l/n y/n has always loved girls. you always thought that they were the prettiest things in the world, with their pouty lips and pierced ears and smiles that light up the world. but you also love boys, and one day, when doyoung stumbles into your life...
The only right way to wake up after a night out partying, in your humble opinion, is to the smell of breakfast wafting through the various rooms of your apartment. If you had a choice, you would like to slowly and drowsily make your way to the kitchen, wrap your arms around your girlfriend, and get a good-morning kiss.
That should be the right way to wake up.
However, you're used to having your dreams crushed, and this morning is no exception. You wake to the overwhelming smell of something burning and shouted curses. You throw the covers off urgently and run to the kitchen, where you find an unwatched pot with flames licking up its side, smoke rising from the catastrophic disaster. You switch off the stove and stare down at the mixture suspiciously.
The smell of gas and burnt food is enough to make you dizzy, and the sickening feeling in your stomach doesn't go away until Rhysal emerges from behind the fridge door, a stick of butter in hand and raw egg splashed across her apron.
"Good morning?" she asks hesitantly. You collapse into her arms with an exasperated sigh and wordless exhaustion.
You toy with the string on the back of Rhysal's apron, taking deep breaths to prevent yourself from yelling. "I'm glad you're okay, at least." You hear the butter plop down on the counter and feel Rhysal's fingers wrap around yours, untangling them and interlocking her fingers with them instead.
Rhysal looks at the mess in disappointment and presses her lips together, smiling sheepishly. She grabs the spatula and pot, scraping the suspiciously black contents off and into the rubbish bin before placing the pot in the sink.
Your gaze follows her movements, arching an eyebrow curiously. "What, pray tell, were you trying to do?"
Rhysal points vaguely in the direction of the stove, looking around for something. She shows you the open page of the cookbook, and you read it aloud. "Macaroni... and cheese. Who put you in charge of cooking, and how the fuck did you mess up making mac 'n' cheese?"
Rhysal's pursed lips are accompanied by a careless shrug. "I thought it'd be a piece of cake too." You shoot her a look.
"I doubt that it would have turned out better if you were making a cake."
Phoebe pokes her head around the kitchen door—just in time—, eyes peering cautiously through the hair falling over her eyes. You crane your neck to face her, hair catching on the side of it as you catch Phoebe's eye.
"Feebs, was this your idea?"
Phoebe answers cautiously, as if testing the waters for your reaction. "Mayhaps?"
You groan loudly, causing Phoebe to wince. "I didn't think it would be this bad, you know, she's old enough that I didn't think she'd burn the kitchen down-"
You glare at Rhysal. "Well, she almost did."
"-and I thought you'd be hungry, and you said you've been craving mac 'n' cheese the past two days, so I wanted to give you a surprise!"
Your gaze softens, and you shake your head exasperatedly. How can I be mad at her when her intentions are this pure? "Thanks, Feebs."
Phoebe wraps her arms around you in a hug, and your features relax at the same time your posture does. "Okay, I think I'll go down and buy us instant mac 'n' cheese, okay? Rhysal, you'll tidy up and wash whatever's in the sink."
Rhysal gladly resumes her position as you head off to the nearest supermarket.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
