It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of calm that comes before a massive tsunami destined to wipe out even the cockroaches from the earth. And the fungi.
Peter stepped cautiously into his apartment, noting that the tv was off and the carpet was clean. He set his book bag down by the kitchen table, tension coursing through his system.
Something was off.
Then, like a perfectly timed disaster, Wade bounced out of their bedroom, naked body covered in sparkling glitter, wailing an off-key rendition of 'happy birthday' while holding out a lopsided cupcake (with a single sparkling candle burning proudly) that Peter could only assume Wade had baked himself. And with the ever present grace of a stumbling elephant on a tightrope, Wade tripped over the loose rug and let the cupcake fly, straight onto Peter's face.
Peter couldn't help but laugh. He wiped some of the cream from his face and tasted it before offering a hand down to Wade.
"Thank you," he murmured, pulling him up.
Wade wrapped his arms snugly around Peter. "You think that's worth thanking me for? Wait till you see what I did to our room. Spoiler alert: there's a live Mariachi band and I had to tear up the curtains to wrap your gift. And there may be a couple of holes in the wall but you can just pretend that we now have a lake-side view."