Title: Chocolate
Summary: Because eventually, even dreamers stop licking the spoon.
A/N: Hey guys; this is just a little drabble I came up with a few minutes ago, I don't own anything. Enjoy!
Eventually, things become no longer enjoyed, but rather hassles. Like, on a small scale, making chocolate fudge brownies. She sighed as she moved back and forth from oven to sink, sink to table, table to sink; and then the process repeated itself.
"I love brownies," he told her that afternoon. It was dreary and grey outside of her window and she put the egg shell in the trashcan next to where he was sitting at the counter.
"I know," she stated. A loud beep came from behind her.
"The oven's ready."
"I know," she repeated; nothing else, just I know. Swiftly she moved from the sink to her ingredients, which consisted of nothing but brownie mix, oil, water and eggs, poured the concoction into the glass baking dish and stuck the dish in the oven; all in a matter of seconds.
"Nice."
"I know," she volleyed for the third time that day. As an afterthought, she added, "...Shit, I hope that dish is oven-safe."
"Are you okay?" he asked timidly.
"I'm fine," she snapped. "Why, don't I look fine?"
He hopped down and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Don't I look fine," she repeated through gritted teeth.
"You look... tired. Maybe you need to take a day, just all to yourself. You know, hang by the beach, take a day off from school. I think it could do some good."
Her soapy hands went from her chest to her hips as she just stared at him, laughed incredulously and turned back to the task at hand.
The dog barked outside and she dried her hands off to let it in - just another thing to add to her list. "God damn dog," she muttered. "Maggie, get in here."
"You know what? I'll just take her for a walk around the block, okay?"
"Sure," she chimed in. "The leash is - oh, hell..."
"It's on the table, I'll get it. We'll be back soon," he went about his merry way as though the whole world were perfect, she noticed bitterly. He stuck his head back in the door briefly before leaving, "By the way, you can lick the spoons!"
She sighed and turned back to the sink and reached for the wooden spoon her mother had always used as a child, which was now covered in chocolatey goo. Slowly, like molasses, it dripped from the wood to the counter and she used one finger to swipe through the drivel, and stopped just before it met her mouth.
Without another thought, she patiently stuck the spoon - chocolate and all - back into the sudsy sink.
Because, eventually, even dreamers stop licking the spoon.
So, I'm really stressed out, and I was making brownies for my friend's birthday, and I didn't even lick the spoon. On top of that, everybody's just having a perfect day, and my life is just like, ugh, right now. I didn't have any specific pairing, so you can think of it as who you want. So, leave your thoughts.