Chapter 125: Olive, I Am Sorry!
Valentine knew he would calm down if he stayed with Olive.
He could not explain it, but there was sothing about Olive that he liked—sothing about him that interested him the first ti they t, which was why he couldn’t resist befriending him. It was almost similar to how he felt about Draven.
They were both fascinating to him, and he felt this urge to figure them out. That aside, he was pretty sure that Draven must know now that Olive and he know each other. Hopefully, Olive had probably let him know, but if not, it’s still not bad.
I an, he was eventually still going to find out that they were friends. Plus, Draven doesn’t even dislike him, so there is no problem there. However, he does not trust him.
What if he thinks he may whack his plan? Valentine frowned.
"Could he possibly think that?" he muttered to himself.
Yeah, he does enjoy the drama, but he wouldn’t interfere, at least not yet.
"Such a headache!" He groaned, annoyed.
"Are you having a headache?" Olive’s voice suddenly sounded
Valentine glanced at him and sat up on the sofa. "Not exactly. I am thinking."
"Of what?" Olive asked. He was carefully setting the bowls of food on the mini table.
"Nothing." Valentine shook his head. "Are we going to sit on the floor?"
Olive nodded. "Yeah."
"Why?" Valentine appeared confused.
Olive looked at him. "Because that is how I like to eat my breakfast. Also, it’s raining."
"What does this have to do with the rain?" Valentine queried as he got down to the floor. He sat opposite Olive at the mini table and crossed his legs.
Olive replied, "Breakfast tastes best during morning rain. Sitting on the floor adds to the touch."
"That makes no sense, but I’ll buy it," Valentine said while his eyes scanned the sets of dishes.
"They sll so good." He raised his pupils to look at Olive. "Where did you learn how to cook?"
Olive responded without sparing him a glance, "My mother." His left leg was curled on the floor while the other was folded up, supporting his arm.
"I liked the idea of cooking for myself since I liked tasting different sets of als every day. I don’t like depending on people to do things for ," he further explained.
"Oh..." Valentine nodded his head. "Well, it’s my second ti asking you to be my che—"
His words were yet to be completed when Olive threw the cover of one of the plates at his forehead.
"Ow! What was that for?" Valentine hissed. He began to rub his reddish forehead.
Olive scowled at him. "Stop asking
to be your chef! That will never happen! What do you take
for?"
Valentine blinked his eyes. Was he offended?
"Okay, sorry. Gosh, you don’t have to be so violent."
He picked up the spoon and tried to eat with it, but his weakened hand was trembling. His face crumpled in a bit of pain, and he dropped the spoon.
Olive, who was gazing at him, could not help but scrunch his face, irritated by how he was trying to pick up the spoon over and over again.
"Do I have to feed you too?" he questioned.
Valentine peeked at him. "You could, if you are okay with it. I didn’t have breakfast at ho for a reason."
He smiled.
Olive grimaced and grabbed the spoon from him in annoyance.
"Note that I would never have done this if not because you are currently helpless. You are not a baby."
"Not that I was ever going to ask anyway, but I understand." Valentine cackled. He opened his mouth, took in the spoonful of rice, and began to chew on it. He could taste the at in it.
"This is good. Délicieux! Delicious! Delicious!" he exclaid as he frantically nodded his head.
His eyes watered up, hinting at the level of pleasure his tongue felt. He had never tasted sothing as good as it, not even in the restaurant or the royal mansion. If food was heaven, then what he was eating was the definition of it. He felt like he was in heaven at every taste.
Olive, who felt proud of himself, looked away, resisting the urge to smile widely. Not to brag, but he knew he was that good.
"Olive!" Valentine stared at him with sparkling eyes.
Olive frowned at him. For so reason, he could sll that he would not like what Valentine was about to say next, but regardless, he answered, "What?"
Valentine inhaled deeply before saying, "Do you think I can co here every morning to have breakfast?" His eyes looked as though he were pleading.
"NO!" Olive outrightly rejected.
"And why?" Valentine asked. His lips were puckered.
Olive raised her brows at him. "I don’t think I need a reason! That will never be possible, not even in your wildest dreams."
"Well, you don’t have to be so grumpy about it," Valentine mumbled. "Many would beg
to taste and love their food this much, tsk!
Olive imdiately ceased what he was doing and his right eye twitched uncontrollably in sudden vexation. He was...annoyed. He took a deep breath.
"You know what? Feed yourself." He dropped the spoon.
Valentine’s jaw fell in a bit of shock.
"What? S-seriously?!"
Just what sort of temper was this? His mouth was agape in disbelief. He quickly crawled towards Olive, who was walking away and grabbed his leg.
"Okay, I am sorry! Please, I am hungry!" At this point, it looked as though he could shed tears. If those breakfasts were not eaten sooner, they would get cold, and he wasn’t soone who liked cold food.
"Olive, I am sorry! Please don’t abandon
at such a hard ti! P-please." He pessimistically lowered his head while holding tightly onto Olive’s leg. It was as though his world was crumbling down.
Olive, who was gazing down at him, furiously blinked his eyes with a grimace on his face. "W-why are you so dramatic?"
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