I totally misread 'domestic dratchet' as 'domestic ratchet' and immediately my brain supplied me with the mental image of Ratchet wearing nothing but an apron in the kitchen to try and surprise Drift when he got home one day. 🤣
... This absolutely happened. It became a tradition known as Sausage Day.
But hell yeah, domestic Ratchet. Puttering around the house, setting its small dilapidations methodically aright. Fixing anything creaking or crooked, stopping all leaks and blocking all drafts, making sure Drift has a home that’s warm and solid and will outlast them both by decades. Building a bed to replace, forever, the cheap Ikea one they broke during a night of enthusiastic coupling. Keeping their fleet of vehicles -- the old wagon and the sleepers and the converted ambulance -- gleaming and roadworthy in the garage. Disappearing into the crawl space for an anxious hour only to emerge, triumphant and covered in spiders, carrying the photo album Drift specifically requested because it contained embarrassing photos of baby Ratchet in the bath. Cooking for Drift, when Drift will let him. Being Drift’s nurse, when Drift needs it. Tidying up and cleaning the bathroom and hanging his clothes like he never used to do when he lived alone, because for the first time in his life he likes being at home, and sharing it with Drift makes him proud and happy.
