#shes gotta be rich though she also has a half plate set AND travels for ren faires across the country like. imagine. if only.

[scalpelsister]

need a disposable income for sword money fr

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

[you gotta be strong, ace]

Day 19: Helping Hand #twdgdrabblechallenge

Note: Omar backstory? Omar backstory. 

AO3

---

The number one rule in making an orange chocolate ganache is to mix in the zest straight from the orange itself rather than orange extract. 

Omar doesn’t know why exactly- the orange extract smells delicious to him, but Marcus says that shaving the outer part of the fruit makes the chocolate taste ten times better than adding a tablespoon of the extract. Omar would’ve thought it the other way around given that the aftertaste of bitter orange peel is still lingering on his curious tongue after chewing a slice. 

Marcus had tried to stop him, but he had also laughed at the face me made before gagging and spitting it in the sink.

“Told’ja it’s nasty,” Marcus chuckles, his dark eyes crinkling with delight at Omar’s childish pout and crossed arms. “Here, try this. Should make the taste go away.” 

Omar perks up at the sight of glossy chocolate dripping down the spoon, snatching and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. It’s heavenly, smooth and rich and sweet but not too much, and the orange flavor seals the deal- this is the best thing Omar as ever eaten in his entire life. 

“Well, what’s the verdict, Ace?” Marcus wipes his hands along his apron, eagerly awaiting Omar’s all so important opinion on the chocolate even though he already knows it’s perfect. “Good enough for the bride and groom?”

“Uh-huh!” Omar nods quickly, licking the spoon clean. Marcus’ grin grows as he holds up his hand. 

“Alright! We did it!” 

The two of them high-five before Omar jumps back up in his chair to watch Marcus work. Their kitchen’s fairly big, but with the freshly frozen cake resting on the table and other baking necessities laying around them, there aren’t many places Omar can go to make sure he’s right there when Marcus needs him. 

The mouth-watering scent of orange, vanilla, and chocolate have flooded the kitchen, leaking out through the entire house. Omar knew the moment he woke up with morning that Marcus was baking the cake for the wedding. Still in his pajamas, hair an absolute mess and teeth left unbrushed, Omar ran through the house and burst into the kitchen to find the cake in the oven and Marcus sitting at the table molding flowers out of chocolate. 

Mom and Dad hadn’t told him that Marcus would be home last night, and he completely forgot about Sasha and Max’s wedding today, so to wake up to his brother like that was the same as waking up on Christmas and getting to meet Santa. Omar nearly knocked over the table when he leaped into Marcus’ strong, safe arms.

He could’ve cried, as embarrassing as it is, but it’s been a whole week since they saw each other last! A week!  

“Ya never told me how schools going,” Marcus says, setting the bowl aside. “Miss Johns treating you good?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” Omar nods. “She gives out too much homework, but she’s nice.”

“Eh, they always do,” Marcus laughs. “But it’s okay because you’re smart and you blaze right through it, don’t’cha?”

A swell of pride warms his chest at the compliment, replying, “Yeah, it’s easy! We’re doing division in math and I’m a helper!”

“A helper!”

“Yeah, yeah, I go around- I go around and help the other kids because they don’t get it and I do and I help them with- I help them with their problems because they get harder as we go and Miss Johns said I got one-hundred percent on the last test so I can be a helper!”

“Atta boy, Ace!” Marcus high-fives him again, this time also handing him another spoonful of ganache, which Omar happily accepts. “See? I told’ja you could do it! Division ain’t got nothing on you.”

He’s right, and Omar knows it. He knew it when the two of them sat down together last week for a few hours doing his homework. 

He’d struggled with it in class, getting nearly every answer wrong until Marcus showed him a different way of doing it. He walked through it with him until Omar could finally do it himself. He brought his homework the next morning and earned himself a piece of taffy for showing his work and getting everything correct. 

“Did’ja tell Ma and Dad?” 

“Yeah,” Omar shrugs. “They put my test on the fridge.”

Marcus leans back, searching the front of the fridge for the test in question, but only finds a newspaper clipping of Dad holding up a fat fish with the headline LARGEST CATCH OF THE SEASON. 

