Rose Cappuccino Romance | Boy x Boy

The Fractured Plane of Misery

The world was a broken reality that left the less unfortunate in a tailspin of crisis'. Taylor knew it all too well, but he didn't let the hold of misery keep him down. No, he rolled his sleeves up, grabbed the bandaids, and began covering the cracks of the world. The bandaids were small, and the cracks were vast and miles long, but he held onto the hope that every single bandaid left the world a little less broken.

That didn't mean that Taylor liked getting out of bed in the morning, lulled, and begged to stay by the fluffy down of his thick blankets. Pillows adorned the free space, like a nest of stuffing to keep his body sufficiently trapped in the most comfortable prison. Still, his alarm clock called for his productivity, so he rolled on top of the desaturated purple pillow to his left, lightly tapping the cream alarm clock that had shuffled the paw print hands to 5:30.

The alarm clock also woke up his fluffy white Pomeranian and Shih Tzu mix, Foam, who promptly dived from her place on the end of the bed onto his side, licking his face with fervor. He laughed, his soft voice making Foam rest her head on his shoulder, panting and letting out a light yip.

"Let's get you some f - o - o - d," Taylor said to the small dog, her ears perking up at the spelling of her favorite word. She launched from the bed like a fur-covered torpedo, dashing past his cracked door into the kitchen. Taking the moment of quiet, he let out a sigh before rolling off the edge of the bed, landing lightly on his feet.

The clicks on the floor greeted him as Foam danced in excitement, bouncing up and down. He grabbed her little bowl, filling it with some dry dog food. Opening the fridge, he pulled out her specially prescribed wet food and pieces of lettuce in a Tupperware bowl. He placed a spoon scoop of wet dog food on top of the dry food.  

Foam yipped as he set it down and began crunching instantly. He leaned on the counter for just a minute, smiling down at her before he pushed himself into a straightened position, scratching the back of his dyed hair as he walked to the closet that sat in between his guest bedroom and the living room. Opening it up, he noted in his head to put the chicken feed on the list as he grabbed the mostly empty bag from the bottom of the closet, adjusting to he could hold the bowl of lettuce and the feed at the same time.

The backdoor was just on the other side of the kitchen, and the clucks of chickens greeted him when he stepped on the concrete back porch. His hand was shuffling into the bag as he approached the chicken coop, sprinkling feed on the ground. Three chickens, two normal and the other extremely fluffy for her breed, approached with careful bobs of their heads, shifting and darting for the feed on the ground. When he polished off the rest of the bag, he stepped back, tossing the lettuce pieces onto the ground beside them. When they were sufficiently distracted with their food, he stepped around them and checked for eggs, pulling out two for the day.

Satisfied, he went back inside to prepare breakfast and get ready for work.

-

His car fell into silence as he pulled out the key, stuffing his wallet into his apron pocket, and checking his phone. No messages, but he wasn't surprised. Not many of his employees called out for work without several hours warning ahead of time. 

He stepped out of his vehicle, shutting and locking the door behind him before walking towards the back of 'The Steamed Milk.' It had been a passion project of his, scraping and saving from his three previous jobs in order to start the coffee shop. He had been proud when he finally opened and got his first customer, even when he was dead tired as the only employee. When John had applied, it had been a godsend, and then soon, he had three workers there at any point in time. To just go home before eight was an insane prospect for him.