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(Bitter/Sweet) Epiphanies

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Headcanon that inspired this ficlet:

Logan surprisingly enjoys cooking, along with constructing self-recipes for the inner challenge (and that reward of finally feeling satisfied-) but never really eats anything besides crofters, if at all, and otherwise; if Roman can know Spanish, Logan can know cooking. (An impressive yet secluded self-show of overall hard work, secret-and-scheduled spaced-out repetition, including over-dedication, diligence and devotion to the crafts with such an infinitesimal surface level crammed with *detail* and undoubtedly, great almost-motherly care.)

Although, he had to admit: even if he did manage to conjure up something he was somewhat outwardly proud of, it would be a hardship to bring himself to eat it nonetheless.

 

So when the sides discover these fresh, decorated-alpine-porcelain-plates laid out with perfectly delectable, almost magazine-like fantasy treats? They can't help themselves; with Roman scoffing two or three of the bloody things at a time down casually despite the heat and Virgil quietly sneaking off to his room hiding them in the comfort of his patched hoodie, which leads Patton to *politely* ask for the plates back.

Which,

actually,

then again..

They realise. As much as the love the little guy, he can't really *bake* anything besides cookies and some miniscule pastries.

So who made them?

The curves as if cursive had been turned into a cooking style, and perfectly chiseled edges alongside seemingly impossible symmetrical balance of the icing was incredible, *sheet* after *sheet* of colourful explosion;

they were *never* too sweet, burnt, frozen, expired or bland.

"Bland"?

 B l a n d .

That word, bland in itself, echoed in their unknowingly dense heads all day.

 

Edit: Thanks for reading! Might continue this :)