three: chinese omelette

I have never thought that my bed was the greatest thing in the world until now. Good lord, this is the softest piece of pillow I have ever laid my head on, granted that it smelled like dried sweat and alcohol (?). , I feel like I’m in love with this thing.

“Mhm~” I hummed, hugging my pillow like it was my lover.

I don’t know what time it was but I’m pretty sure that Kris won’t be arriving any time soon. I’m not even bothering to open my eyes to check the clock. My whole body’s aching – and I don’t know which was worse – my LBM or this.

Nah, it’s gotta be the LBM.

As I rolled over to face the other side of my bed, I thought I was starting to hear strange ringing sounds. Why would there be ringing sounds? I shrugged it off, thinking that it must’ve been my imagination and snuggled deeper into my sleep. Except that the annoying ringing noise continued. This is ridiculous.

I slowly opened my eyes and groaned. I lifted my head to see my door. Huh, that’s stupid of me. I live alone; nobody should be ringing whatever behind that thing.

, is it a ghost?

Ghosts don’t come out in broad daylight though.... right? That’s just abnormal.

I craned my neck to check the clock. Blink. That time can’t be right. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Oh, now there’s knocking too. Blink. Blink. Wait a second...

“OH, CRAP!” I threw my lover-pillow up in the air and jumped from my bed, suddenly rejuvenated like a newborn baby. My foot hit a book and my toe ached like hell. “No way!”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! DING! DING! DING!

Now it’s a duet of the door and the doorbell. I hurriedly changed, throwing my pajamas aside and slipped into a plain shirt and jogging pants. I could already figure out who it was behind my front door and if I don’t stop that morning symphony of knocks and doorbell ringing, that monstrosity of a teacher is gonna hit me good.

I made my way out of my room, pressing down on my hair to fix it as I zoomed from my room to the front door. The noise it was making was idiotic. I grabbed the doorknob and the door creaked open.

“... Ugh.” Was the first thing that came out of my mouth as I was in front of a very, very upset cooking teacher.

“What time do you think it is?” He asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t want to remind myself that.” I lowered my head slightly, a hand consciously heading for my insane hair. “I’m sorry I overslept.”

“Tsk.” Kris sighed, “Just let me in.”

I stepped aside and Kris walked in with his bag of cooking things clinking away. He immediately headed for the kitchen and as I was closing my door, I let out a really loud yawn. Well, what do you expect? I just woke up.

“Kris, can I at least rinse my mouth or something?” I said, a hand consciously heading for my mouth now that I had yawned like a hippo.

“Get over with it.” He pointed a spoon at me. “You’re making a breakfast dish today. Chinese omelette.”

Chinese again? “Stop being discriminating, will you? Let me cook something Korean--” Whoops. There’s that look. I turned and headed for the bathroom door as he threw me his murderous look. With his mood the way it is now, he could probably drive that blunt spoon into me with no problem.

After rinsing my mouth and doing my morning routine, I stepped into the battleground of a kitchen and prepared for the worst. Kris had laid out the ingredients already and was waiting for me to wear my blue apron. I silently and quickly wore it like I was a prisoner under surveillance.

“You know what an omelette is, right?” He asked.

“It’s that folded thing... right?” I said, smiling a little.

“Folded thing...” He whispered my reply exasperatingly. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong. It’s basically beaten eggs that have been cooked until it just set.”

“Right.” I said, eyes glancing to the ingredients.

“Chinese omelette is basically that. Though, it makes use of Chinese ingredients and techniques.”

He’s being strangely informative today. I glanced back at him and we locked gazes.

“Are you listening?” He asked, a frown on his face.

“Y-Yeah!” I said, pouting. “An omelette. I got it. What do I have to do...f-fi...Haaa~” And there goes another yawn.

“Park Chanyeol. Don’t you dare yawn at my face when you’ve already delayed the lesson.” Kris said, deadpan.

“Sorry.”

Kris sighed and pointed to a large frying pan that’s on my stove. “That’s mine, by the way. If you leave a scratch on it, I will make sure your next lessons are as hard as the pan.”

“Gotcha.”

Again, the godforsaken knife comes out. I let out a long groan. “Kris, seriously?”

“You expect to cut these with a spoon?”

“I don’t know how to use a knife!” I whined.

He grabbed my hand and placed the handle in it. “Sure you do. You just at cutting.”

Was he trying to cheer me up or make me feel worse? I couldn’t tell. I also couldn’t tell if the fact that I couldn’t tell was because I was still feeling sleepy or I was just so used to it by now. Anyway, I started to cut the mushrooms, shallots, bean sprouts and ham. Once I got those done, after what felt like a century, Kris pointed to the pan and said, “Fry all of the ingredients on this side.”

“Uh...” I grabbed them and placed them on a tray. Somehow, as I turned around to head for the stove, my vision swirled. “Whoa.”

I knocked the handle of the pan and it turned s