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@nathan.drake| ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

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I can carry a LOT of groceries. Like, a really impressive amount.

Either way I think I can hook you up with the brunette.

[wittingly]

and yet somehow you never smush the bread
like some kind of magic badass grocery wizard

yeah? you think you can get him to go out with me?

[nonscriptum]

I make sure it's on top so it stays fluffy, the way you like it.

How's tonight sound?

[wittingly]

i don't know, tonight's pretty booked
i guess i can reschedule binge watching Lost for the fourteenth time
what do you want for dinner?

[nonscriptum]

You've only watched it thirteen times? Amateur.

Breakfast for dinner?

[wittingly]

I'm sorry I can't live up to your impossible standards

pancakes or waffles

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:)

Which one is currently appealing to you? The surrealist unpredictability of pancakes, or the uniformity and equivalent syrup distribution of waffles?

[wittingly]

thank you for posing such an interesting philosophical quandary, the likes of which may bring insight to my very essence

syrup pockets.

[nonscriptum]

Waffles it is.

[ There are benefits to being where they are. Actual food instead of protein bar rations, for one. ]

Truly boggles the mind how you derive pleasure from the dough grid. If I find out you're privately doing mental math with them I'm breaking up with you.

[wittingly]

maybe I am, and no you're not :)
look man
it's a matter of practicality and efficiency
all of the waffle toppings are contained within the confines of the waffle
waffles are good engineering
pancakes are chaos
you just slap shit on them and pray

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Maybe I LIKE the chaos. Every bite is different. What's that over there? Could be more syrup. Could be butter. Could be preserves. It's always a surprise.

Waffle toppings are only contained so long as you maintain the structural integrity of each unit. As soon as the dam breaks you lose your syrup reservoir. Boom, a flood that you can't mop up with a waffle because they're not as spongy and absorbent as pancakes.

Check and mate.

[wittingly]

what kind of maniac doesn't consider the structural integrity of the waffle when he partitions off a bite with his fork

there are literally gridlines to go by

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The walls between units are too thin, bisecting one perfectly requires the dexterity of a heart surgeon. The risk of breaking your own syrup levees is too high when the alternative is having a lake of syrup you can dip your pancake in. Clearly the superior option.

[wittingly]

I'm sorry you have imprecise hamfists
Some of the rest of us have finesse

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Personal attacks are very unbecoming, Ian.

[wittingly]

Alright, alright, I'm sorry
imprecise non-dexterous regular fists

besides, there's a tactic
it's an easy artform to master
I'll teach you

[nonscriptum]

I would argue that I've proven on multiple occasions to be extremely dexterous, but fine.

You can finesse me over dinner.

[wittingly]

I'll finesse you after dinner too

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I'm counting on it.

See you soon?

[wittingly]

be careful
no mark david chapmans

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I'm always careful.

[ Says the man whose career was built out of reckless self-endangerment.

Ian has a point, though: Nate has been attacked before, veritable strangers in the street who knew his image and either didn't like it, or liked it too much. Stalkers have come with the territory and it's why Sam despises his baby brother's forays back into the Congregation, why Ian has every right to be concerned, and there's an entire mailbox he never looks at the contents of because early on he learned that some letters are better left unread.

The flat is private and of much higher living standards than a large majority of the Aerie, but he knows better than to take it for granted and getting to pass through the threshold of public eye to intimate eye always takes the tension out of his shoulders.

Nate drops his keys in the bowl, two-tone whistling his arrival down the hall. ]

[wittingly]

[ He says it like it's a joke, but it's really not. He's been around for some of the horror stories -- at least, the ones Nate's told him. Obviously he can handle himself, that's part of what he does for a living, but that doesn't make Ian any less worried.

He's in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a spatula in hand and flour on his shirt, the remains of measuring cups and spoons adorning the counter beside him because the man's precise as hell about his cooking. Music is playing because it always is, because Ian is predictable. ]

We don't want any.

[ Called out wryly, without abandoning the eggs. Classic dad joke, and why he has that trait when he isn't nor has he ever had a dad is beyond anyone's comprehension. ]

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Oh, that's a shame.

[ It's a stupid joke but he smiles nonetheless, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it onto the coat hook. The air is warm and filled with the very, very old music that Ian is particularly fond of, and the smell of batter sizzling in a greased pan. The opposite of what his organized team would suggest for dinner - something something protein, fiber, balanced diet - and for that reason he likes it all the more.

Ian is hovering over the humble little stove eyeing the hot surface with the meticulous air of a man dedicated to making perfectly circular pancakes.

With little preamble Nate slides a hand around the small of Ian's back to his waist, dropping a kiss to his be-sweatered shoulder. ]

Hi.

[wittingly]

[ You better believe his damn pancakes are perfectly circular. If he's going to engineer chaos, it's going to be the most controlled chaos you've ever seen.

Fortunately spatula duty only takes one hand, so the other's free to drop down and settle over Nate's arm at his waist. With it, the gentle settling back into the body behind him and the almost-turn of his head to catch a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. ]

Hi. Listen. Before you say anything... That was not my fault.

[ Followed by a pointed look over at a plate beside the stove.

Atrocities like that don't happen in waffle irons. ]

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[ It's a little bit like a miracle, honestly. All at once the tension from the rest of the day bleeds from him at the sight of that absolutely hideous, malformed pancake, and Ian's attempts at doing this are that much more appreciated for the effort. Nate laughs with a choked sound, not wanting to mock the handiwork but utterly delighted by how horrific it looks. ]

That's terrifying, I love it.

[ He hooks his chin on Ian's shoulder and grins, reaching out with his free hand to messily pluck a blueberry eye from the disaster before popping it into his mouth. ]

Not bad.