Never A Dull Moment
Life is always exciting when you share a house with three idiots conduits.
TW: mild burns, brief mention of non-sexual nudity (it's just a shower)
“Reggie!”
The older Rowe groans silently at the sound of his little brother yelling. Maybe if he ignores him, Delsin will go away.
The bathroom door bursts open. “Reggie, hey, I need to ask you something.”
Heaving an irritated sigh, Reggie draws the shower curtain back enough to glare at the blurry shape of his brother. The intimidation factor is unfortunately lessened by his hair plastered to his forehead and the need to squint, having taken his contacts out right before he jumped in. “I literally just jumped in the shower. Can this not wait ten minutes?”
“It'll be super quick, I promise.”
Another sigh and Reggie pinches the bridge of his nose. He'll waste more hot water and precious seconds to himself if he doesn't just answer whatever question Delsin has. “What?”
“K grade fire extinguishers are used for grease and oil fires, yea?”
Reggie stares at him, blinking, the question catching him off guard. “Yes, K for Kitchen, ABC is for general purpose and D is for special metal fires.”
“Okay, okay cool. Follow up question, do we have one?”
“Do we have what?”
“A K grade fire extinguisher.”
“What?! WHY?!”
“The kitchen’s on fire.”
“You couldn't have led with that?” By some miracle, Reggie manages to not slip and crack his head while scrambling out of the shower (though granted, maybe that would’ve been a blessing). Snagging a towel, he swipes his glasses off the sink and sprints out the door, Delsin running after him.
Eugene and Fetch are standing in the kitchen, both staring in panic at the angry pot on the stove spewing fire and oil. Grabbing the nearest lid, Reggie slams it down on the pot and makes sure the stove is turned off. Searching hurriedly through the spice cabinet, he manages to find the salt and open it one-handed, dumping it on the few smaller flames around the pot.
For a moment, no one moves.
“Well, that could've gone better.”
Reggie tosses Fetch a withering look.
“Shit, Reggie.” Delsin's suddenly next to him, face awash with concern, fingers carefully lifting his elbow.
His arm and side are peppered with oil splatters, his hand having taken the brunt of it. He'd been so focused on the fire he hadn't really felt it. And it's on his glasses, which is going to be a bitch to clean off. At least it didn’t hit anything lower, considering the tenuous hold he has on the towel wrapped around his hips.
“Well, I guess I'm taking a cold shower,” Reggie sighs, withdrawing his arm from Delsin's hold and running the faucet over his hand. “Can one of you grab the aloe? I think it's in your bathroom.”
“You don't think we need to go to the ER?”
“Doesn't look bad enough to warrant that at the moment. I'll tell you if it does. In the meantime, leave the oil to cool off while you clean everything else. And the next time you get the bright idea to fry something, please, for the love of God, warn me first. You have no idea how embarrassing it'd be for the Sheriff to have to call the Fire Department.” Davis would never let me live it down.”
Delsin and Eugene get to work cleaning while Fetch runs upstairs to find the aloe. There’s water on the floor from Reggie’s rush to get downstairs, and he really hopes they’ll get it before it soaks into the hardwood.
“I’m sorry for the mess, Reggie,” Eugene speaks up after a minute, scrubbing oil off one of the cabinets.
“The kitchen is still standing, and no one got severely hurt, so all in all it could’ve been a lot worse.” The older Rowe tilts his head curiously. “What were you trying to make?”
“Fried ice cream.”
Scanning the counter, Reggie frowns. “What batter did you use?”
Eugene glances briefly at Delsin, who looks just as puzzled. “Batter?”
“Yea, you’re supposed to dip the ice cream in batter. Did- did you just dump ice cream in hot oil?!”
“And a popsicle,” Fetch adds helpfully when she returns to the kitchen.
“...I love you guys, but is there a single braincell amongst the three of you?”
“Nope.”
“Nada.”
“Um…”
“Right….” Shaking his head, Reggie turns off the sink. “I’m going upstairs to finish my shower. You can try the ice cream again tomorrow, okay? With supervision.”
The three make various noises of agreement and he heads back upstairs with aloe in hand.
“Thank you, Reggie!”
Delsin’s voice follows him up to his room, cheeky in a way that has Reggie very tempted to return to the kitchen just to smack him. Closing the door, he sighs. He’s definitely going to be hurting tomorrow. Maybe he should consider putting a K extinguisher in the kitchen if his three housemates are going to insist on cooking. And make them all go through a fire safety course.
…The prospect of fried chocolate ice cream is hard to resist though.
