macchiato | blake yumi

4. did somebody say mariah carey?

(1k reads— my 10 year old self is crying hehe. u guys are so special 🧘🏼‍♀️ thank you for ever. 💕)

the chocolate chip pancake batter hits the frying pan as you wonder what fruit remains in the fridge untouched by your stinky housemates.

(praying for strawberries that aren't five months old)

it was a pretty sight- february sunlight tearing through the light space you called home- everything now more visible thanks to the blinds being open, and windows filtering crisp air.

pancakes for 6 people isn't a hard task to carry out when you're not in the process of being bombarded by stinky boys.

as the chocolate chips in the pink nestle bag dwindled, you waltzed to the pantry in hopes of retrieving another.

"huh?" for some reason, unbeknownst to you, the door wouldn't budge. so this time you ran into the door, kicked it and pushed it with full force.

"gah dayum!!!"

so consumed in the mechanics of furniture, unable to sense the brown haired boy behind you. "MIMU??!?!?!!!!"

"AAAAAGHHHHHHHH??!!!???!!!" you yell in reply, turning to face the one person who towers over you.

blake's messy hair and pink t-shirt all go toward your heart. you almost break your neck trying to meet his eyes.

"oh my god i'm gonna actually jump you and you're gonna ascend and break all of your limbs" yelling at the brown haired boy.

"YOU ARE NOT WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE BLAKE!!!"

he really tries, really, to stifle his laughter, but you both end up stubbornly laughing together, and you smack the back of his head as he walks back toward the kitchen.

the rays of sunlight now witness to how he looks at you as you stumble around the kitchen "blake can you please find more plates. i swear to god they're like gold dust around here." you pout as you turn off the stove.

you guess that most of the boys would be woken up by the clanking of the plates. "i'm really proud of you for making pancakes mimu! a minor achievement. really." your bestfriend murmurs as he puts the spatula to work.

you bite your tongue, swat the back of his head, and decide to wake the others up "GUYS!!!! I HAVE PANCAKES!!!!!!!!!!"

"DID SOMEONE SAY PANCAKES??!!!?$?!?!" echoes across the stairs. you smile in response.

"you're the most annoying person on earth is swear to god. is your part time job being cringe? being a five year old?" tanner asks larry as they walk down the stairs together.

you roll your eyes as you pull them both down the stairs with their arms. it takes a while but eventually, the whole house is in order and in the process of digesting a billion pancakes.

it's a little later now, 11 in the morning and everyone is suspiciously being calm? calmer than usual which wouldn't concern the ordinary person, but knowing how your friends usually like to live life, it's not the usual.

they all avoid eye contact and it's unusually quiet.

"okay." you slam your hands on the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. "what's going on?" if isaac could talk with his own language, you'd guess he would be telling the others to act normal. "what do you mean mimu? we are just eating pancakes man."

isaac hugs you from behind and you elbow him in the ribs "YOU FUCKER" he rubs the now wounded spot as you smirk at him 'i am bilingual. in case you've forgotten" you convey with your eyes and he smiles at you, shaking his head in an effort to shrug off your declaration.