The sweet aroma of bubbling tomato wafted through the small mission house. Elder Poptarts stirred the sauce in the pot, sprinkling some herbs over the simmering red sauce.
"Behind you!" Elder McKinley warned over Poptart's shoulder. The red-haired district leader slid a pot of boiling water across the stove and poured a box of noodles into the water.
Poptarts laughed. "Elder McKinley, I'll be fine. It was one time." He said. His mission partner looked skeptical.
"Really!" Poptarts affirmed. "I've been dealing with this my whole life. Plus, how long have I been cooking in this kitchen while you knew about my condition? A year? You really don't have to worry about me."
"Okay, but no knives, no stoves without a buddy, and no glass." McKinley said. Poptarts rolled his eyes, throwing some more ingredients into the sauce.
"Seriously, Elder? I'm not a little kid." Poptarts said. "You can't baby proof the whole house just because of what happened last week."
"He's right," a voice said from the doorway. Elder Church leaned against the doorframe, the sunlight illuminating him from behind and casting shadows across his cheekbones. His brown hair glowed golden in the light, a stark contrast with his bright blue eyes. He tossed his hair out of his eyes. "Poptarts isn't a little kid." He strolled into the room and hopped up on the counter. "He's a little, short, prepubescent teenager."
"Hey!" Poptarts protested. "I'm twenty in a few weeks! And anyway, aren't you the one who lied about his age to get here?" Elder Church laughed, but the sound didn't reach his eyes. Something about Poptarts words had bothered him, but Poptarts couldn't figure out what.
"Yeah, that's true, I guess," he said. "Doesn't change the fact that you're super short." Poptarts let out an indignant huff. Church was the tallest Elder in the house, frequently hitting his head on doorways and towering over Poptarts by a good ten inches. Poptarts was the shortest, several inches shorter than even McKinley.
Church slipped off the counter and rested his elbow on Poptart's head. "Although, you are the perfect size for an arm rest." Poptarts tilted his head back and stuck his tongue out at him. Church shot back a wink.
McKinley ignored their antics and poured the pasta into a colander. "Oh shoot!" He cursed.
"What?" Poptarts asked. He slipped past Church in the tiny kitchen to the stove. "Did my sauce simmer for too long?"
McKinley waved his hand in Poptart's direction dismissively. "No, you're fine, I just didn't make enough pasta for all of us." He straightened his tie. "I need to go grab some more- I'll be right back."
Poptarts went back to his sauce until McKinley stuck his head back in the door. "And, Elder Church? Stay with Poptarts."
"I'm fine, Elder!" I yelled at the closing door, though if he heard me, he decided to ignore me.
Church sat back down on the counter. "Why does he want me to stay with you?" He asked, casually leaning back on his elbows. "Does he ship us that bad?" Poptarts looked confused.
"Ship? Like, a boat?" He said, confused. Elder Church laughed.
"No, shipping means like..." He said, thinking of the right definition. "Shipping is like thinking two people should be together or something. I can't believe you haven't heard the term." Poptarts blushed violently.
"Oh. No- you just- I mean, he...he just wanted you here so nothing happens." Church cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised.
"He doesn't trust you to cook? Man, I don't know if I trust you with my food, then." Church joked. Poptarts let out a small sigh of relief that he had dropped the subject. Elder Church began rifling through the pantry, tossing food over his shoulder.
"What are you-" Poptarts began, cutting himself off when a box of Poptarts zoomed past his ear. He barely managed to grab the next box that came flying over his head. "Hey! These are mine!"
"I thought we...I know it's here somewhere..." Church rambled. He stuck his whole head inside the pantry. "Aha!" He pulled out two more boxes of pasta. "I knew we had more noodles!" He said triumphantly.
Church dumped the pasta into the still boiling water, adding a splash of oil to the pot. "You know that adding oil to pasta water doesn't actually do anything, right?" Poptarts asked. Church laughed again.
"As a matter of fact, I did not Mr. Scientist." He said. "Maybe I just like to waste natural resources." He winked again at Poptarts.
Poptarts felt his eyelids growing slightly heavy, head getting fuzzy like it did before an attack. He shook his head, trying to wake himself up. I will not fall asleep in front of Elder Church. He thought. It's bad enough that Elder McKinley knows- and he's my mission partner.
He kept stirring his sauce as Church took the pasta pot off the heat. They worked in a comfortable silence for a few more minutes. Elder Church had arrived at the mission just a few months after Poptarts and McKinley, but in the year or so they had both been in Uganda, they hadn't talked one on one much. Poptarts was surprised at how kind and funny he was under the slight bad-boy façade he wore so well. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying Church's company. It was...nice.
Poptarts turned off the heat to the stove. He turned around to place the sauce pan on the counter, Church turning back to the stove at the same time, nearly catching a hot saucepan in the stomach. He laughed that soft chuckle that contrasted sharply with Poptart's loud, bold laughter.
"Here," Church said, taking the saucepan from Poptart's hands. "I'll take care of this." He grabbed a spoon and started mixing the sauce into the pasta. Poptarts blushed again, wiping down the stove with a wet rag and purposely avoiding eye contact with the man he had nearly just burned.
"You missed a spot." Elder Church took the rag from Poptarts, reaching over the smaller boy's shoulder to wipe up some spilled sauce.
"Th-thanks" Poptarts said weakly, still embarrassed over almost burning his fellow missionary. Maybe McKinley was right about cooking being too dangerous for him. He backed away from the stove as he turned, colliding with Elder Church.
They both yelped in surprise, Poptart's exclamation muffled by Church's chest. He looked up at the taller elder. Church met his gaze. Poptarts could feel Church inhale and exhale. Neither of them pulled away, made an attempt to move. Church flashed him a crooked smile.
Poptarts attempted to stutter out a response, but the familiar feeling of drifting away distracted him. His eyes closed and he felt his legs give way from underneath him. He only had the chance to think no! before everything went black.
A/N:
Ah gotta love some good old churchtarts fluff.
NO POPTARTS IS NOT DYING you'll find out what's happening in later chapters. I hinted a lot at it, so if you've figured it out, don't say anything, please. I purposely haven't revealed it yet and it's an important plot point.
I'm so excited for this fic. Mostly excited to write something less angsty than my falsettos fic. Don't worry, there will be some conflict and some angst but not at the Whizzer dying level.
As always, thanks for reading and commenting!
Chapter finished- April 2
Chapter posted:
(Wednesday, April 4, 2018 7:38 pm PST)
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Falling (Asleep) For You {Book Of Mormon/Churchtarts}
FanficElder Chris Thomas lives for two things: Poptarts, and his mission. Sure, he's got his fair share of problems, but it's nothing he can't handle...right? That is, until a boy on his mission starts making it hard for him to stay awake, and suddenly Ch...
