#pixoli

As a committed and proud aromantic, Pix has never particularly had the desire to settle down with a life partner and collect the prescribed 2.5 kids and white picket fence. Usually, this works extremely well for him - at least, it has for the last decade or so. He enjoys having the house to himself, being able to play whatever music he likes through the speaker without compromising, cook what he will and leave the dishes for later without annoying anyone with it. Right now, Pix is dosing himself with Lemsip over the sink, feeling all the wrong temperatures all at once, and somewhat pathetically wishing he had somebody who was morally bound by in sickness and in health vows to make him chicken soup. (or sickness, and doting, and the inherent duality of a Christmas cracker.)

“Lunchtime, king. Pens down.” Professor Riffs looks up from his laptop, which is a good start. “Oh, is it that time already?”