that people needed to stop creeping up on her like that. “What the—”

Ekko leaned against the prep station like he owned it, arms crossed. The shadows under his eyes gave him away: he hadn’t slept either. Somehow that made her both smug and unsettled.

He tilted his chin toward the colorful, messy paper in her hands. “Thoughts?”

She exhaled hard, trying to mask her nerves with attitude. “And prayers,” she muttered, spreading the notes on the counter. His green ink clashed violently with her pink writing, like they were arguing on paper just as much as in person. “There’s too much here to test out in one day. What’s this surprise even supposed to be?”

“Just for fun.” He stepped closer, invading her space without hesitation, and nodded toward the leftover herbs from yesterday. “You chiffonaded all that basil. Might as well use it. Try some molecular tricks.”

His nearness was distracting, his voice low and calm in a way that scraped against her nerves. Powder forced herself to focus on the page, not the warmth of him hovering at her shoulder.

And then it clicked. She spun toward him, eyes alight. “Oh! We could spherify the basil—make it look like caviar on top of the cannolo! With sage for depth!”

The corner of his mouth curved up, subtle but undeniable. “You act like a kid sometimes.”

“We’re basically the same age.”

He gave her a slow once-over, one eyebrow raised. “Not mentally, we’re not.”

Powder rolled her eyes and shoved past him toward the pantry. Anything to stop her cheeks from heating. “Are we doing this or what?”

For a moment he didn’t move. He just watched her, steady and unreadable, and it made her skin prickle. Finally, he drew in a deep breath. “We should talk first.”

Her hand froze on the cabinet handle. Dread pooled in her stomach. “Every second counts, Chef Ekko,” she shot back, parroting that line with forced bravado. But her chest tightened, because she hated talking. Talking never ended well. Pushing down unpleasant feelings… that she was great at. She learned it with Vi.

“I’ve been an asshole to you,” he said simply. “I have thought about it. Deeply. And I realized that this is not okay. Yesterday wasn’t okay. I won’t touch you again. We can be civil.”

The words were so blunt that she didn’t know what to do with them. Her mouth worked faster than her brain: “Well, you did say at the bar you’d rather eat glass than touch me, huh? Couldn’t quite keep your word.”

It came out sharp, laced with bitterness she hadn’t intended to show. And instantly, she regretted it.

Ekko blinked, caught off guard, then huffed a short laugh. “True. I did say that.” Looking away, he added, “And then did the opposite.”

The fact that he didn’t deny it stung more than it should have. Like he was confirming it all over again.

“Look,” he continued, his tone dropping into something firmer, final. “We still need to finish this dish. So let’s do it—civilized. You don’t need to like me, I don’t need to like you. Let’s just focus and forget about everything. Can you handle that?”

Powder bit the inside of her cheek, eyes darting away. “I guess.”

“Good.” He grabbed bowls from the shelf and set them down with a solid thud. “Then let’s work.”

He turned, already focused on the task, but Powder didn’t move. She stood there, his words echoing in her head, more painful than the insults, more confusing than the fights.

For the first time, she realized something dangerous: it wasn’t the hostility that unsettled her.

It was the thought of losing it.

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait but summer was crazy! Back on my grind :D Hope you guys enjoy this.