#laundry scribbles

For several minutes after waking Soda opted to just lay there, bathing in the warmth of the morning sunlight pouring over him and the arm wrapped around him loosely, setting him into place. They’d somehow gotten shuffled around in their sleep, so that he lay in the center, Liam’s face smushed against his left shoulder and Amelia strewn over his right side. Muffled birdsong drifted in through the window, and he’d bet five bucks that there was a robin perched on the windowsill right now, the same one that’d been setting up shop there every morning for the past two months.

He was comfortable where he was. It was a bit early to be up still in his opinion, and he very much contemplated going back to sleep, but then Liam would mumble dream-laden nothings or Amelia would curl closer into his side, holding tight, and something deep win his chest would warm a bit, blooming in his throat and making him feel nothing short of an unending fondness, even if it came at the cost of his arms being a bit pinned at odd angles around them. 

Then his stomach rumbled, and he very much recalled the second thing keeping him awake: he was hungry.

So, ten minutes of laying about later, he set himself on the daunting task of untangling himself from the mess of limbs and bedding they’d become, leaving behind a hollow where he’d been laying. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he watched just for a moment how the sunlight framed them. Both warm-toned by it, edges softened in honey-gold light, glowing lovely, even as Liam rolled over unceremoniously, very nearly smacking Amelia in the face in the process, seeking her out as though trying to fill the gap. He smiled a bit when they found each other. 

So very fond indeed.

He took a moment to lean over, holding gently first Amelia’s hand, then Liam’s, offering each a soft squeeze. He didn’t really think they were awake enough to hear it, but even still he mumbled, words warm to match

     “I’m gonna go make breakfast, alright?”

He didn’t get much reply beyond a soft sigh from Liam. Even still, he pulled back, lingering for just a moment before leaving them to sleep in peace.

Setting their little electric kettle to boil, Soda found himself tangling with the pressing issue of what exactly to make. Digging through the cupboards didn’t really yield much: some flour, vanilla, salt, sugar. They were running a bit low on milk and were completely out of bread, and by the time the water was boiling he found himself compiling a rudimentary grocery list instead of deciding what to make. 

Instant coffee, he discovered as he scraped the last dregs of it into his mug, was very much on it. He added a bit of milk before sipping the bitter drink slowly, thinking.

Flour, sugar, salt, vanilla, eggs...did they have baking powder? 

A bit more digging revealed that yes, they did, though it was edging close to its expiration date. He set everything out on the counter beside the stove, alongside a bowl, whisk, and, after nearly turning the kitchen upside-down looking for it, measuring spoons. He stared them down a moment. He hadn’t made pancakes from scratch in a long time, well before he met them at least. The boxed stuff, sure, he’d thrown that together at least once in recent memory, but he was at least fairly certain he hadn’t attempted this since he was a teen, guided from the sidelines by his mother, always a bit of a back-seat chef. He tried to ignore the rose-tinted nostalgia for now in favor of dredging up the recipe as he remembered it, starting with a single cup of flour.

He was very nearly done with the batter, mulling over its thickness and adding just a bit more milk, when someone shuffled in. He stopped right behind him, and though Soda couldn’t see him he could piece together what he was doing fairly easily by the click of the kettle switch. 

     “We’re out of coffee by the way”

Liam turned.

     “We are?”

     “Yep. Just drank the last of it.”

He hummed, a bit flat, and stepped to his side. Liam only glanced at the slight mess on the counter before rummaging through the cabinet over his head.

     “Do you know if we still have that one tea?”

     “The black one? Top shelf I think” he paused his mixing, “I thought you didn’t like that kind?”

     “Eh,” Liam shrugged, nabbing a packet from the half-full box, “it’s not the best but it’s alright.”

Soda shrugged a bit,

     “Suit yourself.”

He’d never really understood the appeal of tea, to him it always seemed bland. From time to time they’d bicker about it inbetween grocery store aisles, fights he’d always lose the moment he plucked a container of coffee from the shelf. For now though he left the matter for another day, instead plucking the half-stick of butter from the fridge, yet another thing they were low on, and began his search for a pan. The kettle clicked again. Liam watched him as he filled his mug.

     “What’re you making anyway?” he yawned around his words, “Pancakes?”

    “Yeah,” Soda replied, poking through the cabinet beneath the cutlery drawer, “If I can find the stupid frying pan—”

Something tapped him between the shoulder blades. Pulling back, he found Liam holding out the old black pan, taken from its place between the sink and the other drying dishes.

“Oh. thanks.”

Liam hummed, sipping his drink and watching Soda step up to the stove.

    “I didn’t know we had pancake mix” he said once the front-right burner had been clicked on. Soda dropped a thin pad of butter into the center.

    “We don’t. I made it from scratch.”

    “You know how to do that?”

    “Kinda. Pass me a spoon? A big one.”

Liam pulled a serving spoon from the drawer, stepping to his side before passing it. Soda swirled the butter around in the pan.

    “‘Kinda’?”

    “It’s been a while.”

They watched the butter sizzle, foam, and fill the room with savory scents before Soda dropped the first spoonful of batter in.

Amelia joined them partway through the frying process, still very much fighting off sleep. At the lack of coffee, she simply opted for a glass of milk, not wanting to bother with the kettle. She leaned a bit on Liam as they watched him cook.

“You can go back to bed for a bit if you want,” Liam offered after her third yawn, “we’ll leave some for you.”

“‘S alright. I don’t think I’d be able to go back to sleep anyway.”

“Doubt it,” Soda said, checking the golden underside of the pancake, “you don’t even sound awake yet. Your gonna fall asleep standing up—” he flipped it. It only half landed in the pan right, the rest flopped along the side, marring its shape. “Damn it.”

“Deserved”