Three Days: the untitled sequel

Chapter Two: makin pancakes

Something pretty awful to as about to go down. I could tell our trip wouldn't be one of ending a feud, but starting one back up again. Still, he was my boyfriend. As much as I needed to hate him I couldn't shake off that glimmer of hope as seeing him burst out screaming in pink underwear as he failed to open the small suitcase that was meant for his new clothes (that I had to pay for, as I made him give the rest of his money back to the government.) I don't really know why I needed to hate him in the first place. All I needed was the truth. The facts.

Also, we had decided to all pack together, since I was illogical at packing, Matt always forgot the important stuff, Tord wasn't sure on how to close zippers, and Edd. We all regret bringing Edd.

At some point Tord noticed he was quiet and asked "are you ok?" To which he responds, "Tord grow up were fictional cartoon people who don't have noses that are being written in a half ass form of fiction to bend out characters to please a general audience. We're living in a fanfiction Tord." Tord just called him weird but I could see that he went pale. What the fuck Edd.

Also, what I thought was an easy breakup was in no way easy. Matt kept 'accidentally' dropping his third bag onto Edd's feet, Edd kept making gestures about how glass doesn't last on flights, Edd kept folding his clothes wrong, and Matt just blurted out shit like "Edd you suck" because he doesn't understand the meaning of passive aggressive. Tord at some point whispered in my ear "I bet I suck better than him". I got the shirt I was holding and wacked him in the face.

Packing wasn't too fun thanks to the assholes, but throughout, I had one tho(t)ught: the plane ride. The first time we rode on the plane, we broke down crying within an hour of fighting. The second time Tord kind of almost fucking died. You can understand why I fear that part of our trip more than anything. Otherwise, I also fear literally any occasion where we have to go to the bathroom. I mean, literal. Fucking. Bathroom. Battles. I don't know how we survived the first few times.

At one pm, we finished, so we had one day to prepare fully and emotionally for the neck train wreck. All I did was go to make pancakes, joined by his tr- ok from a distant time, Tord has requested I call him slagathor for the remainder of this chapter to make up for the fact that I'm telling the story. So, alas, slagathor joined me.

I hovered over the stove, taking out the pancake juice thing. Slagathor sat on the barstool on the other side of the wall, but we could make eye contact since we had taken down the wall around a month ago. He seemed distraught.

"So...hi?"
"Hi."

I scratched my head. He didn't move. He sat still with his arms crossed.

"So other than you know what, are you excited for Miami?"
"Kind of."

I yawned. Curiously, he didn't. I know damn well he heard me.

"How come you're being so quiet?"
"No reason."
"Do you know something that I don't?"
"You know about as much as me."

Slagathors head pointed down but his eyes looks up. I still wasn't over how white the other was in comparison to his normal shades of grayish blue.

"I damn wish I did."
"If you have something to say, of something you want to know, say it now. We can avoid this trip."
"Is there something you want to avoid?"

"Depends Tom," he said leaning closer to the stove. He placed his hands on top of the marble counter beside the cook hot make food machine. I sprinkled some chocolate chips inside the pan. "How much do you know."

"I know you're hiding things again. Look [slagathor] I've trusted you. And I still might. Just come clean.
"About what?"
"For one thing, your accent is stronger. I thought you'd lost it with time. Where've you been?"
"My accent, really? I hadn't noticed."

He seemed guilty now. He took his hands off the counter. I would have if my counter wasn't fuming.

"Has anything changed?"
"I hope not."
"Is there anything that could've changed?"
"too many."

His eyes went wide out of nowhere, he pulled at his hair, and stuck his head down for a second. I stared in awe, and attempted to lean forward to comfort slagathor, when I put my hand inside of the pan. It fuckin burnt like hell, but I ran around and stood behind him, clutching my hand with the other. He snapped up, saw it, and immediately freaked out.

"Oh my god, your hand!"
"It's just a burn," said me with my fragile masculinity.
"Really?!"

He looked up at me with large eyes, truthfully troubled. I had no clue what was going on.

"Yeah, uh [slagathor], do you know what we were just talking about."

His face went pale.

"oh yeah. I'm not sure why I said those things, I'm sorry about that."

He seemed legit. My hand hurt. The pancakes were being burnt.

"Look, I'm gonna go take a nap. Wake me up when they're ready."

We walked away. I couldn't help but notice his accent cooled down.

Later we shared the pancake with my hand imprint. It tasted like shit.