In Love With My Mobster Best Friend (mxmxm)

ONE: PRETENDING

Media: The Chainsmokers - Don't Let Me Down ft. Daya

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Coe's POV

I watched him walk past me towards his den, his eyes glinting with anger, a look I knew all too well. He was silent, his body tensed and I knew better than to ask him if he was alright. At the moment, all he wanted was quiet.

He needed to think. Something had gone wrong, again.

I turned down the volume on the television, curling into the couch slowly, leaning my head against the backrest of the couch as I listened to him enter his den.

The door of his den did not slam shut, indicating that he had yet to come to a decision about what ever he was troubled with. If he did, he would have closed the door so that I would not hear a word he had to say or do to solve his problem.

I glanced at the clock, sighing tiredly when I saw that it was almost midnight already. There was work tomorrow and I should probably be heading to bed soon. I hated that I was not making my way to my room right now. Instead, I was considering what were the ingredients we had in our fridge that I could whip up something simple for Jared to munch one when he needed to eat. Which he would need, once he had the time to wind down from his anger and realize that it was way past a good, earthly time to sleep, and that he was hungry and needed something alcoholic to drink as well.

I turned towards the direction of his den, listening out for any signs of him closing the door, and when I realized that he was still seething alone in his den, I pushed myself off the couch.

I padded towards the kitchen area, reaching for the handle of the fridge. I froze slightly when I hear the doors of his den slam shut finally. I guess he was ready to settle whatever score he had with whatever that was happening.

I tugged the door of the fridge open, scanning what we had inside. Looks like I had enough to make a simple cheese platter at least. I will have to do some marketing tomorrow.

I dug further into the fridge, staring at the raw pork ribs that I had prepared for tomorrow's lunch instead. I jumped slightly when the telephone rings, and I paused, waiting to hear if the call was for Jared. Well, all the calls to this house were for Jared. But I would answer some if he was preoccupied, or if he was not expecting a call.

When the phone stopped ringing on the second ring, I reached into the fridge to pull out the rack of spareribs. It had already been seasoned with curry, onion, garlic powder and some brown sugar. I had planned to let it marinate overnight, but I guess this would do.

I started the oven, preparing the meat to be roasted. I will probably need an hour to do this. By then, Jared should be hungry enough and hopefully done with his business. Either that, or he would be enticed by the smells and dragged out of his den.

I worked quietly, and as gently as I could without making too much noise. I don't want to irritate the already angry bear in the den. He might lash out at whoever he had to talk to, to settle his business. Do not poke the angry bear, he bites.

As I let the rack of spareribs slow-roast in the oven, I checked the freezer for enough whiskey ice balls to last, and made sure that I laid out at least two whiskey glasses for when Jared emerges from his den. From the state that he had been before he went into his den, he was going to spend a long time in an alcoholic state.

I dragged out two different types of whiskeys and set them beside the glasses on the counter, hoping they were good enough for Jared's mood by the time he comes out. If he doesn't like them, someone else will have to deal with it because I could feel my eyes droop. I was getting too tired.