January Meme: Day Three
Jan. 6th, 2017 07:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
balsamandashI'm gonna try and do more than one at a time, but for right now, I did a thing and I'm not sure I'll do more before sleep, so -- posting it is!
Day Three: Snowflake (frommisbegotten)
(Prompt list)
now I believe the sun, it's like a symphony
No Child is Spared (original, sometimes better known as Cupcake-verse), Dave & Teddy, 592 words
Content warnings: Mentions of seasonal depression
So I had a shit week and am finally starting to find my feet, so I... write about someone recovering from a hard couple of months and finding a good morning. This was not a weird kind of catharsis at all. Also I hadn't written Dave and Teddy being happy in a while and I wanted to, so, yeah. Anyone unfamiliar with the verse, basically, a lot of people with shitty childhoods and backgrounds for various reasons end up eventually happy and orbiting a bakery. That's the nutshell, anyway.
Also the snowflakes in question are less the weather and more the rosettes, which my family has called snowflakes my entire life and I actually had to google "snowflake cookie fryer" to figure out the real name.
It's Dave's first day off in close to two months.
Even the first year the bakery was open -- when it was him in the kitchen and Anya on deliveries and whoever he had a day off from their real job on the register, when hardly anybody knew they were there and a customer count in the double digits was more than he hoped for most days -- the holidays had slammed them, compared to what they'd been doing. Last year, he'd thought he'd be ready, with his full staff and his ability to take at least one full day off every week, and before even Thanksgiving he'd known he was lying to himself. This year, he hadn't even pretended they wouldn't be so busy their heads would spin.
But now it's January; school is over and everyone is back to work, and they've survived, and after making sure everyone else had a solid two days off of work to rest, Dave can finally relax himself.
It's just past seven; there's snow falling outside in the first rays of sunlight, and oil sizzling on the stove, and if there's a perfect morning, this might be it.
He hums absently under his breath as he counts seconds, fingertips drumming on the counter. The oil pops and crackles over the low hum of the heat and the fridge. It's quiet, but for the first time in a little while, the quiet doesn't make him want to tear his hair out.
It hasn't been a bad winter. It's been a busy winter; he hasn't been able to think of much besides the store since November. He'll have to make up for that, bring his mother something to make up for practically falling asleep at the dinner table on Christmas if nothing else. But that had been better than the years where he smiled through it even though he couldn't really find any excitement to summon up for it.
This year, even running himself ragged trying to make all his orders, even when all he did was get up-go to work-come home-sleep, and nothing else for days on end, he'd kept his head. Maybe he should feel ridiculous, being glad he'd kept too busy to get too sad, but no one's going to call him on it.
And if he chooses to celebrate with a sunrise, a rosette iron, and a quiet sense of relief that it's past December and already halfway to spring, well, there's worse ways to do it.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway disturb the quiet as he sinks the iron into the oil, and that's something to celebrate, too.
"Figured you'd be tired of cooking by now," Teddy teases him, sliding an arm around his waist, and Dave leans back, part of his brain still counting up, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
"You should know better than that by now." Twenty-nine, thirty. He pulls the rosette out and taps it off the iron before setting it down, turning around to kiss Teddy and settle his arms around his neck. "Besides, it's starch and sugar. It's like french toast, but seasonal."
"You don't have to convince me." They grin at each other for a moment, like they're kids getting away with something by having cookies for breakfast, and Dave loves him so much sometimes he feels like he'll float away with it. "You're off all day?"
"Unless someone sets something on fire."
"Good." Teddy kisses him again, wet hair flopping forward to brush against Dave's forehead and hands warm against his back, and he was wrong after all; if there's a perfect morning, this is it.
Day Three: Snowflake (from
misbegotten)(Prompt list)
now I believe the sun, it's like a symphony
No Child is Spared (original, sometimes better known as Cupcake-verse), Dave & Teddy, 592 words
Content warnings: Mentions of seasonal depression
So I had a shit week and am finally starting to find my feet, so I... write about someone recovering from a hard couple of months and finding a good morning. This was not a weird kind of catharsis at all. Also I hadn't written Dave and Teddy being happy in a while and I wanted to, so, yeah. Anyone unfamiliar with the verse, basically, a lot of people with shitty childhoods and backgrounds for various reasons end up eventually happy and orbiting a bakery. That's the nutshell, anyway.
Also the snowflakes in question are less the weather and more the rosettes, which my family has called snowflakes my entire life and I actually had to google "snowflake cookie fryer" to figure out the real name.
It's Dave's first day off in close to two months.
Even the first year the bakery was open -- when it was him in the kitchen and Anya on deliveries and whoever he had a day off from their real job on the register, when hardly anybody knew they were there and a customer count in the double digits was more than he hoped for most days -- the holidays had slammed them, compared to what they'd been doing. Last year, he'd thought he'd be ready, with his full staff and his ability to take at least one full day off every week, and before even Thanksgiving he'd known he was lying to himself. This year, he hadn't even pretended they wouldn't be so busy their heads would spin.
But now it's January; school is over and everyone is back to work, and they've survived, and after making sure everyone else had a solid two days off of work to rest, Dave can finally relax himself.
It's just past seven; there's snow falling outside in the first rays of sunlight, and oil sizzling on the stove, and if there's a perfect morning, this might be it.
He hums absently under his breath as he counts seconds, fingertips drumming on the counter. The oil pops and crackles over the low hum of the heat and the fridge. It's quiet, but for the first time in a little while, the quiet doesn't make him want to tear his hair out.
It hasn't been a bad winter. It's been a busy winter; he hasn't been able to think of much besides the store since November. He'll have to make up for that, bring his mother something to make up for practically falling asleep at the dinner table on Christmas if nothing else. But that had been better than the years where he smiled through it even though he couldn't really find any excitement to summon up for it.
This year, even running himself ragged trying to make all his orders, even when all he did was get up-go to work-come home-sleep, and nothing else for days on end, he'd kept his head. Maybe he should feel ridiculous, being glad he'd kept too busy to get too sad, but no one's going to call him on it.
And if he chooses to celebrate with a sunrise, a rosette iron, and a quiet sense of relief that it's past December and already halfway to spring, well, there's worse ways to do it.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway disturb the quiet as he sinks the iron into the oil, and that's something to celebrate, too.
"Figured you'd be tired of cooking by now," Teddy teases him, sliding an arm around his waist, and Dave leans back, part of his brain still counting up, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
"You should know better than that by now." Twenty-nine, thirty. He pulls the rosette out and taps it off the iron before setting it down, turning around to kiss Teddy and settle his arms around his neck. "Besides, it's starch and sugar. It's like french toast, but seasonal."
"You don't have to convince me." They grin at each other for a moment, like they're kids getting away with something by having cookies for breakfast, and Dave loves him so much sometimes he feels like he'll float away with it. "You're off all day?"
"Unless someone sets something on fire."
"Good." Teddy kisses him again, wet hair flopping forward to brush against Dave's forehead and hands warm against his back, and he was wrong after all; if there's a perfect morning, this is it.
