✏ 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬.

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

→ tw; food
     
      
    
      
Although worn down to the bone, Tommy remains restless.

Usually, Tommy would have no qualms falling back asleep, but as the sun slowly inches up, his bed grew more stiff and cold by the minute, and his lovely quilt now felt like coarse sandpaper. Nothing’s really changed however. His perceived change of his sleeping conditions stems from his feelings of displeasure from having been roused up so early in the morning, though it didn’t change the fact that he still felt it.

Morning light slips through closed blinds and into the room, filling it in a warm orange. His trigonometry textbooks, stationery, and homework he’s put off for weeks catches Tommy’s eyes for a second, and quickly loses it to rare tranquility. It’s certainly quite lived in, and Tommy liked how it felt; warm, inviting and cozy. It’s awfully reminiscent of a hug from a loved one.

Without much thought, he plants his feet onto the cold wooden floor, which creaks slightly under his weight, but it’s to be expected in a house as old as this. Tommy passes by a plant that’s watered with limited sunlight, and to the sliding door, which jams halfway through so he results in wiggling by it. That’s not a Tommy problem, that’s a Phil problem.

Now in the hallway, Tommy knew that it was 6AM. The morning calls of birds are distant, but not silent, and the sun’s barely halfway past the hills. Still not thinking, he walks, his destination unclear.

Something savoury suffuses through the cold autumn air, and it galvanises his stomach into a quiet growl. Seems like Tubbo’s up early in the morning as well. It’s not without a surprise his feet (and subconsciously his stomach) had led him straight into the kitchen, and there sat Tubbo and the soothing sounds of vegetables being chopped up, absentminded yet holding a pensive gaze.

The floor creaks under Tommy as he steps close to the entrance, and Tubbo greets, “Morning, Tommy.”

“Morning, Tubbo.” The curtains that separate the kitchen from the hallway slip from his face as he steps onto the kitchen tiles.

Tubbo resumes, and is back to slicing up more vegetables. There’s a window in front of him, and Tommy could see the vistas of similar traditional houses but it’s obscure and foggy due to the steam emitted from the pot below it. Tubbo slides the spinach looking vegetable into another pot and places a lid atop of it, looking rather content with himself like he’d did an unbelievably strenuous task.

Tommy grows tired from standing, and retires onto a stool with his chin on the table.

There’s a loud rustle as metal bowls clink noisily around as Tubbo attempts to retrieve a sieve from it. “Why are you up so early?” Tommy asks, watching his friend fussing over the fine china that sat on display right next to the wobbling bowls.

Tommy has never really realised how genuinely small the kitchen was up until now. It’s something Tommy would’ve thought he’d noticed day one living here, but it only just struck him then that this room was exceptionally tiny; even the bathrooms were more spacious than this. He’d always thought it was his grotesque height that made him perceive the tightness of the room, but watching Tubbo clumsily traverse through the cluttered kitchen, Tommy realises that it’s probably a combination of both.

Cooking utensils glisten in mellow light that seeps through a fogged window. The sight of Tubbo’s beloved - the small traditional japanese kitchen, untied any knots of worries and left him in a calm trance.

“What do you mean?” Tubbo raises an eyebrow, and the gas stove crackles as he adjusts the knob. “I’m always up this early.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

The pleasantry of conversation is quickly consumed by the irritating silence that plagues afterwards, and it ticks Tommy off a little. It’s always the noisiest out of them all, and it’s presence grates on him like nails on a chalkboard. So, Tommy decides to show that silence out of the door. “What’s for breakfast?”

The leaves of the vegetable Tubbo held in his hand casts a looming shadow up on the wall. “Grilled salmon.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Boiled veggies and miso soup.”

He’d always like a heart soup in the morning, but the unfamiliarity of it left much to be desired. Tommy would much rather prefer some tomato soup over whatever a miso soup is, and so he inquires further. “Anything else?”

“Rolled omelettes.”

Eggs just inspired the boy to puke into a nearby basin, and it reflected in his overly dramatic sulk of, “I don’t want to eat today.” Often, there was no point of contention that Tubbo’s a great cook because of the sole fact that he is, but nothing he’d listed sounded remotely appetising to Tommy. A rare occurrence that even surprises Tommy himself.

“Fix me something light.”

“Erm. Sure!” The sound of the ladle hitting the rim of the pot interrupted Tubbo. “I think I have some bread that’s gonna expire soon, so I can make you some bread pudding and coffee if you’re okay with that.”

“What the fuck is a bread pudding?- Wait, don’t answer that. I’ll just leave if you do.”

“Aww.”

“And please do. I don’t know what it is, but it sounds good and food is food. I’m a strong, growing boy, and I need all the nutrients I can get to turn into an alpha male. Not that I’m not one already.”

“Oh, time to get strong!” Tubbo raises a sieve high into the air, striking a triumphant grin. “Yeah! Strength!”

Faster than any chef Tommy’s ever seen, Tubbo cracks an egg with unrivalled precision, and a golden yolk drops down into a small bowl, and before Tommy knew it, he’d clamoured to the mini chef’s side and gawked at the surprising speed of which ingredients disappeared, and reappeared in the small saucepan. Leaving the sugar to melt into caramel, Tubbo mixes up the vanilla, beaten eggs and warm milk with a content smile on his face, and Tommy can’t help but reciprocate the candescent warmth with a smile of his own.

And like clockwork, Tubbo turned down the fire and tended to slicing up a piece of toast he’d procured from the breadbox on the table Tommy was just sitting by. 

“I should probably open the windows cause the smell would probably wake someone up but eh, fuck it. If they wake up, you’re just going to have to share.”

“No-oooo.” A petulant whine escapes from the blonde boy. “Open the windows-!”

“You do it, then.”

“No.”

A steady stream of the mixture drapes onto the sliced bread that nestled close to the buttered walls of the baking dish it sat in, and quickly, Tubbo takes the melted caramel and pours it over the dish. This is the good type of quiet that Tommy enjoyed; quiet moments he spent with his friends and family where he could truly relish the bliss of life.

Loud beeps disturb the blonde’s reverie, and Tommy observes as the dish tantalizingly pirouettes round in the microwave, fragrant and sweet but just out of his grasp. Some time later, Tubbo serves the piping hot dish right in front of a very impatient Tommy, and he gasps in delight.

“Bon appetit.”

The sweet fragrant of the dish permeates the cool kitchen air and usurps Tommy’s motor control and with it, puppets him into wolfing down the dish. It’s slightly mushy, and it tastes absolutely saccharine. Another bite reveals the strong taste of pudding, and Tommy wishes he could save this for later just so he could eat it again.

“Is it good?”

Tommy takes another bite. “Nope. I could do better.”

“Then why are you still eating it?”

Tommy answers with his mouth stuffed with pastry. “Touche.”

[ you know the fuckin drill. vote or die tmr ]