macchiato | blake yumi

2. (don't) let him cook

hi! thank you for 170 reads <3 also isaac may be called 'is' but it's pronounced 'eyes' okay. thank u love u bye.

ʚ ✮ ɞ

"mimu, you look so pretty like this! wait a second!" you hear blake say as he pulls out his ancient phone camera. you rub your face around the fur of the baby you have in your arms (egg! your shared cat) as you wait for the results of the pictures.

"mmm... are we sure?" you say, as you take in the picture. even you had to admit it was kind of cute. egg was really cute, but you looked cute too. the fact that you guys were under a cherry blossom tree makes the photo all the more special.

you feel your heart pounding and yourself smiling, speechless as blake leans in...

"yumi. dude, that's not how you flip a fucking pancake!!!" you could hear nick say, "dude?! yes it fucking is!!!!" you'd know that voice from anywhere.

you tried to hang onto the dream state you were in, trying with all your might to hang onto the alternate universe that featured an ideal life,

however, you're awoken from your slumber due to pancake debates. you think it's a tuesday as you stretch your tiresome arms. you make a decision to brace yourself and venture into the dangerous kitchen.

rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, it takes a minute to adjust to the light difference from the dark hole you'd just spent eight? seven? hours in.

"what are you guys doing?!" you question, crossing your arms. blake drops the whisk into the pancake mix, and nick turns to look at you and smiles.

you observe the two bickering boys in the comfort of one of yumis many, many giant tshirts.

"you ruined it. you're starting to piss me off." blake says sassily. you hold in your laughter as he turns to nick, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head.

"okay well maybe you should've thought about that before you added that much flour... this is not mozzarella stick class, yumi!" nick says, looking at you for support.

you were too busy taking your best friend in, eight hours without him and you're starting to think you're dependent. scanning his apron, his stupid 'call me daddy' apron, and his wonky 'don't mess with the chef' hat. you end up laughing as you make eye contact with nick, holding your head in your hands.

"yumi, you're too ridiculously goofy for this shit. i don't think gordon would be that impressed." you murmur, smiling at the way his hair is yet again justin bieber-fied.

unbenknownst to you, you were the sole reason that blake was keeping his hair long. he knew that anytime he cut his hair, you'd be at his door. when you were at his door, he'd always expect you to be holding a weapon in vengeance for his hair.

he turns to you with raised eyebrows, saying nothing but pointing to his apron. that stupid, stupid apron.

"nawwww i don't know who yumi is.." he ponders tapping his foot on the floor. you shake your head at him. "i think i only respond to my aprons alias...???" he turns to nick, looking for back up.

"uhh... do you want strawberries on your pancakes, mimu?" nick asks, desperately diverting the direction of this conversation.

you nod, smiling as you attempt to comb out your hair with your fingers.

anyway, you and yumi both adore pancakes- this was all thanks to the sixteen year old versions of you guys that would find yourselves outside a tiny store that sold an arrangement of things.

a little building with black, tall windows. "hi! i've never seen you round here before.. are you applying here too?" you say as you look up at the boy blocking your intake of sunlight. even the sane distance held between the both of you made you melt.