"Cool," he says, not quite managing to hide his disappointment at his soulmate's apparent revulsion. "I'll just... occupy myself."

"—sorry. Sorry. Enjoy the, um, cream soda."

"Sure. Hope you feel better."

He trots downstairs.

She is going to curl up in this terrifying bed and have a sad awful nap like the sad awful person she is.

And Ari is going to drink some cream soda and wonder how he could possibly have been soulmated to a girl who doesn't even want him.

"Janet?" he asks.

"Yeah?"

"...sorry for yelling at you. It's been kind of a day."

"Well. Today is the worst day of the rest of your life, and all that."

"Not totally sure that's how it goes."

"Maybe not. Is everything up to spec in the house?"

"...um. Could you get me... a recipe and ingredients for Chantal's favorite food?"

"I am aware that you cannot cook."

"I can try, can't I?"

"I suppose you can."

Ingredients spread across the countertop, along with a laminated recipe card.

"...read the recipe all the way through before you make it," Janet recommends. "It helps."

Then she disappears.

An hour or so later, Chantal wakes up, tries to get back to sleep, fails, tries again, fails again, and finally drags herself downstairs with rumpled clothes and a mildly despondent expression.

Ari is wrestling a waffle iron. "Just - open up - you stupid machine -"

She stops just past the bottom of the stairs and peers nervously at the kitchen.

Ari finally wrenches the waffle iron open, beholds its contents, and makes a strangled noise of distress.

Then he notices his soulmate. "Chantal. I - I wanted to -" He swallows. "I wanted to make you something nice."

"oh," she says in a very small voice, and she sits down on the bottom step and bursts into tears.

That makes two of them, actually.

"Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry—" She hides her head in her arms and tries to stop crying and can't and hiccups and sobs indecipherable apologies into her knees.

The doorbell rings.

why this

Ari lurches to his feet and over to the door. He opens it, wipes his eyes with his other hand, beholds the gentleman ringing the doorbell.

"Hi," he croaks.

"...We can come back if it's a bad time," the gentleman says softly.