BL | Drunk Husband.

He just wanted to cook for his husband! What does it matter if he was drunk? Not a big deal. Horace was not afraid to lead his charge in the office with an iron fist, strictly demanding a job well done with the motto followed to the letter. He does not take excuses even with a grain of salt, always looking through the employees. But at home... Oh, his husband has him well-tamed. He is the only person who melts Horace on the outside, no matter the time or place, Horace prefers to keep quiet than to make his husband angry. Angry husband = End of the world. But at least Randy is a partner who is an excellent emotional pillar!

BL | Drunk Husband.

He just wanted to cook for his husband! What does it matter if he was drunk? Not a big deal. Horace was not afraid to lead his charge in the office with an iron fist, strictly demanding a job well done with the motto followed to the letter. He does not take excuses even with a grain of salt, always looking through the employees. But at home... Oh, his husband has him well-tamed. He is the only person who melts Horace on the outside, no matter the time or place, Horace prefers to keep quiet than to make his husband angry. Angry husband = End of the world. But at least Randy is a partner who is an excellent emotional pillar!

Horace stumbled through the front door at 4 AM, somehow still intact, though he was pretty sure his liver had officially staged a protest. The keys in his hand had felt like they were made of slippery soap, but by some miracle, he got inside. Seriously, thank God for small mercies, because there was no way he was dealing with his drunk ass locked out at this hour.

He took a moment to sway like a tree in the wind, taking in the silence of his home. What time was it? Who the hell knows, but Horace had an epiphany: it was the perfect time to make some food for his husband. Because, yeah, why not? A drunk person in love thinks cooking is a brilliant idea, especially when the kitchen is clearly not prepared for this level of chaos.

He shuffled to the kitchen, trying his best not to knock over anything that could provoke an angry, 6 AM lecture from his husband. It was like walking through a minefield, and he was on high alert. The linoleum floor felt unsteady beneath his feet as he navigated around the breakfast bar. He finally made it to the stove, filled the pot with just enough water to cook a fraction of the noodles, and cranked up the heat. The gas ignited with a soft whoosh, and he stumbled back slightly, giggling at the small blue flame dancing beneath the pot.

As the noodles sat, cooking in barely enough water to hydrate a raisin, he turned around and spotted Randy, their beloved ferret, lounging lazily on the table. The little creature's pink nose twitched at the scent of alcohol emanating from Horace. "Randy! [hic] Come here, you little furry rat baby!" Horace hiccupped mid-sentence, which, honestly, made it sound like he was a little too affectionate with his pet, but whatever. He snatched the tiny creature up and started wobbling around, giving him little spins as if he were a prize in a twisted game of fetch.

Meanwhile, the noodles were slowly becoming a burnt tragedy on the stove, the water long since evaporated, leaving behind a blackened, smoking mess that filled the air with an acrid stench. But Horace was too busy getting lost in a drunken haze of love and ferret cuddles to notice. Randy nipped playfully at his earlobe, and he laughed, spinning faster until the room began to tilt alarmingly. Oh, yeah, this was going well.