Steam shoots out of the kettle and envelops the kitchen in a deep gray smoke. It climbs into the air and hangs over the kitchen staff like a storm cloud. But people ignore it. Most people ignore it, at least. Working in a fast-paced kitchen requires a “steady hand and a thick hide”, as Chef Jerkins would always say

Steady hands. Thick hide. Harry repeats the words to himself as he stirs a pot full of piping hot stew. His back is hunched over the dish and he’s squinting through the thick fog of steam his dish is producing

“Hands!” The shrilly head chef bellows. The room seems to snap awake and almost just as instantly respond. “Yes chef!”

Harry doesn’t answer though. His eyes are trained on his stew. His very perfect stew.

“You scared it’s gonna run away?” Harry turns to see Riley looming behind him, inspecting his work. The room erupts around them.

“Just wanna get it right,” he responds dryly. He returns to stirring

“Right.” Riley watches him for a moment before returning her attention back to the stew. “Maybe ease up a little. It’s getting a little blotchy.”

Harry ignores her comment and keeps stirring.

“Harry--"

“Busy here.”

“I know but—"

“Can’t really talk right now.”

Steam hissing.

“Well you seem fine to talk to me.”

“Well I’m not.”

Steady hands. Thick hide

Riley reaches for the paddle and snatches it out of his hands.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Will you just give me a second of your fucking attention please?”

“I have to--"

“The stew can fucking wait!”

“Chefs!” The authoritative voice beckons from across the room. “Can you save your marital issues until after the shift is over?”

Harry’s face reddens and he shrinks in his white overcoat. Riley, however, scowls in the head chef’s direction. Harry swipes the paddle out of Riley’s hands and continues stirring

“Can we please do this later?”

“You avoid my calls, don’t answer the door, don’t text me back; what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“But we’re at work.”

“Yet another place you refuse to even talk to me.”

“Beacuse we’re at work!” He hisses at her, warily checking for the head chef.

“You’re acting like a fucking child, Harry."

“Fuck off, Riley.”

“Hands!”

“Yes Chef!” Harry responds this time and joins his co-workers who stiffen behind their dishes. The head chef peruses around each dish, ensuring their quality and readiness to send off to the dining hall

But Riley remains where she is. Inches away from the stew that Harry’s spent the past forty minutes trying to perfect. She looks at Harry—then at the stew

“Chef?” The head chef has made her way to Harry’s dish now. She’s poking her head into the pot and smelling the inside.

“It smells good,” the woman begins. “But it’s missing—“

No one saw it coming. Riley grabs the pot and before anyone can react, its contents are sprawled all over the floor and all over Harry’s white overcoat. Chunks fly everwhere, slapping onto walls, landing in hair, and even sticking on to the ceiling.

Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Nobody even blinks.

Riley drops the large pot onto the floor and flips Harry the bird. “You fuck off, asshole.” And then storms out of the kitchen