Marcus scoffs. 

“You kept it, right?”

“It’s in my folder.”

“Good, I wanna see it when we’re done here.” 

“Okay!” Omar grins. 

Marcus holds up the bowl of ganache, motioning towards the top pantry. 

“It’s ready to pour. Grab the racks for me?” 

He’s on it, off his chair and grabbing the correct racks for them to set each layer of the cake on. There’s a pan beneath them to catch the drippings of the chocolate for Omar to eat when they’re done. 

Watching Marcus pour the chocolate over the cakes is the most satisfying thing in the world. Omar doesn’t know how he gets it so shiny and perfect enough that he can see his own reflection in it, but he does and that’s proof enough that Marcus is nothing but the best. 

The best baker, the best chef, the best artist, and the best brother in the world.

Marcus ruffles his hair before pulling Omar into a side hug, exclaiming, “Isn’t that beautiful!”

“I can’t wait to eat it!”

“You’re coming with me?”

“Ma said I could,” Omar nods. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, Ace. You’re always welcome to tag along. Just make sure you congratulate Sasha and Max before trying to devour the whole cake, m’kay? And you gotta wear a tie.”

Omar frowns, whining, “A tie?”

“Yes, you can’t go to a wedding without a tie.”  

That’s a dumb rule, he decides but agrees nonetheless. 

Once the ganache has set, Omar helps place them in the fridge to cool for a couple of hours before they leave. Once they’re finished safely transferring the cakes, Marcus rests a hand on his shoulder and guides him back to the table. 

“Hey, sit down a minute,” he says. “I made’ja some fresh cookies this morning.”

“Really? You did?” Omar gasps at the sight of a dozen little peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, all placed on a paper plate wrapped in clear plastic. Marcus had them hidden in the cupboards, knowing Omar would’ve swallowed them down the moment he caught a glance of them. 

They’re a famous recipe, one that Marcus made up all by himself with a little help from Omar, of course. It was his idea to mix in both regular and white chocolate chips, after all. 

Tearing the plastic off, Marcus hands him a stack of the cookies, which begin popping into his mouth. 

“Slow down,” Marcus laughs. “You can’t even taste ‘em when you eat that fast.”

A muffled “Yes I can!” comes out of Omar as he stuffs another cookie in his mouth. 

Marcus sits with him at the table, snatching a cookie for himself as Omar allows himself to properly swallow, breathing out with such genuine love, “Thanks, Marcus. You’re the best.” 

That makes Marcus grin, eyes softening fondly.

“Don’t know about that. I’m not the Ace here.”

Omar beams, munching on another cookie to hide his smile. 

Silence comes between them as Marcus shifts, breaking one of the cookies in half without eating either piece. 

“Hey, Omar,” he says. “There’s something I wanna talk to you about.” 

Finishing the last cookie, Omar peers curiously at him, taking note of Marcus’ tapping fingers, a habit he only does when he’s anxious. 

“You think these cookies are good?” 

Omar’s taken back by the question, blinking up at him. 

“Of course! They’re my favorite!”

“You think they’re good enough to sell?”

“Yes! You could make, like, a billion dollars selling your cookies.”

That sets Marcus off, laughter erupting deep in his chest as he throws his head back. 

“Wow! That good, huh?” 

“Yes!” Omar laughs with him. 

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Marcus chuckles, clearing his throat and smiling, “because I got a job.”

“You did?”

Joy fills Omar’s stomach. For months, Marcus has looked for a job at every local bakery to no avail. He even went out of town, willing to travel if the pay was good enough.

“I did,” Marcus nods. “I finally did, and it’s perfect. They love my recipes, they think me and Sam are a great team and a great pair of workers, and they pay good. Maybe not a billion dollars good, but still good.” 

“Where is it? Is it that cookie shop over by the fishing place Dad goes to?”

Marcus glances down at the table, his fingers resuming their tapping. “Uh, no, it’s not that place. It’s... well, it’s a little far away.” 

“How far?”

