Lived-in Spaces
Ch. 1: Eggs not Over Easy
https://archiveofourown.org/works/74903311/chapters/195688261
D3rlord typically enjoyed his mornings in peace. The less noise, the better. He was a “all of your problems are between you, yourself and thee until 9:00am” type of person. Avery, however, was a catalyst of all things that could possibly go wrong before 8:59am.
“. . .Avery, what are you doing by the stove.” That was a statement, not a question. Which meant that left no room for excuses.
Avery could read D3r’s tone like a book, so he cut straight to the point.
“I’m going to make breakfast today.”
“You mean,” D3rlord shifted his weight so he could lean against the counter of their makeshift kitchen, “attempt to make breakfast.”
That earned a light scowl from Avery. “Rude. I am excellent at cooking.”
“Are you?”
“Yes!”
“Alright, well, if that’d be the case, I’m gonna-”
“I swear, if you say that you’re going to grab a bucket of water, I will sneak a raw egg onto your plate and you will learn about Salmonella first hand.”
“Bold of you to assume I would eat it.” The look on D3rlord’s face practically spelled out the words ‘I’m absolutely fucking with you’.
And the look on Avery’s spelled out ‘Well I’m absolutely fucking DONE with you’. “Don’t make me add ten extra pinches of salt out of spite.”
“Well, then you will learn about kidney stones first hand.”
Avery proceeded to throw an unused rag at D3lord’s face. He very well could’ve thrown a used one, but he wasn’t feeling that petty. Yet.
-
D3r spent a solid five minutes watching Avery try and crack an egg with one hand. Emphasis on try. Fighting the urge to smile at his friend’s repeated failures was a battle, I tell you.
“. . .Chickpea would be quite disappointed if she knew that you’re wasting the fruits of her labor.” D3r mused over the yolk that plopped down by Avery’s feet.
“Leave my chickens out of this,” Avery—ever the patient one—did not rise to the bait and instead, bent down to pick up the egg off the floorboards. “And has the phrase ‘practice makes perfect’ ever occur t— shit- ever oc- gET- ever occur to y- SON OF A-”
Seems as though D3rlord was destined to bear witness to every single one of Avery’s struggles. One of them include his failed attempts in scooping the yolk off of the floor as it continuously slipped through his fingers.
“. .Need a hand?”
“No!” Avery answered a little too quickly. He cleared his throat, preserving his dignity (or whatever was left of it). “No, I’m fine. Let me just— Could you be a doll and bring the trash can a little closer?”
D3r did NOT take too well to being referred to as “doll”. Nevertheless, he hauled the bin over to Avery’s side, which was now home to one fallen egg yolk. “Call me doll again and it’ll be your brain scrambled in that pan.”
The snort left Avery before he could stop it. “It’s just a phrase, Dee. I’m not stupid enough to call you ‘doll’. Or by any pet name for that matter.”
“Good. Should I hear anything along the lines of ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey’ come out of your mouth, you’re a dead man.”
Avery raised a brow. “Is that a threat?”
“Do you really wanna test that theory?” D3r crossed his arms over his chest, almost daring Avery to fuck around and eventually find out.
Fortunately, Avery knew better. “Nope. I’d like to finish making breakfast, thank you very much.”
“A burnt egg will not count as breakfast, Aves.”
“We’ll see.”
-
“So, maestro, what are we having for breakfast again?” D3r asked more out of mischief rather than curiosity, knowing damn well that the abomination on the plate before them was ANYTHING but a sunny side-up.
“. . .My blood, sweat, and tears.” Avery was finally admitting defeat, as evidenced by the slump of his shoulders.
D3r gave him a pat on the back that was less of a ‘you tried your best’ and more of a ‘my condolences’. “Worth a shot though, right?”
Avery deadpanned. “Don’t patronize me.”
D3rlord’s hands shot up in the air in (not mock) surrender. “I was being genuine!”
Avery narrowed his eyes, engaging in the quiet debate over whether he should give D3r the benefit of the doubt or not. He resorted to the latter not because he was taking the high road, but because he was far too tired to argue.
“Whatever you say…” He wiped the crumbs off of the countertop with a wet rag before tossing it into the sink—which was his way of “throwing in the towel”.
D3r threw an arm around Avery’s shoulders—done so out of actual friendliness this time. After all, he too failed to make an egg or two several times throughout the course of his life. Hence, he’d be a hypocrite for judging the guy on his culinary mishaps. So to cheer him up…
“Come on. I’m sure there’s something we can grab at the village nearby.”
That seemed to work, seeing how the light returned to Avery’s eyes (a telltale sign that D3r was doing something right). “I’m sure Benny has a few sandwiches to spare. He always makes the best clubs.”
“Benny-? …You gave the villagers names?”
Avery looked at D3r as though he’d grown a second head. “. . .They already had names, Dee.”
“. .Oh.” Well, mark that was the first time D3rlord was wrong today. (Avery: five, D3rlord: one.)
“For a self-proclaimed know-it-all, I’d assume you’d know how to work with people.” Avery started his way towards the door, stepping out of D3rlord’s arm (which… may or may not have drawn disappointment from the so-called knight).
“Hey, at least I don’t name every house plant in sight.”
“They live under the same roof as us. They’re practically family!”
“Sooooo… what? Does that make your shovel your second cousin or something?”
“Shut up. It’s called connecting with Mother Nature. You should try it sometime.”
“The only time I’ll ‘connect with nature’ is when I’m six feet underground.”
That earned a laugh from Avery, whom of which bidded the succulent by the window a farewell. D3rlord had to take a moment given how those were two very ‘Avery’ things in a row: his laugh, and his habit of talking to plants. He didn’t know when he started finding these little things Avery does endearing. All he knew is that it set something alight within his ribs. Every. Single. Time.
He didn’t realize he was staring until Avery stopped by the front door, waiting for D3rlord to follow. “. . .You coming?”
D3r blinked once, snapping out of his stupor. “Oh, right. Club sandwiches.”
Avery snorted again—hard enough that his throat hurt a little. “You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
D3r didn’t know what to say to that as he followed his friend out the door. Did Avery notice that he was staring? Well, he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it. Did Avery suspect something? He didn’t know. And he didn’t want to know.
So he resorted to: “Take a picture of you? The least photogenic of the two of us? Puh-lease.”
That seemed to shake off whatever suspicions Avery had as he rolled his eyes. “That’s rich coming from you. You can’t even pose for a photo properly. Stiffer than a board. You call yourself the judge of who’s camera-worthy? Puhhhh-lease!”
It was D3rlord’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’ve got the sharp jawline.”
“Riiiight, right. I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of lads and lasses falling to your feet.”
“You agreed with me at one point.”
“Wh—…When was this?! I don’t recall agreeing with you on this matter.”
“If I recall correctly, and I quote, ‘sharp enough to cut a piece of paper’.”
Avery sputtered a couple of times, nearly tripping over a loose rock. “That was an insult and you know it!”
“Was it though?” D3r couldn’t help side-eyeing Avery with his trademarked smugness, which was characterized by the slight twitch of his lips. A smirk, if you will. He earned himself a light shove. Worth it, he thought.
“I hope you grow a double- no, triple chin once you reach fifty.” Avery grumbled under his breath, but his apparently-chiseled companion heard him loud and clear.
D3rlord couldn’t help the small huff of a laugh that came out as a wheeze. A supposedly undignified sound that drew Avery’s attention every time he heard it.
Now it was Avery’s turn to stare.