I woke Quatre the next morning with a breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup. I had contemplated, momentarily, a sweeter treat, for I knew the local diner specialized in waffles coated in strawberries and icecream, topped liberally with whipped cream. It was a delicacy to die for, but it was also packed with sugar. This situation was making Quatre jumpy enough, and I hesitated to see what the extra load of energy would do to him. No, I wouldn't offer him something that sweet for breakfast. Perhaps after dinner, for dessert. Quatre was still asleep when the food arrived, but the smell must have roused him, for he ventured from the bedroom before I was finished serving it.
"Master?" he wondered tentatively, still rubbing his eyes from sleep.
"Come eat," I instructed, pulling out a chair for him at the breakfast nook before seating myself on the opposite side. He padded softly forward, reluctantly dropping into the seat opposite me. He used only one hand to reach for the syrup, the other holding the blankets tightly shut under his chin, letting not an inch of skin show other than his face and right arm. I smiled, slightly amused at his antics after all the skin he had revealed to me last night. I would not let his hesitancy ruin my mood. After all, my bad mood would only cause more fright in him, and I didn't want him any more upset than he needed to be. Better to stay calm and relaxed, lest he think I was mad at him or some other such nonsense. "Do you like pancakes?" I asked him, cutting myself another piece. He merely nodded, already shoveling a piece of the syrup-covered dough into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then reached for the syrup and doused the pancakes with it once again. Perhaps the waffles would have had less sugar, with how heavily he was using the syrup. "Quatre... Far be it from me to tell you how to prepare food, but it is generally accepted that one should have more pancake on the plate than syrup. Maybe you should go a little easier on it"
He blushed, setting the maple syrup aside instantly, wearing that hangdog expression he always got when he thought I was criticizing him. "I'm sorry, Master," he mumbled, using his fork to pick at his food. I sighed, then reached across the table, lifted the syrup, and dumped the whole thing on his plate. Quatre jumped, startled as I literally drenched his pancakes in syrup. "I really don't care how much syrup you use," I informed him, setting down the empty syrup container. "It was a suggestion, not a criticism. Now, eat your breakfast," I told him. He hesitated, his eyes still agog. After a moment he tentatively reached forward and picked up his fork, taking a piece of the now soggy pancake to his lips. "You aren't actually going to eat that, are you?" I asked, staring at the pathetic looking piece of pastry.
"I don't it to go to waste," Quatre replied softly. "It's already been wasted as I proved my point. Get another plate," I instructed, "You can dip your pancakes in the syrup if you want, but don't eat the ones I ruined"
"Yes, master," Quatre whispered, reaching for another plate. I sighed softly. This morning was not going as well as I had planned. But there was nothing I could think to say that would turn the mood around, so I let silence reign while we ate.
Removed for content.