(Hockey Bxb) Whistle In The Wind -𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈-

╔══《”I just got over》══╗
being less of you.”

       “Hey Ma!” Lucien cheered back, glancing up from the recipe book, a large smile overtaking his face. Footsteps sounded closer until a young woman with caramel brown hair popped around the corner.

       “How was your day, dear-” she paused, noticing the other boy in the room who had yet to make a peep. Awkwardly standing in the middle of the empty kitchen, Váli fidgeted with his fingers, meticulously cracking each knuckle before rubbing the sweaty phalanges together anxiously.

       “Oh, hello!” she beamed, bending over to slide the ballet flats off her feet. “You must be Váli,” she continued, carefully placing the two shoes by the entrance of the kitchen before finally entering.

       “How did you kn-“

       “Aren’t you just the cutest,” she cooed, stepping closer to awe at him. “I’d recognize those features anywhere. You and your brother look so alike, the hair and eyes are a dead giveaway,” Luc’s mom smiled, reaching up to ruffle Váli’s soft blond locks.

       “You’re a lot softer though. Aksel’s a bit scruffier,” she assessed, scanning Váli’s shifting body with her eyes.

       “Thanks?”

       “You ice skate right? That’s so cool, you must be very good!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

       ” Yea-“

       “You practice at Luc’s rink, right? I should come visit and watch you ska-“

       “Ma,” Lucien interrupted, stepping forward to stand half-way in between his mother and Váli. Immediately becoming flustered, Luc’s mother stepped back and put both her hands in the air.

       “Sorry dear. I get ahead of myself sometimes. Lucien gets it from me,” she nudged her son, smirking.

       “Maaa,” Luc groaned, throwing his head back. Váli remained quiet, smiling to himself at the interaction. “How was the hospital?” Lucien asked, sauntering back to grab the thick book he previously placed down.

       “Oh, good! They were all so lovely today,” she answered, humming to herself. “Wheres Aksel?” she looked around curiously, noticing the unusual absence of the teen.

       “He’s at hockey practice.”

       “Ohh,” she dragged out, returning her gaze to Váli. “Why aren’t you at the rink practicing too? I remember someone mentioning that you all had practice at the same time,” she queried.

       “I hurt my ankle, so I’m taking a week off.”

       Flinching, the woman replied, “Ouch, hopefully you start to feel better. You’re always welcome in our house.”

       “Ma, you’re gonna scare him off at his first time over,” Luc groaned.

       “Sorry,” she smiled, “It’s nice to see someone besides Aksel over, even though I adore him too,” she beamed. Váli admired the older woman. Her curly hair was frizzy in a way that seemed effortlessly messy. Gazing at the freckles skin, Váli instantly knew Luc got them from her.

       They were identical on both people, large splotches near the nose and cheeks, then diffused splatters covering every other surface. Her eyes were the same amber as her son’s. However, where Lucien’s nose was completely straight, his mother’s was flat besides the very tip, sphering out.

       As their background chatter became mindless noise, Váli rested back against the counters. The white marble tops matched nicely with the rest of the room, and with Lucien’s mom’s vibe itself.

       Luc’s mom had a kind gaze–much like her sons–as she strolled out of the room, voicing a pleasantry on her way out. She was loose and carefree, everything Váli’s never had.

       He couldn’t find the time to be jealous, immediately swept up into baking. “Here, I can do the dry ingredients while you do the wet,” Lucien explained, standing surrounded by bags of flour and bottles of vegetable oil.

       “How many batches are we making?” Váli laughed sarcastically, noting the impressive number of ingredients placed out before him.

       “Three.”

       “Three!” Váli shrieked, not expecting them to make more than one.

       “There’s a lot of kids at the hospital,” Luc shrugged, leaning closer to whisper in Váli’s ear. With his breath fanning against the sensitive skin, he murmured, “Plus, I like to make a batch for myself. I don’t mind sharing this time,” he smirked, pausing with his cheek hovering by Váli’s ear.

