Six Things Before Breakfast

9

There's a fish stealing his cereal when Sanders comes home from his date with Liam. (It was okay. He was shy, had a charming smile, was a gentleman. Sanders doesn't want to see him again.)

It's the same fish from when Maxon first moved in. The one he wanted to kick in the face. "Hello," he says, like he's not in Sanders's kitchen, like he's not eating his Fruit Loops or some shit.

Sanders does not have the energy for this. He takes of his shoes and waves at him. "'Sup."

He heads straight to the living room and flops down on the couch, putting his feet up on the table.

"I'm Suho," the fish says brightly, bringing the bowl of cereal with him, sitting next to Sanders. He slurps the milk loudly with a spoon. "Li Suho."

"And I'm tired. Very tired. Get out."

A chuckle. "You're grumpy."

Sanders grunts. He looks at him. "You should see the other resident in this house. What're you doing in my apartment, fish?"

"Maxon and Kaitlyn dropped by the convenience store to grab wine," he answers, grinning. His eyes are big. He looks like a puppy. A smaller puppy than Maxon. A Pomeranian? A Cavalier King Charles Spaniel? A Corgi. Yes. "We're having dinner. Maxon is cooking, and I got hungry."

Right. Maxon told them Kaitlyn was coming over. Sanders groans. "So you decided to steal my cereal? What are you, their kid?"

"No." Suho huffs. He offers a spoonful of Fruit Loops to Sanders. Sanders opens his mouth, and Suho feeds him. "I just think Maxon's cool. I used to do his laundry."

"Is that your only achievement in life?" Sanders snaps, through a mouthful of cereal. "Wanna put that on your CV or some shit?"

"Hey." Suho's eyes get bigger. He leans in closer to Sanders's face. "Did you know that taco cat spelled backwards is still taco cat?"

"I like you," Sanders says, grabbing the bowl. "You have permission to steal my cereal."

They share it. There's a cartoon playing on the television.

Becks comes out of her room, yawning. Before, before Maxon, she'd wake up from her nap and step out the room in a ratty, old sweatshirt and hideous neon green joggers, her curls all over her face, with drool on her cheek, demanding where the food is.

Cute little caveman, Sanders would think. And then he'd cook her something and feed her.

But she's in a shirt and shorts. Her hair is straightened. She clearly washed up before going outside. "Where's Maxon?"

"Out," Sanders says.

"Whoa," Suho says, jaw open, blinking really hard. "You're pretty."

"I like him," Becks says, flopping next to him on the couch. "Can I have cereal, too?"

Suho gives the bowl without a word. He's still awe-struck.

Sanders smacks him behind the head. "Fish, Becks Arlington. Becks, fish."

"Suho," Suho whispers. Then, he gasps. "Oh, shit. You—you won that—that boxing match before. I watched you! You were great!"

Sanders just rewatched that moment in which Becks tried to kill him. But, you know, it's gentler this time. It's a kid.

She's holding him against the sofa, forearm on his neck, grabbing his wrists with her other hand. "Suho. It's Suho, right?"

"I'm a virgin," Suho blurts out.

"Jesus Christ," Sanders breathes out, laughing. He throws his head back and laughs so loudly. Even Becks's lips are twitching. "Fish! Focus! You're minutes away from Death carrying you over if you don't listen to her."