Klars (LarsxKirk)

18. Discarded waffles

Lars and Kirk were no doubt the cutest couple in the whole cafe.

The couple had found themselves a booth in the far corner, where they cuddled together as they waited for their food. They had ordered a huge plate of waffles between them, which was drizzled with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, dusted with sugar, and sprinkled with mini marshmallows. Their order arrived quickly, delivered by a slightly traumatised waiter, who placed the plate down on the table while they were in the middle of a full-on kiss. As soon as they noticed him, they stopped and flashed him a little smile, and the waiter forced a nervous smile of his own before scuttling away to tell his colleagues what he'd just seen.

"He seemed happy to see us," Joked Kirk, and Lars giggled, bringing his cutlery, wrapped in a napkin, towards him. "Very," Lars replied, grinning. He slid his knife and fork out of the napkin, before then stopping to shift his gaze to Kirk with an admiring look.

"Shall we tuck in?" he asked. "Tuck into this..."

"...beautiful American cuisine," finished Kirk with a giggle, diving his fork into a pile of marshmallows and whipped cream. "Of course, my love." He scooped up some of the sweetness onto the fork, before swooping it in Lars' direction. "Want some, Larsie?"

Lars nodded with extra enthusiasm, before the fork of whipped cream and mini marshmallows was flown into his mouth by his grinning boyfriend.

"Mmm!" Lars exclaimed, both in shock at the fork-aeroplane that had just crash-landed in his mouth, and at the overwhelming sensation of the sweetness on his taste buds. "That..." he began after swallowing his mouthful, "that was amazing."

And then they eat the damn waffle

(lmao, my bestie wanted them to get on with it, and so wrote that they ate it. However, they shall be the cringe couple that they are for a little longer, and continue to drag it out)

Lars picked up his fork, preparing a mouthful for him to feed to his eager boyfriend.

"And here's some waffle for you, my dearest-"

The whole cafe suddenly fell silent as a lady burst through the door. Everyone, including waiters, and of course Lars and Kirk, stopped what they were doing.

"Francesca," Kirk hissed to Lars. "James' wife."

It was indeed Francesca who had burst through the cafe door, with a tear-stained face and a panicked look crossing her eyes. As she hurried over to the couple, the entire cafe looked on, intrigued.

"I am so sorry to interrupt," she babbled, standing over the two, not bothering to sit down. Kirk shoved the forkful of waffle down his throat, fearful he might not be able to finish it.

"You two were just the only two who I knew were around... it's James... he's... he's..."

"Hey, it's not too much of a bother," Lars spoke calmly. "Does James need help?"

Francesca nodded vigorously. "Yes. Please... if that's okay..."

Lars and Kirk nod, standing up immediately.

"Waiter?" Kirk calls. The same traumatised waiter that served them earlier stepped forward.

"Please box up our waffles, we need to go, and we wouldn't want to waste them. They were amazing." He threw several dollar notes onto the table, and collected his coat.

"We'll come back for them," he finished, and the waiter nodded, collecting the plate of unfinished waffles, and the money, and taking them with him.

"Great idea, my love." Lars complimented, before looking back to Francesca. "Let's go."

As soon as they were out of the cafe, all three of them began to sprint down the hill, praying that James hadn't got worse while they couldn't be there.

"What exactly happened?" Called Lars as he pounded down the path.

"He started drinking," Francesca shouts. "He's been punching stuff, and he's passed out, and he's thrown up, and he's bleeding..."

The three stop in their tracks, nearly bumping into each other, at the bottom of the hill, where a slick black Ferrari has pulled up in front of them, stopping them from passing. The tinted black window winded down slowly, and a concerned-looking Jason sat behind it.

"Is everything okay?"

"No," answered Francesca hurriedly, catching her breath. "It's James, he started drinking, and he's passed out, and it's really bad."

Jason's eyes widened in a sudden realisation. Was this all his fault?

"Fuck," he muttered, panicking. "Get in, all of you. I'll drive you there."

"Thank you so much," Francesca gushed, swinging open the passenger door and pulling the seat forward for Lars and Kirk to climb into the back. The couple hurriedly clambered in, before Francesca pulled the seat back again, climbing in herself before slamming the door shut.

Jason's Ferrari sped off like a rocket, running red lights freely on their way to the Hetfield mansion. They swung onto the crunching gravel just a minute later, and all piled out of the car and through the door in a panicked hurry to help James.

"James?" All three of them called simultaneously as they winded fearfully through the house. Jason was the fastest, and was the first to reach James, who was still beaten and bruised on the kitchen floor. "Oh my god..." Jason's breaths became fast and panicked. "I was going to talk to you about it, I promise. Please be okay..." Without hesitation he darted off in search of a telephone, nearly tripping over Lars, Kirk and Francesca as he ran. "I'm calling an ambulance, guys. I'll pay," he yelled as he approached the nearest telephone. Jabbing the simple emergency number into it, he raised it with trembling hands to his ear.