Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Peppermint (Pooflespresso)

Warning: This chapter is not for smut virgins or anyone who tries to avoid sexually explicit content.
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"You wanna coffee?" I turn away from the monitors and see Preston standing at the end of the bar with his phone in his hand and his messy bedhead covered with a fire beanie. He definitely looks and sounds like he just crawled out of bed, something you wouldn't expect from him of all people at three in the afternoon. He wasn't lying when he said that me flying down for two weeks to visit him would distract him: a lost bet on the H3M server turned into a very long, very loud payment, and before we knew it, we were eating breakfast at the Ranch House café at eight in the morning without a second's worth of sleep. Preston isn't accustomed to going several days in a row without sleep, and his stockpile of Red Bulls has evaporated. He looks absolutely exhausted, like he just woke up at his desk after passing out.

"Yeah, sure. Let me get my shoes and we'll go."

"Go where?"

"Out to get coffee." He frowns and turns around to point behind him on the counter.

"We're not gonna go get coffee. I'm gonna make coffee."

"You're going to make coffee?" He nods and he turns and starts digging through his cupboards for mugs and drink mixes. "Wait, you're going to make coffee?"

"Are you always this dumb or does it just happen when you're stayin' with me?"

"Hey, bro. I'm just saying that I'm a little... concerned that you're going to try to make coffee." He turns on his fancy barista-style coffeemaker and lets it warm up while he gives me a warning glare. Someone is in a touchy mood today. He is such a sore loser in the late, late morning.

" 'Do or do not. There is no try.' It's a freakin' cup of coffee. I've made like a hundred of these. They're really not that hard as long as you don't burn the whole kitchen down like some people." He looks at me with wide eyes and a snotty smile on his face while he opens a bag of coffee beans and starts scooping them into the grinder.

"I didn't mean for the dish towel to catch on fire, okay? I thought the burner was off and-"

"Famous last words, dude. You're never gonna cook in my house again, you hear me?"

"So now you're going to-"

"Never. Again. You're gonna be a foodless, jobless man until you climb on a Chocobo and fly back home. I don't care if you burn crap down up there." I'm tempted to push my flight back again to Thursday just to show him how unreasonable banning me from the stove is. Ninety percent of the time, he isn't willing to pause his newest anime obsession to cook, and we would literally eat our way through our paychecks in less than a week if we had to eat out for every meal.

"What about-"

"Eh."

"You-"

"Nope."

"Preston-"

"Nada."

"Microwave." He turns to look at me just so I can see him shaking his head.

"Tuna. You get that little foil baggie of tuna crap Mom sent over and I'll buy you some little Vienna wieners next time we're at the store. That's all ya get."

"Preston, that's dog food."

"Woof, woof." I wait until he goes back to his coffee machine and I sneak up behind him as soon as he turns the grinder on. He jumps when I put my arms around him and I pull him back toward me with my hands on his hips. I see him looking at me warily in our reflection in the glass cabinets. "Fudge you."