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       (Y/n) woke up to someone shouting her name.

       She had a dream of dancing dolphins the color of pink brilliance swarming her in an underwater kingdom. It was the first peaceful sleep she had since she arrived, and strangely, Ben's voice dragging her back into the waking state was just as soothing as when her eyes softly fluttered closed last night.

       (Y/n) pushed herself off the drooping mattress. Sunlight seeped through the blinds and shimmered a beautiful glow on the walls. She got up and walked over to the window, and glory's dazzling beam frolicked across her skin like the dolphins in her dream. If it weren't for the concerning crash! from behind the closed bedroom door, she would have nestled in the morning's warmth for a little while longer.

       "You still alive in there, Ben?" she called, entering the hallway. A distinct smokey scent instantly hit her face.

       "Huh-? Uh, yeah! Just putting some stuff up!" A yelp and a bang-clank! followed a little too soon after.

       (Y/n) hurried to the end of the hall, turned the corner, and found Ben sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Mixing bowls and spoons decided to rival his clothes today—and the spots of pj's she could see were caked in a yellowish batter. Behind him, the table held yellow and white mush (which did do a decent job at looking like eggs) that looked as if they were in the middle of escaping off the two plates but were forced to a halt. Beside them laid three pieces of shriveled-up charred bacon.

       The depressing "Surprise..." Ben let out was slightly muffled by the large teal bowl hugging his face. His houseguest covered an impulsive giggle before she kneeled next to him and took his assailant off his face.

       "Let me guess," she started. "An evil villain broke in at the dead of night, and the Great and Mighty Ben Tennyson fled to the scene of them destroying his precious kitchen!" A quick glance at the stove, countertops, and fridge, all carefully decorated in a mass, balanced diet of morning chaos—eggshells surrounding every inch and dozens of disturbed pans piled up and soot plastered on the walls—helped her out with her fabricated story. "The battle messy, dare I say borderline deadly! But with the power of kitchen utensils, accidental arson, and undercooked pancakes, you drove out the intruder and saved the day!"

       Ben snorted and hauled himself up. "Very funny. And I'll have you know that those are waffles, not pancakes."

       "Ain't those the same thing?"

       "Actually," she helped him to his feet before he finished, "Pancakes have much more milk and soda in their batter, while waffles have to have more eggs and syrup and sour cream."

       (Y/n) gave him a look. "...Huh?"

       Ben opened and closed his mouth. "...Or," he mumbled, "or is it the other way around-?"

       "Maybe it'd be better if we just stick to my story and order something a little more...edible."

       "No fair, you haven't even tried it!"

       "Ben, you think soda is an appropriate ingredient for baking."

       "Well, yeah."

       "It's called baking soda," (Y/n) clarified. "Please tell me you actually didn't add soda to waffle batter and just forgot the proper name for it. "

       "Well— you—" he choked out. "You think waffles and pancakes are the same thing! So, HAH!"

       (Y/n) blinked at the finger he pointed at her. "Wow. I guess that does prove that I'm more ignorant than the man who blew up his own kitchen trying to make some eggs."