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TRISTAN


We sat in silence here at Alistair's kitchen—The guy named "France" cook something and he wanted us to eat the spaghetti that he cooked.

He serve us the spaghetti and it seem—raw, undercooked, I can't tell what it is. But I curl up my fork on the noodle and eat it without any hesitation which become my biggest regret because—Why this spaghetti taste sour?!

I instantly cringe and choke at the moment that I ate it.

Alistair look at me in worry as he grab the pitcher and pour me a cold glass of water—I grab it with my hand and immediately drink it.

"Are you okay? Baby?"

Alistair ask. I nodded my head as I mumble a small thanks.

"I'm okay—really.."

I didn't eat mine anymore as I watch Alistair eat it without any hesitation, Is it really sour? Or mine was purposefully sour?

I glance at France and he was staring at me with a displeased look on his face. Is it because I cringe at his cook? I don't want to seem rude.

"Mr.Fear? Is it okay? I prepare it within hours."

France shyly ask as he smile sweetly—Alistair didn't even took a glance on him as he continue to eat the spaghetti—while his other hand was holding mine.

"It's normal."

Alistair firmly said. France was happy about that while I'm bothered. It's almost considered as expired for me!

"Thank—Thank you, I will cook for you, If you please."

France said with a smile. I can't let him cook anymore—Despite the fact that I was homeless, I can cook decent spaghetti since I used to work at a small resto before it permanently shut down.








After a few minutes—France finally left. I was really disappointed about that spaghetti, I mean,—I eat spaghetti almost thrice in my whole existence and I'm used to that one spaghetti at a fast food chain—Jollibee—which the spaghetti is so sweet.

"What's the matter, Baby?"

Alistair ask once he send France away—I fidget on the seat as he sat beside me, his hand touching my shoulder.


"What—What do you think about the spaghetti?"

I ask—He lean down on my shoulder, We're sitting on the leather couch—facing the big flatscreen TV.

"It's normal—I only eat spaghetti almost rarely since He always cook that for me when he come over here to run some errand for me, why? Does it taste bad?



He said—I shut my mouth for a while thinking of a word to say; then, I've finally said it.

"It—It taste bad. I believed that spaghetti is supposed to taste sweet and savory, not, bland and almost sour."

I explained, He look at me with a questioning stare—like trying to figure out if I'm telling the truth so I continue;

"Uhm, I don't want to sound rude, But, It was really sour and It looks like it was expired."

I explain until he hum, brushing his finger through my brown tresses with a smile on his face.

"Are you sure? Can you cook for me then? Baby.."

He inquired, I was getting weirded out by his callname to me but I can't just said it to him just yet.

"Yes!—Uhm, I'm a good cook, I used to cook at a small resto, before.."

I proclaimed. He stare at me for a while until he continue;

"Oh really? Then, Make a spaghetti so I can know what it really taste."

He said as I stand up—his arm was open wide as his legs are spread across the couch—He have these mischievous stare at me.

"W—Wait, I'll be back!"




I half-yelled. As I decided to ran toward the kitchen to cook a decent spaghetti which I learn back then, Good thing I know how to use every equipment here because I helped the chef in the hospital back then and they said that I cook really good.

I pulled out all the condiments and vegetable and some meat as I decided to cook a simple decent spaghetti.

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