Author's Notes

The following piece of writing used to be a vignette, but due to the reviews it received wishing for it to be continued, I decided to turn it into a full-length story. I still consider this piecea vignette, but for the sake of space, I'm only going to keep the full story on instead of keeping the stand-alone vignette up as well.

This is actually one of, if not the, longest vignette I have ever written. The reason for this is, this idea got stuck in my head, and the scene I imagined needed more words to portray than I had originally intended. When I finished writing it, I seriously considered classifying it as a one shot instead of a vignette, but since it was already in my Humanities notebook as a vignette, and it was only two pages typed, I felt that classifying it as a vignette just fit better. I hope everyone else is pleased with, or at least not too perturbed by, my judgement.

Not to mention that this piece is my first Teen Titans fanfic! Beware...this is the result of my latest obsession! You have been warned...

Chapter 1

Void of Tofu

Tossing the golden brown flapjack to the ceiling, a new joke enters my head. Turning to the table, I lay out the rousing riddle in my head, until I notice, nobody’s there. Of course nobody’s there, as I remember I’m only one of two left at the tower today – special assignment.

But at least one should be sitting there, waiting to hear and taste my delicious, new concoctions. Then I remember whom I’m thinking about – the one who would much rather spend the morning sleeping or meditating than join me at breakfast. I find myself saddened at the thought, feeling my pointed green ears droop considerably at the thought.

Why should I be sad? Just means more pancakes for me! But I know that in my heart, I really don’t feel that way. Turning my head once more, my eyes zero in on the entryway. Still, no one there.

Frustrated with my own patheticness, I cast the pointless longing away, flipping the last flapjack into the air. It’s been no more than a few seconds, and still, the pancake has yet to hit the pan. Ready to come unglued, my eyes dart to the ceiling, now adorned with a slightly blackened flapjack. I scour my brain for the answer to my question of whether it’s even worth it to try to retrieve the flattened bread ornament.

“Let me guess…potato pancakes?”

I whirl around at the familiar voice, rustling like leaves in the early morning breeze. Shocked a bit at her Happy Bunny nightwear, I fight to pry my eyes from her bedridden form. Fleeing from her gaze just in time to escape an oncoming glare, I return to my work.

“No, they’re regular,” I reply to her question, not daring to look up.

“Soy pancakes, then,” she retorts. She knows me so well. Too bad that info. won’t help her now.

“Nope,” I say, without even pausing to look at her reaction. Holding up a plateful of pancakes accompanied with one of my widest grins, my tense nerves await the fury that’s sure to be unleashed.

“They’re real pancakes!”

Taking the chance to open my eyes for a quick glance, I see eyes wide as the frying pan staring back at me. But the amazed sensation soon dissipates as her eyes regain their composure and her shoulders shrug, the emotion sinking back down to the depths of her soul. It was comforting to know that the emotion was even there. She may not think she cares, she may not know she cares, but at least, I know the truth.

“You look ridiculous in that hat,” her voice emerges. Can’t she say anything nice?

“It takes a real man to wear a chef’s hat!”

“No, pink.” What’d she say?

“Wha?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound totally clueless.

“It takes a real man to wear pink.”

“…and a chef’s hat!” I persist, flirting with the end of life as I know it.

Lucky for me, the teakettle knows I’m skating on thin ice, as the whistle shatters the unnerving silence. Screeching as if lit on fire, I scurry frantically to the kettle, my impulses unaware of the wobbly pancake-filled plate resting on my left hand. Finding my feet, I bring my juggling act to an end, as I set the pancake tray on the counter while dissecting the hungry cabinets for mugs.

I keep quiet as I stir in the tea, fearful that if I turn around, I will no longer be graced by her presence. Feeling incredibly stupid, I manage to conjure enough courage to about face…when a hand creeps subtly around one of the mugs.

“As amusing as your show has been, I think the food will taste better hot,” her voice grates my skull, as I feel rushes of red suddenly rise into my cheeks.

“Oh, right…” I mumble, wondering if the words, “Total Idiot!” are stamped across my face.

“No cocoa?” I hear, her lips returning from their brush with the heated liquid.

“Nope! Herbal tea, just like you like it!” Greatly disliking the sudden moment of silence, I find my heart wishing for even an insult, just for confirmation that she still stands behind me.

“Why did you do this?” her voice asks nervously, as if any possible answer might break it.

“You gotta eat something to make you your normal, creepy self!”

“No…you went out of your way to cook something I would eat. Why?” her voice stated stonily, evading my regular joshing.

She got me. And I tried so hard to pull this off without a hitch.

“Because I wanted to prove you wrong, when you thought I didn’t like you.”