Once a good majority of the chores were complete, the pair flopped down onto the sofa, attempting to bury themselves as deep within their puffy confines as possible. Eight watched, chuckling, as the sofa succeeded in swallowing the older man entirely.

"Ahh...my feet ache." Two murmured, slipping his shoes off and gently rubbing his heels. Eight was used to being on his feet for long periods of time, so this kind of work didn't cause him physical problems. Two, however, was notorious for always having some kind of physical ailment.

Eight raised his eyebrows, watching the inventor. His feet were tiny! He had no idea how a forty-something inventor with a growth disorder could look so adorable! He cracked a smile and bit his lip.

"Your feet are so small." He pointed out, "What size are they?"

Two frowned at this, still rubbing his painfully sore heels. "My feet aren't that small." He retorted, defensively. Eight rolled his eyes, before grabbing one of his shoes from the floor and checking the size himself. He snorted, loudly, before tossing the shoe back to the floor. "I can't believe you have size three feet. That's just adorable." He teased, and Two actually pouted. His cheeks puffed out slightly and his eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to look somewhat threatening. Eight laughed aloud and immediately regretted it.

"Aw man, don't be mad. It's a good thing! You got a charm about you. Everybody thinks you're cute." He said, gently poking the inventor's forehead. Two crossed his arms, to show just how annoyed he was. It proved futile, as Eight lifted the inventor up and cradled him slightly. Two flushed, hiding his face in his small hands.

"Stop it...This is embarrassing." He whined, and Eight grinned. "Not until you stop pouting." He retorted, and Two sighed. "Fine...I'll stop pouting." He sounded reluctant, but Eight could practically hear the smile emerging on his face. Eight set him down, like his promised.

"What time are the others coming home?" Two asked, checking his watch, which Eight swore was always on the wrong time. Eight shrugged. "No clue. I guess around five." He glanced at Two's watch which was blatantly the wrong time, as it read 02:36 am.

"We have two hours...I was thinking of cooking something new for dinner, and I might need you to go food shopping." Eight brought his legs up so he was sat cross legged on the sofa, as he watched Two with interest. "What are you planning on making?"

"I'm not sure yet. I just feel like making something new! You don't think the others would mind, do you?" He painfully pushed himself off the couch and, due to sore heels, tiptoed over to the kitchen, where he pulled out a thick cookbook. Eight shifted his position on the couch so he was leaning over the armrest as he watched Two flick open the overwhelmingly large book.

"Maybe some kind of hotpot..." He muttered to himself, skimming the pages. Eight had no idea how he could read so quickly! Eight wasn't overly gifted in the intelligence area, but it wasn't his fault all the letters moved around! He found reading to be stupidly difficult; more so than other people and he envied those who could read without thinking about it.

"Alright...alright, I think I have something! Eight, do you mind heading to the shops for me? Here, I'll write you a list." Two said, quickly grabbing a scrap of paper and a pen. Eight painfully rose from the couch, searching for something to wear on his feet. He slipped a pair of leather sandals onto his feet as Two pushed a piece of paper in his hands, and promptly pushed him out of the door.

The sun was a little way over the sky now, shining brightly down onto him as he ambled towards the local shops, going through the list as he did. Eight winced outwardly and shoved the paper into his pocket. Two had notoriously horrendous handwriting, so reading anything written by him was deemed an impossible task. As if Eight didn't have trouble reading already.

A wave of cool air rustled Eight's hair as he stepped into the store. He grabbed a basket from beside the automatic doors, and began traversing the aisles, squinting at the scrap of paper. Peppers...chilli? No, celery. Wait, or was it chilli? Whatever, he'd just get both.

For the things he couldn't make out on the list, he decided to guess. The list was mainly lots of meat and vegetables. He picked out a few boxes of chicken and beef and piled them into his basket. He ended up grabbing both the celery and chilli as well.

He was held up in a queue for about ten minutes, but waited patiently. The metal basket handle was digging painfully into his fingers by the time he reached register and he plonked the basket down on the belt with relief. He read back through the list to make sure he hadn't missed anything. The cashier rung the ingredients up as Eight sorted through the bills in his wallet, before passing the money over. He grabbed the bags, and left.

He had a feeling he'd been short changed, but Math was never his strong suit. Neither was English. Or Science...

He decided to use the time on the walk home to reflect on himself. He couldn't help but feel lazy. He had never wanted to pursue further education after college, like lots of other people he knew. Lots of his classmates were excited to move out and attend university but not him. In fact, he was scared.

He could remember lots of times he feared for the future in his life. Such as moving away from Brazil, despite being young, produced problems for him. Making the transition from school to school was also unnerving and leaving school altogether was downright terrifying. He hadn't a clue what he wanted to do with his life. He felt...unfulfilled.

