Anderperry Oneshots Collection

Scorched

AN: This is based on my personal headcanon that neither Neil nor Todd can cook for shit.

Neil unlocked the door to his apartment the first thing he smelled was smoke.

Not tobacco, or marijuana. Smoke like that from a fire.

It's a jarring smell, the kind of smell that hits you in the face if you're not expecting it. And Neil certainly wasn't expecting it.

His day so far had been relatively normal. He had returned a book to the library, attended rehearsal, and drunk a concerning amount of iced coffees. It was a routine he had fallen into after a year of living in New York. 

Afterward, he ran some errands; picked up a package for Todd, did his shopping for the week, etc. It didn't seem like much, but to Neil, it was a very productive day, topped only by the days he was actually performing. By this time in the evening, he was eager to put down the grocery bags, flop on his freshly made bed, and tell Todd about every interesting person he'd interacted with.

Todd spent most of his time in their one-bedroom apartment. He had a steady job as a magazine writer and was never required to leave home more than once a week. Which was fine by him, he was more than happy to sit at his window and pour over some Whitman while raindrops pattered down over the busy streets of Brooklyn.

He never had any desire to go out, go shopping, or grab some drinks, and even if he did, every one of his paychecks went to a big savings fund. That was the deal. Neil's money went towards rent, bills, food, and any other little expense that came their way. In contrast, Todd's money when towards what Neil called "the dream."

"What's 'the dream'?" Todd had asked that summer evening, sipping on tea from a steaming mug.

"Whatever we want it to be. A down payment, a college fund, travel. A full library. Whatever. As long as I'm doing it with you." Neil closed his eyes. "I can see it now. White picket fence, a barbeque, two and a half kids. The American dream."

Todd laughed, rolling his eyes. "Which means what? You're the breadwinner, so I guess I'm your trophy wife."

"You guess correctly. I expect a hot meal on the table every night, and the house better be spotless."

Todd laughed again, then kissed him. Neil had a way of making him do that. "Your wish is my command."

Actually, the interaction had been closer to reality than either of them would care to admit. Neil was out and about for a good portion of each day, and in his spare time, Todd busied himself with cleaning. 

When Neil noticed he'd been making the bed and dusting the air vents, he made sure Todd knew none of this was necessary, that he was more than happy to help with the chores and that he felt bad that Todd was always cleaning up after him.

Todd had assured him that, no, really, it was okay, and he found it more relaxing than anything, a good, mindless way to unwind or to procrastinate through writer's block. 

Still, there was one thing Todd never did, and it was cook dinner.

Which brings us back to the smell of smoke.

The second Neil detected the scorching smell of soot, he dropped everything he was carrying and slammed open the door.

The very first thing to catch his eye was the flickering light on the stove. Fire. 

A fire was blooming up from a pan, licking the wall and singeing it black. That must've been where the smoke was coming from, because the fire itself seemed like it came from the grease of what looked like it was once a steak. Or maybe a chicken breast? Neil couldn't make out more than the general shape of it, because it was covered in some sort of powder.

Neil's gaze shifted momentarily to a panicking Todd, throwing heaping fistfuls of flour over the fire to no avail.

Without wasting a second, Neil grabbed the fire extinguisher from the cabinet below the sink.

"Move!" he warned, and Todd dove aside before he covered the fire in the white foamy mist.

After spraying it thoroughly, and only after the fire clearly wasn't coming back, Neil put the canister aside.

He took a second to catch his breath before turning his attention to Todd.

Todd was sitting on the floor across the room, wrapped in a ball. He looked scared half to death, and was leaning against the wall. Like he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the kitchen as possible.

"I'm sorry, Neil. I-I wanted to, um, make a nice dinner for you--for us--but then I..." Todd buried his face in his hands. "I messed up the kitchen. This is going to cost a fortune, I'm so sorry..." he groaned.

"Nevermind that, are you hurt?" Neil rushed to his side, ripping Todd's hands away from his face. A poof of flour covered his sweater, but Neil ignored it. His expression was a mixture of panic and concern, something that took Todd a second to decipher. 

"I- um..."

"Todd, are you hurt?"

"No," he spat out. "No, I'm alright."

Neil looked as if an invisible weight had been lifted off him. "Good," he sighed. Then he stopped pretending. All he wanted to do was hold Todd tight, and so he did.

He embraced Todd, clutching onto him like he was some precious treasure being pried away.

It took Todd a second to adjust to being cared about this deeply. And when the hug broke, he was still feeling a little frazzled.

Neil looked Todd in the eye. "Maybe we should leave the cooking up to me, my love," he suggested.

Todd nodded in agreement.

"Alright," he planted a kiss on Todd's flour-y cheek. "Go get yourself cleaned up. I'll make us something to eat."

Todd peered over his shoulder at the mess of foam and oil. "In what kitchen?"

"In the microwave."

Todd went to go shower, and Neil went to go fetch the groceries from the hall where he'd left them.

It occurred to him that most of what he bought was either pre-made or could be heated in less than five minutes. And it also occurred to him that that was probably how they'd avoided this issue for so long.

He selected two ramen noodle dinners from the bag, filled them appropriately with water, and placed them in the microwave for the correct amount of time.

A minute or so later, Todd heard a loud yelp from the kitchen.

He hopped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel just in time to burst in on Neil using the fire extinguisher for the second time that evening.

There was a beat of silence as they assessed the situation. The kitchen was now twice as messy, foam spilling onto the color and climbing up the walls. And they still had no food to show for it.

But instead of panicking, Todd laughed.

He keeled over laughing, holding his slipping towel together with his hands.

"Well," Neil said, taking a step back. "I'd make PopTarts, but I'm afraid to use the toaster."

This set off another round of laughter, from both parties. The musical kind of laughter that turns into a story for your grandkids.

"Neil," Todd said, and he had Neil's attention almost immediately. "Darling, light of my life, I admire your efforts, but I think we should order pizza."

"You know what, Todd? I think you're right." Neil clucked at the state of the kitchen. "We might have to take the money from the dream fund, though."

Todd listed the circumstances on his fingers, one by one. "Half-naked, in an apartment in NYC, about to get junk food, with my hot boyfriend who just came to my rescue? I don't think you understand, this is my dream."