I. Simply Horrible

The crash resounded throughout the entire apartment building. Somewhere on the fifteenth floor, an elderly woman jolted while petting her cat. On the eighteenth, an uptight teacher's pen slipped. And lastly, the very floor upon which the noise had occurred seemed to tremble with a resonating force-

-a tremble caused by a couch toppling against a refrigerator and in turn displacing an entire pantry, the contents of which falling out in a landslide of grocery products.

"That," the blond exhaled in a soft huff, eying the carnage that the apartment kitchen had become, "wasn't completely necessary-"

Watermelon interrupted him with alacrity, filling the room with the zip of a plastic plate careening in his roommate's direction, and snarling when Helix went about dodging it only barely with the shrug of his shoulders and a quick step to the side, his scraggly mess of shin-length strawberry blond hair bobbing enthusiastically with him.

The redhead took a breath to calm down. And then he took another one. And another. Nothing. Crap. He was still blushing ten shades of red in ten different and overdone synonyms of the colour. His final grunt flooded the spaces of their tiny and decidedly wrecked apartment. "I've had it..." he rasped, "I've had it, motherfucker," his fists balled up tensely.

There was a silence- not a stunned on, more of a contemplative sort of wordlessness. Watermelon mentally sifted through the rage boiling in his head under his trademark hood, trying to find something more expressive than throwing a couch to display just how enraged he was. And there his roommate just stood, with a tiny uncertain smile on his lips, sky blue eyes slightly widened in cool alarm, one hand in his pocket and the other hanging out uselessly.

Helix looked far too chill. It served for nothing but to rekindle any embers of dying rage in the young man.

The blond himself looked to be turning their situation into a physics formula, and Watermelon could see it now: "Oh, to a certain percentage out of a hundred, I'm right in saying that you went overboard. If you placed our circumstances on a scale, the couch-tossing antic would have likely had more mass than so-and-so and-" God, an hour into his day he remembered why Helix was horrible. How dare he cavort about the house without a shirt? How dare he do so with his hair untied and bobbing freely with every fluid movement of his traceur's body-?

Watermelon found a spoon to throw, and proceeded to make a well-aimed swing. His endeavour was casually dodged with yet another step to the side. Finally, huffing in exasperation, the redhead charged past his roommate and sidled by the windowside stove, sulkily flipping the french toast that had been waiting for him patiently in the pan. With an overdone twist of the hand, he turned up the fire. The soft sizzling and the warm scent of egg permeated in the wasteland that the kitchen had become.

To his right at the doorway, Helix straightened up slightly, smiling wildly and turning on his heel before sauntering up behind his roommate, hands clapping over each bare, tan shoulder and cheerily saying, "Well, now that you're done throwing things at me, tell me why you're mad?"

Watermelon only let Helix barely finish speaking when he snapped his arm up and sent the pan and french toast into his roommate's face. "I don't want to talk to you," he sulked as he pried the pan back and tossed a fresh slice of bread in.

Splat.

And what a magnificent sound that was when you knew that was the sound of half-cooked french toast falling off the face of your godawful shirtless, shameless, stupid and ridiculously hot flatmate.

"You hurt my tender heart, love," he heard Helix speak flatly, saw in the corner of his eyes as he raised his hand and slowly wiped the sticky, warm egg from the arch of his jaw. He arced down, the skin of his bare back catching the morning light pouring in from the window as he peeled the dejected toast from the floor and straightened, smile not quite completely wiped from his face yet.

Helix looked the picture of a morning mess, what with the tangles of his hair, the sleepy swell over his eyes and the loose hang of the oversized black drawstring pants over his hips. He never did have any of the good morning habits of his roommate, even if he was the cheerier of the two by a mile.

With all the same irksome vigour, the blond set to the first chore of the day: cleaning the warzone Watermelon had turned the kitchen into whilst enraged roommate in question cooked breakfast to his heart's content.

French toast, french toast...

If the chanting in Watermelon's head could be heard, it could possibly be heard over the sound of Helix grunting as he attempted to right the lopsided leaning tower that the refrigerator had become.

...French toast, french toast, french ...

"...I had a bad dream," he blurted.

"Huh?" Helix blinked, stopping in the middle of putting away a carton of milk, contemplatively arching an eyebrow. "Are we talking the 'getting chased and violently murdered by Freddy Krueger' bad, or the 'dancin' and romancin' our eighty-year-old neighbour' bad?"

The french toast expertly flipped into the air, landing atop the finished pile of its kin. "Neither. Much, much worse," Watermelon murmured.

Helix whistled into the thick, warm air. "Well, uh... Want me to comfort you?" Almost immediately, he jerked to avoid any projective which may have been launched his way, but nothing came. His roommate was absorbed in mental chanting of 'frenchtoastfrenchtoastfrench...' and flipping yet another slice of breakfast at a frantic pace.

The morning had started out normal enough for both of them. Watermelon had risen at precisely seven in the morning, woken by his disaster of a dream and urged to immediately shower before his roommate ever woke. After a long session of sulking in the shower, the redhead had opted to make french toast- a hell of a lot of french toast.

And then, the very reason why his entire night had been ruined without him even moving emerged from its den, and Watermelon had known at that very moment that his entire day had been ruined before it had even began.

