2• baking disasters

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tom

Please tell me this is going to help me sleep and not help me like Chris. I called him because he came first on my mind , not because I have something inside of me that's telling me that this is the chance to make him like me! I don't like him that way.

"How about some..um.. salt?" He asks a rhetorical question yet again, and I shook my head for the umpteenth time.

"Cookies are sweet so they don't need salt. I guess that's the most pastry-educated guess you could ever guess, because guessing if cookie dough needed vegetable oil,pepper, paprika and some other weird stuff aren't very smart when asked by a pastry student. Or even a normal person." I crumpled my forehead and helped Chris in placing the cookies in a tray.

He rolled up his sleeves, careful not to let his sleeves touch the cookie dough. "That's as close as I can get to cooking. When I wasn't divorced, I used to try and cook something eye catching but healthy for my children, but oh boy, they wouldn't even try laying their hands on the utensils." Chris opened the oven, placing the tray neatly and I checked the preset-wait, why is this different?

"I can see that you noticed how I snuck up while you were mixing the dough to make it 7 Fahrenheits higher." Chris winked and ran upstairs. I hesitated wether to wait here or not, but keeping Chris hanging when I asked for him to come here wasn't displaying manners that I learned throughout my childhood, so I followed him.

"Your room... It's.." I caught Chris standing in front of my room, probably amazed at the hundreds of glow in the dark stars in my ceiling. It still seemed dark when it glowed. So, I found a way to get through Chris blocking the doorway, then plugged the fairy lights. By just a millisecond, blue lights showed up on the lining of my two shelves, as well as the lining of my bed's headboard.

"Great... This makes me more ashamed of my room." He stated.

"Nope, it's not really that tidy. I see that you almost stepped on a clearbook that used to hold my Marvel scripts."

Upon that, his eyes lightened up, even more brighter that the lights that tried to make my room bright. I shook my head almost rapidly, remembering that I had not invited him here so I could admire his features.

And speaking of, I still can't sleep. It's almost 12:00.

"Is the Loki series script here? Let me read-"

I stole the clearbook and threw it somewhere. He pouted and tried to search for it, but there weren't enough source of light. I chuckled at this view then he gave up.

"It's not there."

"But why did you hide it?" Fair enough. He was now throwing fire at me.

"Because I can't let you step on my memories as Loki?" I shot back. He sighed and shook his head, smirking. "What an excuse. I know it's in there. Wait for me to find it."

"As much as I want to encourage everyone to follow their dreams and ambitions and to be themselves, I highly disagree with yours. You shall never find that clearbook. Note: shall never." I said the last sentence sternly and he shrugged, mumbling "Fine."

"This makes the mood. You can't sleep with all these on? These look preeeetty. I can definitely sleep on you if all I had left to do was watch the stars and lights illuminating inside your room in its failed attempt to light the whole room up."

"You didn't need to say it in full detail." I raised one eyebrow, then jumped to fall comfortably on the bed, taking off my glasses. I set it off somewhere wherein Chris can't smash it or I can't smash it.

"Your bed smells like you." Chris whispered, to, I guess, nothingness, but I analyzed the sentence when I realized he actually said something through that thick Australian accent that made him sound like he was mumbling, I replied. It was my bed he talked about.

"Oh. Of course, it's mine, so don't expect to sniff around my bed and smell the slightest scent of yours." I sat back up, looking at Chris who was lost in layers of blankets, even though he was a big person. Slightly bigger than I am in height, but a lot in weight. He weighs like a ton. I think his arm even weighs 30 kilos, because when we were playing with all the props for Thor, he elbowed me when I hit his head with my spear and I swear I saw stars float around.

"I'm gonna leave my scent here so you'll think of calling me when you tuck yourself into sleep and realize you can't, simply can't , just stop budging and doubting, because I'd come. I probably will be scrolling through Ao3 fics about Thorki, waiting for a worthwhile call." I blushed at the thing he said just now. Chris was a good friend, but the terrible cook you can ever have. But he makes you happy nonetheless.

"That's good. Make sure you don't smell like swamp."

"I do," He chided, sitting down as well.

"You don't. I checked it myself but you yourself had to check." I corrected, while he smirked.

I got in the wrong Chris-personality. This was the full-of-himself Chris. Though it can get kinda annoying at times, but you can definitely tell it's cute. But you don't tell him or that's going to be another point to make himself more full of himself. Everybody knows it and keeps it to themselves.

"You know how I smell? Huh, that's a new thing, Hiddleston. This phenomenon is very rare and it happened only once in my life, though it occured a lot in others' lives. Mostly women you dated. Do you really wanna know me that much-"

"I know you that much and I know where this is going, so stop. I'm gonna sleep eventually because you keep on blabbering the same things over and over except for the change of words. You use synonyms just to rephrase a lot of stuff."

"Okay. I will stop." He raised his hands in defeat. I played with my fingers, then Chris laid down again. He rolled over and got lost in the sheets, found his way out, in a loop.

All of a sudden, Chris jumped out after I heard him sniffing. He ran downstairs, then I catched him trying to get a tray that looked familiar-the tray we used to bake cookies in which now, it looked burnt. I laughed, getting baking mittens or whatever they call it to get the hot tray out of the oven.

I wad glad Chris kept quiet while turning the oven off. He probably realized that turning the oven into too much heat will cause this is no matter of time.

"Let's put frosting?"

"Chris." I said in a low tone. "Did you ever prepare ingredients for frosting? Or remember even saying that we're going to make 'em? No, as far as I remember. I've only got milk though." I said slowly, as if I was talking to an adult sized child. He nodded, then fished for the milk in my fridge.

I didn't try to stop him when he placed two glasses full of milk in the microwave, but I complained while chuckling. I guess he didn't really take my "No!"s seriously. I was actually glad it didn't end up in a disaster, and the milks were now hot.

We counted to three internally, then both took a bite on a cookie. I almost spat it out, tasting cinammon, vanilla, almonds, green tea powderized pack version all in one thing. I decided to gulf the hot milk down, considering the heat might burn my throat or something. I needed to get the taste off my tongue.

"What did I say about getting into my tea cabinet?" I croaked out after gulping. Chris bit his shaking(probably from laughter that he's trying to keep in) lower lip, then shrugged.

I glanced at the clock. 12:14 am. This isn't helping.

Oh God, help me through this long night!

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