Bedroom Antics

A Kitchen Encounter

its 2:36 am. i just ate 2 microwave mini pizzas and chugged a beer which inspired me to write this. be warned.

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The house echoes with each of Regie's steps down the expansive staircase. No matter how gentle he tries to be somehow a ricochet of noise still resounds across the room with each step. Despite his minor concern for the other's boys' sleep, he can't bring himself to turn back from his mission. He's already nearly halfway down the staircase and the kitchen seems to beacon him, its soft glow from the oven light illuminating his path, convincing him to continue and ignore the creaking which accompanies the journey.

When he finally rounds the corner and finds himself in the kitchen he doesn't waste any more time before darting to the fridge. Opening the fridge door the buzzing blue light illuminates his features. The darkness of the rest of the kitchen shadows his figure besides his soft lips which jut out in a slight pout as he examines his options. His soft eyes dart along the contents of the fridge, examining each item thoroughly (no matter how tired he may be). After a long day of filming, he doesn't have the energy to prepare something elaborate and healthy. A smoothie would be too loud (if he thought the creaking was bad enough he's sure the boys would murder him if he started blending something). A random handful of cheese or the loose carrot wouldn't suffice his rumbling appetite.

His eyes land on tonight's leftovers. Well, technically Oliver's leftovers. Oliver had door dashed some food for himself (selfish) and tucked away the remainders behind the energy drinks and milk. Oliver was clever enough to disguise his leftovers, but not clever enough to have bought himself a mini-fridge by now to keep his leftovers secret from the ravenous boys he lives with. Or he could have labeled the food so that Regie wouldn't have the opportunity to play innocent and naive after eating them.

With a mild smirk, Regie reaches for the plastic bag. The bag contains 2 to-go boxes which Regie eagerly sets on the kitchen island. The first box is some fancy steak, a perfect combination of charred and medium-rare and only half-eaten. Regie doesn't even bother with checking the second box before gnawing at the piece of meat. Steak is one of the best leftover foods, he thinks. Nothing about it gets soggy or too cold as a leftover. If he had any more energy in him he'd toss it on a pan and bother to heat it up (that probably wouldn't be too loud... it's a pretty big house after all). But Regie pushes those thoughts aside and continues with his gnawing at the meat until it's gone.

Only then does his attention turn to the second box, his stomach still craving a little more, those extra few bites which will completely satisfy him. As his fingers reach towards it, his jaw clenching with that mild anticipation that only comes about when desperately hungry and just a bit sleep deprived. But a rustling behind him stops his motion, his head snapping around to see Oliver turning the corner into the kitchen.

"Bro, please don't tell me you just ate my leftovers," he says. His voice is a bit gravelly. Regie assumes he's been asleep for a few hours and just awoken, perhaps to come have his own midnight snack of the leftovers which he'd stashed away for such an instance. Did he have some kind of spider-sense that Regie had found his prized leftovers?

"Uhhh, I got bad news for you man," Regie answers. His classic smirk crosses his lips, eyes turning into crescents with a guilty smile. Despite his compromising position, he somehow still pulls it off, his familiar suave pose taking over.

Oliver brushes off the gesture as he approaches, silently examining the state of the two boxes. "Ahh, well at least you saved the best for last."

Regie quirks a brow but doesn't ask more. He just observes as Oliver opens the second box to reveal a fancy-looking slice of cake. It's some overly frosted type of cake, rich-looking chocolate with cherries across the top.