Helix was walking around with his fair, toned physique for the world to see, and those pants were far too low even for pyjamas, damn it. Watermelon had been plagued by this terror all night long in his nightmares, and at that moment that terror had smiled sleepily at him and said, "What, can't take your eyes off this?" pointing abstractly to his half-naked body,

Hence the couch.

Watermelon was not about to let himself be comforted. Neither was he about to give any explicit details of the... detailed dream. No. He was going to immerse himself in the joyful world of cooking, lose himself in the rhythmic motions of flipping frenchtoastfrenchtoast until he had...

He paused, looking between the frying pan and the new tower of french toast he had made for breakfast. It rose from the kitchen counter, jutting up into the air at a height of about a dozen slices.

...well, that was a lot of french toast. Watermelon's green eyes fluttered in incomprehending blinks as he realised that he had just cooked all that.

Helix slid in, peeled a slice off the top of the tower and took an overly dramatic bite of the breakfast, before nodding and humming. "Delicious as always!" he exclaimed, bustling in and taking Watermelon's hand over the pan, flipping the last slice of toast to replace the top of the tower before his roommate could even protest. Without looking at the redhead, he bounded towards the foldable dining table with the plate and started up the coffee machine, generally shooting about the kitchen as he spoke, "Hey, I don't know what sort of dream you had last night, but that's the thing about dreams. They're a figment of your subconscious, you're up now." He smiled sprightly. "I'm here now. Feast your eyes."

Watermelon glared, the red tinges returning to his cheeks ever so slightly. "You were in it," he said. The very words sent a deeper flush over his face, until it burned with the warmth of embarrassment of admitting anything so personal to his roommate of three years.

"Hm. Oh, was I?" the blond murmured distractedly as he watched the black droplets of coffee drip through into his cup from the machine. Cheekily looking on with a gaze full of intent, he asked, "What was I like?"

"You were your usual idiotic, ugly self. No decency." He huffed.

Helix stopped distractedly rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, turning on the smooth white tile floor and looking at Watermelon with a bemused expression. Slowly his expression melted into a puzzled smile. Must have been nice."

"It was horrible," Watermelon grumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter. He looked away- the window and their view was suddenly very appealing to his eyes.

Watermelon's entire body jerked when he felt Helix's fingers against his ear, and with that jerk his roommate's fingers settled on his jawline, taking it and holding his head. "Look at me?" Helix's voice and his warm breath his his sensitive ear, brushing through his hood and his hair as if their existence was nothing. "Look at me," the question turned into a command, firm, coercive.

Alluring...
Damn it- what the hell?

It felt like every muscle in his neck was screaming for him not to look, but his roommate's hand directed him to look anyway, into those sky blue eyes and that ridiculous, stupid smile. Helix was too close. And just a second ago he was across the kitchen making coffee. What the fuck was wrong with today?

Loudly he snapped, "Back off, fucker- don't fill my personal space with crap and bacteria that you-"

"Shush, space is... where black holes happen," Helix grinned, closing the distance between their faces and sliding his lips up Watermelon's chin, all up until their lips were sidled together, the redhead's teeth clicking slightly against his roommate's as his mouth slightly opened surprise. He murmured into the kiss- seeming pleased with the jerky response, and nipped slightly, pressing a little harder- his body sliding until his bare skin was all against Watermelon and putting him against the kitchen counter. "Was it," he breathed, eyes closed, snatching another kiss, "horrible like this?"

The redhead growled slightly as the hard surface pressed into the arch of his back. "Absolutely," he huffed, hands sliding up and tracing the blond's jawline, tasting the bitter morning in Helix's mouth and the soft smell of his blankets. "Only," he inhaled sharply, arching his head back to make an iota of space for himself when Helix was putting most of his weight on him, "only a thousand times worse."

"Worse?"

Watermelon felt a slight compression in his side, and realised Helix's hands were trailing over his torso, and down. "Bad as this?"

He almost feared to look into his roommate's eyes. He regretted looking in the end, because Helix's eyes were dilated, looking up at him and blinking slowly, longingly. "You're stupid, and it's eight in the morning," he snapped.

"Maybe," Helix's eyes fluttered open, close. "So just what kind of dream was it, baby?"

There were a lot of things he had never admitted in his life. A plethora. It was just the way he lived: with a mountain of confessions built from day to day. A long-running one was that he didn't mind when Helix called him baby. What he didmind, though, was when the blond's body was completely pressed up against him, half-naked, and Helix was breathing down his neck.

Watermelon's entire body tensed.

It was a fucking hot dream.

He coughed. "It was a nightmare. I don't want to talk about it."

He felt Helix's hands slide around him, the weight lessen, and realised that he wasn't being crushed, nor molested. Helix was just hugging him, taking his word for once in a blue moon and not thinking at all that he had lied. The soft brush of spiky hair tickled his skin as the blond held him close, nose digging into his bare shoulders, hands pressing flat and warm against his sleeveless hoodie.

"You smell like morning breath, bitch," Wat?rmelon murmured into Helix's tangled hair, not about to admit he didn't mind the cuddling. In the corner of his eye he saw the two-foot tall mountain of french toast on the table. He felt his face burn and knew his cheeks were probably fuckin' cherry-coloured or something at the moment. Helix, pulling out of the hug and chortling like an idiot, followed his gaze to the table and only laughed more. "I guess we've got... French toast for breakfast, french toast for lunch and french toast for-" And then Wat?rmelon kissed him in all his shirtless, tangled-hair and morning-breath glory. Just to shut him up.

end