Everyone's Gay | Food Fantasy

Chapter 3

5:00 PM
Thursday, Sweets and Rifles' House

Ironically enough, Satan's Coffee House is in Sweets and Rifles' humble abode, even though they should be doing their usual routine of freshening up after a hard day of work - except for Pastel, he backed out when he heard Chocolate mention a certain someone's name. Macaron and Crepe also backed out, since they said and Coffee quotes, need their beauty sleep after a rough day, even though they knew they will just blast music from their rooms.

Escargot is, of course, fast asleep on his bed already. Poor him, give him his well-deserved rest after tanking all of the damage from the Fallen Angels.

The rest of them are situated on the floor in a circle, a bottle in the middle that represents the past game of Truth or Dare long forgotten as they talked about everything and nonsensical things.

"In this house, we do not dehumanise B-52, we shower him in love, affection, and praises," Brownie, in his half-asleep and bored state of mind, boldly declared with his words slightly slurred which is uncharacteristic for the usually stoic and reserved shorter male, even the dark eye bags is unusual. "Y'all can and will get a taste of my cannon if you thought otherwise."

"Alright, that's it. No more promises, Brown!" Napoleon huffed as he stood on his feet, ignoring the annoying guffaw from Coffee and swooped Brownie off his sitting position on the floor, throwing his body over his shoulder. "You've been wearing yourself over the brink of exhaustion, you need a break!"

Brownie masked his yawn behind his a soft, stubborn whine, kicking his feet like a child who got grounded by his mother and hands curled into fists to lightly punch Napoleon's back as he tried to wriggle his way out of his iron grasp. Napoleon only tightened his hold and marched up the stairs, where they disappeared from their sights.

"Is that normal?" Tiramisu asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She couldn't grasp that, out of Sweets and Rifles, Brownie would be the one whose body will get thrown over their shoulders, either in a playful manner or something else, he is not the type to cave in so quickly when affection is in the equation.

Of course, except for B-52.

"If you mean throwing Brownie over our shoulders and forcing him to sleep, yeah," Eclair replied, leaning against the coffee table behind him and munching on a tart he stole from Napoleon, body high on sleep to the point his eyes are slightly droopy. "He would will himself to work until he collapsed from exhaustion, B-52 learned it the hard way."

B-52 slowly opened his eyes, the dead of night seeping through the window and letting the moonlight rays dance upon his face. Weird, he thought, I never wake up at this time.

He patted the space beside him, hoping it will be filled with the warm body of his beloved, but he is met with cold sheets in his wake.

He sobered up as soon as he realised Brownie is not beside him. He should be in bed by now, it's late, he thought as he willed himself to stand up from the comfort of their bed and exited the room, padding down the stairs.

A clang of of something snapped his head towards the source of the noise, the light in the kitchen still burning brightly in which he raised an eyebrow, gears in his mind whirring as he peeked into the kitchen.

There he is - Brownie wiping the plates with a cloth and putting it in its proper place, exhaustion evident in his eyes as he yawned every second.

"Brownie?" B-52 questioned as he stepped into the kitchen, shocking said male and almost dropping the plate in hand.

"Bifty, it's late," Brownie whispered, placing the last of the plates and cleaned the place. "You should be sleeping by now."

"And you should too." B-52 stepped in front of him, swiping the cloth away from his hand and throwing it on a nearby counter, loosely wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close.

Brownie sighed in contentment, burying his face in his chest, listening to the soft clicking of gears and the rhythmic beat of his heart. Since B-52's hold around his waist is not enough to keep him upright, Brownie collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

"Brownie? Brownie!"

"We vowed to ourselves we wouldn't let him overwork, even if it means brute force," B-52 muttered, eye staring forth on the stairs. Napoleon hasn't come down yet, I wonder why?

"You need sleep!" Napoleon's booming voice reached their ears, probably yelling at 'drunk' Brownie. "We can talk about this tomorrow!"

"I don't need sleep, I need answers!" Brownie yelled back, seemingly sober from sleep. "What's with you and Pastel?!"

Napoleon uncharacteristically stammering and a slam of a door later, he descended down the stairs, a slight pink tint covering his cheeks as he huffed.

"Oh? Do I smell Napoleon having a crush on Pastel?" Chocolate smirked, leaning closer to said redhead for answers. "The stoic Pastel De Nata?"

"Not you too!" Napoleon whined, throwing his head back. "Don't deny the fact that you and Coffee act like a married couple!"

'Well, we're not yet married.' Coffee thought as he sputtered out a un-threatening bark, though his pupils are wide as a cat's looking up at the moon in the sky; cheeks flushed in different shades of red; and fists clenching and un-clenching as if he's debating on whether he should punch Napoleon's pretty face or not.

"On the contrary." Napoleon merely leaned back, his hand supporting his whole weight, watching with a smirk as Chocolate hooked his arms under Coffee's armpits, keeping him in place from punching the other redhead. "I do think that Nata hasn't found out yet."

"He may be smart, but he's dense when it comes to love," Milk pointed out, remembering the time when Nata received a deep-hearted confession in a form of a letter - from Napoleon, of course, who else?

"I've been dropping the most obvious hints I could think of!" Napoleon threw his head back in frustration, wailing bitterly with a sad tone at Pastel's dense attitude to love. "He still doesn't get it! He thinks it's all a joke!"

"Considering your sunny personality and your undying love for sweets, I would think so too," Eclair casually acknowledged, shoving half of a tart in his mouth and the rest in Napoleon's mouth to shut him up for a moment, shining the spotlight onto him for a moment. "How about this? We'll help you get Pastel's ass in return for Brownie in a maid's dress, helping in the restaurant."

'God, I should be thankful that Nata's not here.' Napoleon sighed as he gulped down the tart, slowly comprehending Eclair's words before his expression brightened up and putting the sun to shame from how bright it is. "Wait, really!?"

"Yes," Black Tea willingly caved in to the general plan. Besides, she thinks it's time for good ol' Pastel De Nata to experience how endearment truly feels like. "Besides, it gets sickening to just incline back and watch as Napoleon here drops hints in which Pastel doesn't get."

"Y'all I-." Chocolate snorted, fighting back his laughter and hiding his smirk with the back of his hand. "You guys sure are dedicating your soul to make Pastel realise his feelings."

"Don't tell him I told you guys," Tiramisu started, pressing her index finger against her lips that formed an 'o' shape. "Pastel actually likes- no, loves Napoleon but is simply keeping his feelings at bay to focus."

"That's the last straw!" Eclair jumped up with his arms outstretched upwards, declaring loudly. "Well, let's start planning!"