“Ireland.”

An anchor drops in Omar’s stomach.

“...What?”

“Sam and I are going to Ireland to work. We’ll be gone for a few months at a time, with breaks to come fly home, though we’re not entirely sure about the holidays, uhm...”

Omar doesn’t say anything. 

“I already told Ma and Dad. They’re good with it, but at this point, they’re happy with anything that’ll get me out of this house,” Marcus tries to laugh. “But, uh, I promised I’d write at least once a week, and that goes double for you, Ace.”

The nickname that usually brought him such joy suddenly brings nothing but wet warmth to his eyes. 

He’s leaving. 

“It’s gonna be... difficult, at first-”

He’s leaving.

 “-and a little scary, but this is such a big opportunity for us.”

He’s leaving forever.

“They could’ve picked anyone to bring there and they chose us.”

He’s leaving me forever.

“What do you-”

Marcus stops.

The table is wet with the drips of Omar’s tears falling over his cheeks and down his chin. He rubs his eyes on his sleeve, his chin violently quivering. 

“Omar...” 

“You’re leaving?” Omar gasps out, attempt to stop the shakiness threatening to consume him. “You’re leaving me?”

“I don’t want to-”

“Then don’t! You don’t gotta go! Tell them no!”

“Omar, I can’t turn this down.”

“Why?”

“C’mon, come here.”

Omar shoves him away, biting his lip as he cries, eyes burning and head and heart pounding painfully. The pushing barely does anything. Marcus is much bigger than he is and is able to pull him into a comforting hug, in which Omar finally breaks down, sobbing into Marcus’ sweater. 

“I know, I know...” he coos, pressing a hand against the back of Omar’s head. “I’m so sorry, Omar, if I could, I’d take you with me and we could take over the whole place together but I can’t, just like how I can’t turn this down.” 

Omar sobs harder.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus repeats, “but, listen. Listen, Ace, I’m gonna write to you twice a week, and I’ll send you packages full of peanut butter cookies and fudge and candy and anything else I find while I’m there. I’ll take lots of pictures and send ‘em to you.” 

“Please,” Omar pleads, pulling back to stare teary-eyed at his brother. “Please don’t go.”

“Omar,” Marcus’ voice is stern, but kind, “you are the strongest, smartest, and coolest boy in the whole universe. I won’t lie to you. This is gonna suck at first, but I’m not gonna be there forever. I’ll be there a year, two at the most.”

“Two years!?”

“At most,” Marcus nods. “Then, I’ll come back here and open up my own shop, and I’m gonna need your help to do that, but you gotta be strong until then. Ma’s gonna need you, Dad, too.”

“No, they’re not, they’re...”

“I know,” Marcus sighs. “I know, but it won’t be that bad. I promise that I’ll talk to you while I’m there, and I hope that you’ll talk back.” 

“I don’t know how to write a letter...”

“Then, I better show you after the wedding, huh?” 

Omar wipes his nose on his sleeve, sniffling, “I guess... but Dad said sending to stuff to places like that is a lot of money.”

“That doesn’t matter, the money doesn’t matter, Omar.”

“And you promise to send stuff every week?”

“I will, even if it costs a million dollars.”

“You don’t got a million dollars.”

“Well, then I’ll work extra hard and make a million dollars so that I can send you something every single week,” Marcus chuckles, ruffling Omar’s hair. “But, you gotta be strong, Ace, okay?” 

As Omar looks to his brother- the one person in the universe who Omar could confidently call his hero- and his kind face, he feels like crying again knowing that soon, he'll be far away... unreachable when things turn sour. 

He’s won’t be okay, that’s the truth. Omar will be anything but okay, but Marcus believes in him and he’s right, he needs to be strong. Omar can’t let him down.

“Okay... I’ll try.” 

“That’s all I ask,” Marcus pulls him in for a hug. “I’m gonna set up an email, too, so if you ever need me for anything that can’t wait in a letter, you can find me that way."

“Okay.”

"I'm proud of you, Ace,” Marcus grins. “Now, go get your math folder. I wanna see that A-plus.”