one shots // falsettos.

pies and pastries // t x m

Trina is an English teacher. Whizzer and Marvin live down the street. The tight-knit family... Share?? A? Street??

...

"Oh no."

The aroma of burnt pastry filled the air of Mendel and Trina's small apartment as he stumbled to the oven. As soon as he opened the door, a thick cloud of pure smoke smothered their small kitchen, Mendel included. He covered his mouth with his shirt as he stumbled back, spluttering and coughing.

"Christ."

He wafted his tea towel pathetically to act as a fan, eyes screwed shut. As soon as he opened them, he saw what was supposed to be his cherry pie, but instead he saw a blackened mess of pastry, cherry oozing out of the sides like blood.

He grimaced as he prodded the flimsy excuse for a pie with a fork. The top just... pathetically caved in.

"Oh god." He mumbled as he slid oven mitts on and slid the blackened piece of shit into the bin. Opening his windows and back door, he rushed back to the counter where the recipe book lay open, yet he had done all the steps correctly.

Wait.

He swerved round to the oven, and realise she'd put it on gas mark 8, not gas mark 4.

"How the fu--"

The jingle of their home phone danced through the door, making the wiry psychiatrist almost jump out of his skin. He picked it out of the receiver and held it shakily to his ear.

"This is the Weisenbachfeld Residence."

"Mend! Hey honey!"

Fuck fuck fuck.

"Trin!"
"Just letting you know, work have sent me home early! I'll be back in... Around five minutes?"

"Oh!" SHIT. "That's wonderful, honey! See you soon?"
"See you! Love you, 'Del!"
"Love you too, Trin."

His out-of-whack brain spluttered to life, making his legs jump into motion as he dashed through the hallway, threw the door open, and skidded out & along to the bottom of the road, loudly slamming the door in the process. Now, if anyone else had seen a middle-aged man, running down the estate, smothered in black smog, breathing as if he just finished a fucking marathon, they call him crazy. But it was his and Trina's two-year anniversary, and everything needed to be perfect.

He almost collapsed on the homosexuals porch as he stumbled to the door. He weakly knocked, and Whizzer answered.

And immediately began to howl with mirth.

"Whiz, what's so--"

Marvin appeared, and raised his eyebrows at a smog-covered, red-faced (well, under the thick black shit) wide-eyed Mendel. He bit back a smirk.

"You two have to help me. It's mine and Trina's anniversary, I tried making her a pie, it's completely flunked, and I don't know what to do."

"The Lesbians™️!" Marvin and Whizzer cried in unison, and hauled Mendel to their next-door neighbour. Whizzer knocked, and Delia answered.

"Marv! Whiz! ... Mend?"
"Dels, you gotta help him. His anniversary is today, and his pie was fucked."

"Lucky for you, I've just finished making a fresh batch of cookies." She ducked away from the door, and reappeared with a tray of, well, questionable cookies. "You can ha--"
"THANK YOU." Mendel exasperatedly swiped them from her grip, and ran back up the street.

As he reached the door, so did another figure.

Trina.

"Mendel, what the everloving hell happened to you?" She chuckled as she pulled clumps of pastry out of his hair. To distract her, he kissed her swiftly, laying a hand on the small of her back, hiding the cookies behind his own. She gasped softly, but melted in soon enough.

"Happy anniversary, honey." He held a deep, loving gaze as he pulled away.
"You too."

He led her inside, sat her down, and pretended to take the cookies out of the oven.

"Try these. I'm going to clean myself up." He kissed her on the cheek as he went to the washroom.

With Mendel out of sight, Trina hesitantly took a deep bite into the cookies. She gagged as the unforgivable taste of butter forcefully hit the roof of her mouth, and she looked around for a napkin. Unfortunately, the universe just wanted to fuck her over, and no paper towels were in sight. She had the choice of either swallowing, and maybe vomiting shortly afterwards, or, she could spit it out.

She chose the last, obviously, and as she brought her cupped hands to her mouth, Medel reappeared out of the small side room. They locked eyes as she spat. He began to laugh as she nervously began stammering.

"Mend! Fuck, honey-- I--"
"They weren't mine!"

...

Hey! I just wanted to say thank you for 100 reads! Holy crap that means so much, I'll get an update as much as I can, sorry this was so crappy lmao. But who doesn't like Trindel?