At nineteen, Finnén Holý was, really, just a kid, in some respects; raised by an excellent foster father and foster mother, with an elder foster sister to boot, he'd had all the support he could ask for and then some besides. Now, off to college for his first year at nineteen, his foster parents and sister paid the full weight of his tuition to attend an excellent university with a highly diverse course spectrum. For him, the cooking classes were just minors, taken for personal interest and also for the credits gained from taking on a culinary arts minor. Also, he liked cooking, and had learned a lot about it from his parents and sister. Not his biological parents, of course, his real parents and his real sister, the people who had actually raised him and invested time and energy in his health and wellness.<br/><br/>This class, taught by one Professor Rafa Godric, was about him learning even more about cooking and self-sufficiency. If anyone thought he wouldn't take it serious because it was just a minor and not his major, they were going to be very handily proven the wrong. He happened to be the sort who threw himself into more-or-less everything he did. If the professor were a man who could see past the dichotomy of major or minor, the freckled redhead felt confident he would like him, or at least, tolerate him as better than some of his classmates. Not a tall boy, by any means, at all of five feet eight and a half inches and one hundred sixty-five pounds, but toned. Exceptionally so, in fact, from the fact he swam every day and rode horseback every weekend, growing up, and maintained a healthy diet, to boot.<br/><br/>All right, a mostly-healthy diet, at any rate, aside from a sweet tooth that he carefully managed. He considered himself fortunate, as he listened to girls from one class to the next gossiping about their exes, that he hadn't any of those. Not to say he was a virgin, for he most certainly was not, and while he was considerable as a single man about the market, well, he didn't have any exes. No one to grieve over having committed suicide, or dying in a tragic accident, or being murdered, none to hassle him with the need for a restraining order against a domestic abuser or a stalker.<br/><br/>Granted, his sex life was neither ordinary nor orthodox, but at least it had neither ghost nor lunatic in his closet. A few rainbow-sprinkled sheep, maybe, but no ghosts or lunatics.<br/><br/>Either way, entering the classroom and pushing those things from his mind to focus his mind on the culinary arts they were to learn about now, he blinked when someone bumped into him and then questioned him about stuff. He shook his head in answer to that,<strong>“It is all right. Sorry, I do not know. Freshman year and first time ever at a culinary arts class, so I don't know if we sit or stand or any of that. I learned to cook at home from my parents and my sister, though, and it was so relaxing that I wanted to learn more, so here I am. Guess we'll find out, together? My name's Finn.”</strong>