       Despite his beating heart and breathless lungs, Váli forced his lips upward just a bit. Nodding, Váli held his head as still as possible. Finally, Lucien pulled away, remaining standing close to Vál. After one prolonged second, the brunette finally took two steps back.

       Feeling like he could breathe again, Vál’s entire body relaxed quickly. The clacking of glass brought his attention back to Luc. Grasped in his hands was a large measuring glass. “I like to combine all the dry ingredients in this first,” he explained, setting it down on the counter.

       “Whenever you’re ready, you can start doing the first few steps since they use the wet ingredients,” he continued, motioning Váli to step closer. “You can just do it right into the electric mixer,” he finished, pointing at a vintage light yellow Kitchen-Aid that perfectly matched the soft ambiance of the room.

       “Sounds good,” Váli breathed, walking to the corner of the counter where the mixer sat. With his body pressed almost fully against Lucien’s, Váli could feel the brush of his linen shirt against his arm. The gentleness was somehow soothing.

       Glancing at the open recipe book, Váli furrowed his brow in confusion. “Um, Lucien…” he hesitated, glancing up at Lucien who was strategically measuring ingredients into the bowl. His face was scrunched in concentration, and Váli subtly noted how he had all the measurements clearly mesmerized.

       With the gentle voice breaking Lucien out of his trance, he looked up curiously. “What’s up?” he questioned, standing up straight and turning his body to look Váli in the eye.

       “This is in French,” Váli mumbled, embarrassment creeping up his pale skin, staining his features. “I know I’ve taken French in school for the past four years but this is beyond my skill level.”

       Lucien’s eyes widened, his mouth agape, Váli almost able to picture the lightbulb going off in his head.

       “Shit, sorry,” Lucien groaned, slouching over to stand next to Váli. ” I forgot it wasn’t in English, ” he apologized again.

       Nudging Lucs side with his hip, Váli smiled and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I just might need some help translating.”

       “We can do the whole thing together then,” Luc concluded, “I can be your French teacher, since they must not teach it very well at school.”

       “They don’t,” Vál laughed, “My teacher is an old man who can barely speak French himself.”

       “They should get me to teach the class,” Lucien puffed, grinning hugely.

       “Okay Mr. Know It All,” Váli joked.

       “I definitely know more than the teachers–it was my first language.”

       “Really?” Váli gasped. “How did I not know this?”

       Shrugging, Luc sheepishly responded, “Well, now I only speak it with my grandparents, and it’s not like you’ve ever been around me in that setting.”

       “You don’t have an accent, or anything.” Váli pondered, still in disbelief over how he could not have known Lucien’s origin.

       “Was Norweigan your first language?”

       “Yes…”

       “And do you have an accent?”

       “I don’t think so?”

       “Well there you go!” Lucien smirked, “I’m the exact same.”

       “Huh, I guess that makes sense,” Váli hesitated, thinking hard. Shrugging, he turned his attention back down to the book resting on the counter in between them. With one hand placed on the marble tabletop, Lucien slouched over the book, reading the intricate words on the yellowing paper.

       “Well, here,” he pointed to the first step, “says ‘Battre un bâton et demi de beurre, trois quarts de tasse de sucre et une tasse de cassonade dans un bol à vitesse élevée jusqu’à ce qu’ils soient combinés et crémeux,'” he read off. “Which basically means combine butter, sugar, and brown sugar in the mixer.”

       Perplexed at Lucien’s fluent speaking, Váli struggled to respond verbally, opting instead to nod his head abruptly. His French is kind of…

       “It’s one and a half sticks of butter, three fourths cups of sugar, and one cup of brown sugar,” Lucien confirmed. Perking up at the instructions, Váli immediately turned back to his station.

       “Do you make all three batches in one? Or do you split it up?”

       “I usually do two at a time. We can make our batch separately, and add whatever we want to it,” Lucien smiled.

       “Okay, I’ll double the ingredients.” Váli turned to the box of butter, plucking the first stick out. Unwrapping the paper, he plopped it right into the bowl, quickly turning to grab two more with each hand.