Of course, he enjoyed what he did now. If there was something he excelled at above everybody else, it was the structure and history of weaponry. He loved weapons, especially as a child. His father was a soldier and, before he left, he showed Eight the multitude of weapons he had acquired. Eight never really found the idea of joining the military appealing, like most people assumed he did. Of course he was bulky and athletically gifted, so it was no wonder people thought he'd pursue a military career, but they were wrong. He liked weapons, and there was no doubt he was good at using them, but he didn't really like fighting people seriously.

He figured if he thought any more on the subject, he might depress himself.

Once he arrived him, he almost dropped the shopping bags trying to fumble with the door and, once he though he had it, Two suddenly opened the door, giving him a fright.

"Jeez, don't do that!" Eight gasped, slightly. Two raised an eyebrow. "What, open the door?" He smiled, reaching over to take a few bags. "Thanks for doing this. Hopefully it'll turn out well. Did you get everything on the list?" He asked, peering into the plastic bags. "I got everything I could read..." Eight muttered, with a snicker. Two rolled his eyes, but smiled softly. "I know my handwriting isn't the best..."

"I can barely read as it is. Reading something written by you is like reading Greek," Eight pointed out, placing the bags on the kitchen counter and getting each item out one by one. Two chuckled, which spiralled into a coughing fit. "Have you tried seeing a specialist?"

"Have you tried seeing a doctor? That cough is getting worse."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I went about two days ago. It's a chest infection; nothing special. As for you, I do recommend you mention that to somebody." He said, seriously. Eight shrugged it off with an uneasy smile. "What, tell somebody that I can barely read? I'd rather not." He said, humourlessly. Two sighed, giving his bulky shoulder a pat with his tiny hand.

"From what you described to me, I think it might be dyslexia. You don't have any visual impairments do you?" Two asked, pulling an oversized pan out of the cupboard above the oven. Eight shook his head. "I can see perfectly fine. It's just...reading is hard." He felt like he was whining. He didn't usually talk about himself to the others, but it was nice to unload his problems once in a while. Two was typically the most understanding of the group, but not the most relatable. Two was sympathetic, while Six was empathetic.

One was painfully apathetic.

Although Eight supposed Two would be empathetic in this situation. Although he could read very well, he couldn't see an inch in front of his own face without his glasses. Eight looked over at the older man with a smile. Two seemed to spot this out of corner of his eye.

"What are you smiling at?"

"How did you get your glasses?"

Two looked mildly confused. "I...I went to an opticians?" He said, quizzically. Eight shook his head, placing a few ingredients on the chopping board. "No, I mean...were you born with awful sight, or did it just happen?" He asked, pulling a knife from a drawer. Two seemed to mull this over.

"Well I wore them as a child...Of course, as an infant, you can't really tell anybody that you can't see and since I was used to having bad sight as a child, I never thought to mention it. When I was about six, my teacher noticed I wasn't progressing as fast as the other kids in my class. I didn't do any work, because I couldn't, and she assumed I was just a problematic child so, when she called my mother, she told her just that."

"My mother found it strange. She told my teacher I was a smart kid and she couldn't figure out why I wasn't doing my work. Then she deduced that I had horrible sight and when she took me to an optician, they gave me glasses and all of a sudden, I could see properly." He laughed softly and Eight tilted his head in intrigue. "How did your mum deduce that you couldn't see right?" Two snorted suddenly, and began laughing.

"She told me she walked over to the back of the room and held her middle finger up at me. I, not being able to see what she was doing, didn't react to it and with that, she figured it out." He said, between chuckles. Eight stared vacantly, before bursting into laughter. "She did that? Wow, your mum sounds awesome!" Two smiled fondly. "I suppose she is. What about your mother?"

Eight thought about that for a minute. "I love her. She can manage a whole family by herself, while my dad's out fighting." He began carefully chopping the celery. "Your mother can singlehandedly manage an entire family? That is impressive. Takes a lot of dedication, I assume." Two commented, putting oil in the pan.

"Are we a family?"

Two ended up spraying oil across the counter and himself. He looked up at Eight in surprise, to find his expression rather steely. "Huh? As in, all of us living here?" He asked, softly. Eight nodded quietly. Two looked down, thoughtfully, before looking back up at the bulking man with a smile.

"Yes."

Eight accidentally cut himself.

This is kinda short. Sorry I haven't updated anything in a while. I had a sudden creative streak all last week and when I started writing an original story (it's about witches ;w;) and I ended up getting lazy and not writing. It is nice to see people are excited to read my stuff uwu but I'm really, really sorry if I don't update for a while ;0;