Nolan Home for Wayward Refugees, 33 Apocalypse, Sunday Late Morning

[hotceltogoth]

Ronan blearily wandered downstairs and towards the kitchen, flicking the on-switch on the coffee pot before collapsing onto a stool at the counter. Give him a few moments, and there'll be breakfast cooking, though.

First, coffee. All the coffee. Remind Ronan to never go on errantry again, okay? No? Fine, just give him a few days to recover first.

Comments

[icecoldfrost]

Emma hadn't been able to make it in yesterday for graduation due to the Portalocity price hike - fucking assholes - but she was here today, her battered old duffle from when she first arrived at Fandom over her shoulder as she trudged up Ronan's sidewalk.

Red-eye portals sucked.

Exhausted, she poked at his brain at the same time she rang the bell. "Dear God, darling, tell me you have coffee."

[hotceltogoth]

"And breakfast," he replied, smiling despite the fatigue. "Lots and lots of breakfast. How do you want your eggs?"

Other than, y'know, fattening.

[icecoldfrost]

"Scrambled, and if you make a dirty joke out of that I will kill you with my brain," Emma informed him cheerfully as she tossed her bag just inside the door and made her way to him. "Kiss kiss, darling. Did you miss me?"

[hotceltogoth]

Ronan laughed. "Always, love," he replied, grinning. He cracked a few eggs into a bowl and started scrambling them, tossing in some paprika and a little basil. "Whole wheat bagel, cinnamon raisin, or cheddar jalapeno?"

[... Making myself hungry, dammit.]