(no subject)
Who: Jack Kelly, Miles Edgeworth
When: Six o'clock
Where: Sector Four, J&S's old apartment
Summary: . . . yes.
Warnings: NSFW
Naw jk it's just cooking.
To his eternal embarrassment, Jack found he rather enjoyed cooking.
It was Sirius's fault, really. One of them had to cook, and Sirius tended to end up getting distracted, forgetting he had to attend to the pan, burning their meal in the process-- and, despite his friend's numerous charms and talents, Jack suspected he himself was the more responsible of the two. So he had taken up the responsibility, checking out a basic cooking book from the library, occasionally starting fires in their old apartment as he tried to provide food that was at least halfway decent.
And then it wasn't such a chore, but a pleasure, a distraction for his hands and mind that produced increasingly edible results, and then it became something he didn't do for necessity, but for pleasure-- making things like turkey on Thanksgiving, or cookies, or bacon as a treat for when they'd all had a long day.
And now, Jack thought, rolling his eyes at himself, it was something he actively volunteered to do for other people. Alois this afternoon, Edgeworth tonight-- really, he thought, he ought to begin charging; it would make up for his sudden lack of funds now that he'd become the sort of man who only had one job.
Jack hummed softly as he cooked; Edgeworth wasn't due for another half an hour, which meant he had the place to himself. A place that, thank god, still looked somewhat lived in-- it was still in his and Sirius's name, after all, the lease hadn't yet run out, so it wasn't as if much had changed. It just looked neater than it ought to, neater than it should, given three boys supposedly lived there. But no matter, no matter; Edgeworth would likely be so nervous at the prospect of them eating together that he wouldn't bother noticing the apartment around them.
"Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away," he sang to himself, chopping carrots (smiling wryly as he did; vegetables would always be a permanent joke now). Say anything you wanted about the future, but at least they had halfway decent music.
When: Six o'clock
Where: Sector Four, J&S's old apartment
Summary: . . . yes.
Warnings: NSFW
Naw jk it's just cooking.
To his eternal embarrassment, Jack found he rather enjoyed cooking.
It was Sirius's fault, really. One of them had to cook, and Sirius tended to end up getting distracted, forgetting he had to attend to the pan, burning their meal in the process-- and, despite his friend's numerous charms and talents, Jack suspected he himself was the more responsible of the two. So he had taken up the responsibility, checking out a basic cooking book from the library, occasionally starting fires in their old apartment as he tried to provide food that was at least halfway decent.
And then it wasn't such a chore, but a pleasure, a distraction for his hands and mind that produced increasingly edible results, and then it became something he didn't do for necessity, but for pleasure-- making things like turkey on Thanksgiving, or cookies, or bacon as a treat for when they'd all had a long day.
And now, Jack thought, rolling his eyes at himself, it was something he actively volunteered to do for other people. Alois this afternoon, Edgeworth tonight-- really, he thought, he ought to begin charging; it would make up for his sudden lack of funds now that he'd become the sort of man who only had one job.
Jack hummed softly as he cooked; Edgeworth wasn't due for another half an hour, which meant he had the place to himself. A place that, thank god, still looked somewhat lived in-- it was still in his and Sirius's name, after all, the lease hadn't yet run out, so it wasn't as if much had changed. It just looked neater than it ought to, neater than it should, given three boys supposedly lived there. But no matter, no matter; Edgeworth would likely be so nervous at the prospect of them eating together that he wouldn't bother noticing the apartment around them.
"Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away," he sang to himself, chopping carrots (smiling wryly as he did; vegetables would always be a permanent joke now). Say anything you wanted about the future, but at least they had halfway decent music.