Cup o' Noodles
Duo leapt through the window, and tiptoed through the bedroom to the kitchen. The chocolate syrup jar was empty. He grinned, and carried on with his mission. He found the two-month stash of cup o' noodles, and shoveled them into a trash bag. He swung the bag at passing pigeons for a while, wondering what to do with it, then headed up to Fifth Avenue to drop Cup O' Noodles on women wearing fur coats.
The next day, Heero again bought an instant mocha from the machine and walked home, but swore when he opened his cupboard.
He opened the other cupboards curiously. Pasta . . canned tomato stuff . . . spices, still well wrapped, probably still good. He dug out a pan and colander, and frowned at the lack of fresh garlic. He cut some fresh rosemary from the plant in the window box, and soon the complex and streets outside were filled with the smell. He let it simmer while he scrubbed out the cupboard under the sink, where the noodles had been. It had been windy walking home, and he was glad of his sweetened coffee. His hair stood up from the buffeting, and kept falling into his mouth-- he'd grown it to his shoulders for the wedding, as length alone forced it into admitting the existence of gravity. When the pasta was done, his mouth twitched as he tossed it to stick to the perfect pink wall.
Duo sniffed ecstatically as he flew in the window, and helped himself. He'd been waiting for Heero to go to bed, sitting on the Not-Intended-For-Human-Bottoms railing, meeting glares with the neighbor's Persian, and he heaved a sigh of relief as the breathing in the bedroom finally evened.
Heero slept uneasily, and Duo hovered over him, frowning down at him through crossed legs as he ate the spaghetti. 'I wonder what you'd look like if you woke up and saw me floating.' He laughed at this, and did a somersault in the air. He leaned over before he left, and kissed him again, and the frown smoothed, and the fists on the covers loosened. He left Heero the dishes.
The next morning, Heero took some of the pasta in a Tupperware, frowning at the amount left in the pan. Shallot looked over at the smell. "Takeaway, sir?"
He shook his head, struggling with keeping his papers tidy in the face of spaghetti sauce. He finally just pushed his chair away from the desk and ate near the window. "No, I actually cooked."
Her eyes widened. "It smells delicious, sir." He smiled slightly, remembering the light layer of dust on the uncooked pasta. The view from his office window was impressive, once he lifted the blinds, and he sat looking at it for some time with the empty tupperware in his lap. After the company hour was up, he reluctantly stood, then returned and opened the window. The breeze smelled of fog, damp cement, and pigeons.
On the walk home, he stopped in the little convenience store, and picked up bok choy, steak, some sort of brown sauce, and pretty coloured things for a stir fry. He stuck three jars of chocolate syrup in the basket, and frowned at the SPECIAL DOUBLE TALL MOCHA sign by the counter. Juggling his two bags with his latte cup on his way out, he wondered how long it had been. Glancing in a storefront window, he smiled slightly, and wiped the foam off his upper lip.
(If anyone wondered, I'm using OCs because I couldn't see anyone from the GW universe in those roles. And yes, they are both named after vegetables. I don't know if anyone else from canon will make an appearance-- I'm liking the focus on Heero and Duo. Also, I have an incredibly limited attention span. If you read this and liked it, I'd be prostrate with grateful sobs if you clicked that 'review' button . . . thanks! )