#(frames it)

Of all the times he could've chosen to catch a cold, now was doubtlessly the worst one. Christmastime was approaching and the orders were streaming in. The little pastry shop was operating at a rushed pace, which was stressful under even ordinary conditions, let alone when Cornelius wasn't feeling his best. The whir and din of equipment and general operations was beating against a constant headache, and his throat was raw from giving direction across the busy room.

“Danielle, mind how much sugar goes on those profiteroles, darling, they're not snowballs— hhHh! aht-CHOU!!”

And there was the constant, nagging tickle in his sinuses that had mercilessly sent him sneezing all day. A few à tes souhaits bubbled up from various spots in the kitchen, and a yes, chef! came back to him from Danielle.

“Thank you dears,” he said, before ducking back into his handkerchief to smother a cough. He cleared his throat. None of that. There was more work to see to. Vin was on the palmiers for the Petersons, and Rhoda was taking care of the macarons for the Russels. While he was thinking of it, he'd better go check how much almond flour they had on inventory in the store room, he would probably need to order more...

The patisserie blurred for a moment as Cornelius turned around a bit too quickly, and he found himself raising a hand to his head and swooning where he stood.

“You alright, Boss?”

A firm, steadying hand came to rest on his shoulder. Cornelius looked up to find his best friend Maurice looking down at him with concern.

“Ooh, sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “I just got a bit dizzy, that's all. This cold.” He tutted and shook his head disapprovingly. Maurice's expression relaxed, but he left his hand on Cornelius's shoulder.

“And when was the last time you've eaten, mon ami?” he accused gently.

Cornelius paused.

Had he... eaten yet today? He'd been meaning to stop and take lunch, but there just was so much to do. Breakfast...? Had he had breakfast this morning? He racked his brain trying to remember if the busy morning had contained any meals, but it didn't seem like it had.

“Uhhh...” he said, cringing guiltily.

Maurice fixed him with a look and breathed a tired sigh. “Go and eat, I will take care of the floor for a few minutes,” he entreated him.

Cornelius shifted his weight indecisively from foot to foot, and uttered a strained whine of reluctance. He really should get some food, but stepping away when the shop was this busy felt like heresy. Surely it would be fine if he took care of just a few more things first? Maurice's look grew more emphatic.

“Okay, okay,” Cornelius said, breaking under the pressure. “But make sure and keep a close eye on things, s’il te plaît? You know what everyone is supposed to be doing, yes?”

Maurice gave a nod, patting Cornelius's shoulder and gently nudging him in the direction of his office. “I'll take care of things out here, mon ami. Go eat,” he reassured him. Cornelius sighed, accepting defeat.

“Thank you, darling,” he said, ultimately grateful that his best friend cared enough about him to give him a short break for lunch, even on a busy day like this one. “Oh, and will you check the almond flour? I was just about to,” he added.

“I will check. Please go and get some food into your body,” Maurice insisted, pleadingly.

“Alright, I'm— hh-hH! Eh- ehxcuse—” Cornelius broke off mid-sentence, shaking his head hazily as the pinprick irritation of his sinuses triggered another sneeze. He turned away, withdrawing his handkerchief again to catch a body-shaking “hah’t-CHEUH!! ohh...”

“À tes souhaits,” said Maurice, kindly. Cornelius nodded, tending to his nose before pocketting the handkerchief again.