₁₀ operation damage control

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MEL AWOKE, NOT AT THE GENTLE STREAMS of morning light, but at the demand she put out a fire, because something was definitely burning.

     Her first instinct was to look over at the other sofa. The one Steve slept on after telling her the story of how he broke his arm, started 6th grade with a bright green cast, and pretended it didn't bother him when Tommy H defaced it with a cartoon penis. Mel's second instinct was to flood with both relief and disappointment that the only thing left behind was a crumpled blanket. She shifted up out of her imprint in her own cushion and ignored the stiffness knotted up in her shoulders. Pain lit up across her wound. Mel winced, trying to make minimal noise. The feeling rippled out over the rest of her leg and melted into an ache as she found solid footing.

     She followed the scent of char to the kitchen. There, she watched over the peninsula countertop as Dustin scurried around the stove on the opposite side. He flashed that toothless little grin as soon as he saw her.

     "Ah, good morning!"

     "Good... morning?" She blinked slowly at Dominic. He stood with a butter knife scraping a scorched Eggo waffle over the trash, smile very much forced. "Where's Steve?"

     Dustin shrugged it off. "Out. He said he would be back soon. Here, you hungry?" A ceramic plate grazed the counter as he slid it in front of her. Staring back up at Mel was an over-easy egg plopped on top of a partially burnt Eggo and spattered with hot sauce. "Breakfast à la Dustin."

     "And me," Dom added, twirling his knife like a wand.

     Dustin made a face. "Don't listen to him. All he did was toast the waffle. Poorly, might I add."

     "And that would be why the house smells like a burning city," Mel concluded. She dipped her chin to admire their handiwork. Specifically, the hot sauce, which Dustin had so artistically squirted into a five-petal shape with a circle in the center. Mel tipped her head, blinking down at it as she noticed a concerning resemblance to last night's monster. "I hope this is a flower."

𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑, steve harringtonWhere stories live. Discover now