No News is Good News

“Is there a reason these have to be spherical, or could I do something more interesting?” Harmony asks, rolling a small portion of the dango they’re working with into a little ball.

“Traditionally, they’re round,” Dan answers.

Well, sort-of answers. Harmony doesn’t let their confusion show, and they continue:

“You know, you could press the sides of the ball into the counter and make a cube. That would be fun.”

Dan nods his head slightly– was that approval? Just acknowledgement? Or was he not paying attention? The aura of displeasure radiates off of him in waves, and they really don’t know how to respond to that.

“I’d love to make stars, though,” they continue, trying one last time to garner any sort of response from him.

Dan’s eyes flick over to their little lumps of rice dough, but his expression doesn’t otherwise change. He places the shaped dango ball down on the plate set down between the two of them, and picks up a new lump.

Harmony hesitantly presses their current project into the counter in front of them, attempting their cube idea. They flip it upside down to flatten the other side, and then gently adjust it to flatten the sides. In doing so, the top and bottom become less flat, so they flatten those again.

After finishing, they gently pick it up, being as careful as they can not to dent the middle too much. They grin at their work; their signature private pride at play.

As soon as they finish, a thought occurs to them:

“Will this shape affect the cook time?”

They leave a short pause, but it isn’t really long enough for Dan to interject.

“I mean, because, you know, there’s an even distance between the outside of the mochi- I mean dango- and the center, when it’s an orb.” Their pace is quick, and their tone is nervous; they aren’t really sure how to interact with Dan. “But, uh, the corners are farther away than the sides, you know? Does that make any sense?”

“Should be fine,” Dan tells them.

Should be fine, repeats Harmony’s internal monologue in a mocking tone. They’d appreciate a little bit of certainty on the matter. They seal shut their lips, though, restraining themself from anxiously snipping something.

They inhale deeply through their nose, and continue with the second piece. To self-regulate properly, they start to mumble a song.

“Alone, at the edge of a universe… humming a tune…”

They continue their work, not making any more conversation. Their cube-shaped dango takes a little bit longer than Dan’s normally-shaped dango, but he waits for them to finish without rushing. Or maybe while rushing. He doesn’t say anything, anyways. Despite their nerves, Harmony forces their thoughts to remain neutral. Nothing is nothing, they think. If I was doing something wrong, he would say something. No news is good news.

They continue not making conversation (not out of rudeness; conversation starters just don’t come naturally to them) as they start to drop the dango into the water Dan had set to boil a little while ago.

They stand awkwardly, not saying anything, while it cooks. They wish there was music playing– a little bit is drifting into the kitchen from the storefront, but it’s just whatever crap is on the radio. Their vision defocuses and their star motes dim somewhat as they start to get lost in their thoughts.

They’re snapped out of it when they see the dango rise to the top of the water. Dan had told them to leave it for two minutes after they start to float, so they reach for the kitchen timer and set it for that long.

“Um, do we have any ice water ready?” they ask.

“It’s beside the stove,” Dan answers.

Harmony looks back beside the stove and-

“Oh! Oh, thank you. Sorry. I can see, I promise.”

Dan doesn’t respond.

Harmony shrugs it off. Their internal mantra of no news is good news is becoming ingrained; in fact, if they were to get ahead of themself, they’d go so far to say that they’re excelling, given how little news they’re receiving. Of course, that’s a sardonic notion more than anything else.

When the timer goes off, Harmony scoops up the dango and puts it into the ice water to cool.

They also make the soy glaze, also with little direction. Dan tastes it, but says nothing, and leaves to put the dango onto the skewers. The glaze is finished in a matter of minutes.

Harmony drizzles it over the dango, now plated.

“...Well?” they ask.

“Hm?”

“How did I do?” Their tail swishes nervously.

“Very well,” Dan answers.

There is a long pause.

“Is there… anything you think I should improve?” they ask.

“Of course, practice your technique,” he says, “but you took to this task with ease. I hardly had to guide you. You performed well.”

“Oh.” Harmony blinks, invisible under the blindfold.

“Do you want praise?” Dan asks– and whether it’s an offer or a veiled judgement is something Harmony can’t quite parse.

“No, no– I mean, I’d like to know what I’m doing right, too, just… what are you thinking? I’m not very good at intuiting this sort of thing.”

“You have good instincts in the kitchen,” he answers. “Honestly, cooking is just following instructions. You’re good at that. It’s hard to be bad at that. Some people manage, but you are not one of them.”

“Yeah?” Harmony brightens. “So… I did well in the class?”

“You did.”

Their star motes brighten with the boost to their ego.

“Is it really a class if I’m the only one here, though? It’s more of a tutelage, right?”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“Fair enough!”