       Once three sticks were squished against the bottom of the metal bowl, Vál reached for the large bag of granulated sugar. Watching, Lucien started, “Three fourths times two is–“

       “One and a half,” Váli confirmed, finishing measuring off the white sugar before moving onto the brown.

       “Damn, you’re speedy,” Lucien whistled, rushing to return back to his spot by the dry ingredients. By the time he finished measuring them out, the sound of the electric mixer droned on in the background. Since mixing that many ingredients took longer, Lucien began preparing for the next step.

       Reading off the book, he recited, “Next we add two eggs, and beat thoroughly in between each.” Nodding in understanding, Váli swiftly glided to the refrigerator before swinging it open and disappearing behind the large door.

       A second later, he popped out holding an egg in each hand. “These big enough?” he speculated, holding them up to Luc’s face so he could examine the white spheres.

       “They look pretty big to me!”

       “Perfect! Want to crack one?” Váli offered, holding his open palm toward the taller teen, motioning for him to grab the egg.

       “Sure,” Luc chuckled, sucking in a breath before reaching for the object. In doing so, the tips of his fingers brushed against Váli’s palm, the warmth instantly causing Lucien to flinch back slightly. Too distracted by his beating heart, Lucien was oblivious to the slight tremor in Váli’s hand as picked the egg up. Holy shit. Why am I so nervous? It’s just Váli…

       “Lets see who has the cleaner crack,” Váli joshed, approaching the mixer. With one hand, he slammed the egg against the side of the bowl, using his fingers to open the shell. In a clean crack, the entire contents of the egg slipped out effortlessly.

       “Woah, now!” Lucien bellowed, “I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew you would pull out the one-handed crack! I can’t even make that clean of a crack with two hands.”

       “Sounds like excuses to me,” Váli shrugged.

       Puffing his chest, Lucien walked up the mixer. “Fine. Just you see.” Cracking his neck and stretching his arms in comedic preparation, Lucien gripped the smooth surface with one hand. Awkwardly, he turned the mixer on high and waited in silence for over two minutes as Váli’s egg completely combined.

       Instead of speaking up and lessening the awkwardness, Váli forced a laugh from escaping, too entertained watching Lucien squirm around bored in the quiet. After a while, when Luc decided it was mixed enough, he reached for his egg.

       Lightly tapping it against the counter, he waited until the side cracked before hovering it over the open bowl. Using both hands, he spread the shell halves, letting the yolk and liquid drop out. Staring intently, he watched the goopy mixture fall out with a ‘plop’.

       Immediately after hitting the bottom of the bowl, the yolk split, spilling deep yellow liquid over the contents at the bottom. Groaning, he leaned his head back in despair. “Good effort,” Váli acknowledged, stepping closer to Luc to pat his back in respect.

       After a reasonable amount of soothing, Váli kept his hand glued to Lucien’s shoulder-blade, feeling the muscle tense and flex with every arm movement from Lucien. When is he gonna move his arm? Not that I’m complai–wait what? Why am I not complaining? Brushing the thought off, Lucien sighed.

       “I guess you win,” he pouted, turning to meet his eyes. Due to their significant height difference, Váli craned his neck to meet his actions. Almost instinctively, he stood a bit taller on his tippy toes, leaning closer to Lucien. Neither moved, soaking in the moment as the air around them stilled and the sun cast a perfect line of light over their faces through an open kitchen window.

       Short lived, the dinging of a notification jolted Váli off his toes, causing him to sputter backward as he regained balance. Embarrassed, Lucien locked his gaze onto the ceiling, hoping to conceal the pink in his cheeks. Bringing his attention to the interruption, Váli looked around before noticing Lucien’s phone lighting up with texts.

       Walking over slowly, he looked at the screen, reading off the bubble. “You’re getting a lot of texts from an unknown number,” he commented in confusion, the messages themselves hidden as a result of Lucien’s phone settings.

       “Huh, that’s weird,” Lucien pondered, remaining in place.

       “814, 2009–“

       Lucien bolted from his spot, snatching the phone straight from Váli’s hands.

       “Whats wro-“

Question of the chapter: What’s a language you wish you were fluent in?

╚══《Word count- 2,180》══╝

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