Trixxx: Dunno, bro, but after they released Miyabi, the balance got totally fucked.

Xan leaned back in his worn-out gaming chair, which creaked as usual, and reached for another piece of candy that lay scattered in piles on his cluttered table.

Andromeda: And I still won't trade Nicole for her. My baby - forever 🫦🍑👋🏻

INSXNE: Nicole is as outdated as your PC, lol, plus that mole on her tits is just nasty.

The guy burst out laughing, imagining Aron's face after Killian's words. Despite being friends well, almost since birth, Killian always tried to get a rise out of someone in his annoying "edgy bad boy" manner, and Aron, the naive, kind soul, usually took the bait. Classic.

Andromeda: WHAT?! Apologize right now!!! Or I'll tell everyone you went to 'Twilight' with different girls as dates just to watch it again!!!

Xander was full-on wheezing now, quickly typing a reply.

Trixxx: Aron, baby, I love you with all my heart. You already said it, we're on a public server.

Andromeda: .....

INSXNE: ....I’m gonna kill you, Aron.

Andromeda: SORRY I DELETED EVERYTHING ALREADY

Trixxx: The internet remembers everything, bro, the internet remembers everything. screenshot sound

Andromeda: Xan, you're NOT helping right now!!!

INSXNE: Aren't you supposed to be cleaning up for your wife's arrival or something, you lazy ass? I don't see the behavior of a good househusband from you right now, bitch

Killian shot back, mentally calculating how much time it would take to drive to his best friends and strangle them one by one.

Trixxx: Ouch, that's cold

Andromeda: Ice cold, Arctic. 🌧️🌬️❄️

Trixxx: But you're right, I'm logging off. Until tomorrow.

Xan rolled back from the table and looked at the pile of junk on his desk, raising his arms over his head to stretch his stiff muscles. When he married his wife, he honestly didn't think it would turn out this way. That she would work, and he, well, would be the one managing the house. The guy seemed to have walked under a ladder several times, because all his attempts to find a job ended either in rejection, or dismissal, or a shameful dismissal that led to long evenings in the bathroom and the gaze of a dead beaver at the ceiling. Xander tried everything - office work was too difficult for him, and he, although he tried not to show it, broke down under social pressure. Tattooed from head to toe, with the demeanor of a husky puppy and 23 years of age, he was like a walking rubber toy with a purpose of "kick me." Listening to so-called colleagues' comments like "Ha, you look like an inmate's child and a coloring book!" or "You know, my son has the same haircut. He's twelve," could make even The Rock cry, and Xander was as close to the image of an unshakable and beloved testosterone-laden jock as the moon is to cheese, so being fired from the hellish office was only a matter of time.

Retail work, food service, delivery? Xander was so tired that he could barely drag his feet to bed, and at the same time he received such ridiculous money that his wife took pity on him after he fell asleep at his bowl of cereal one working morning, head hanging to the side with semi-damp hair because "no time to eat breakfast, dry hair and get to KFC."

So here he was. Xander Deacon. Age 25. Domestic god-in-training.

Not that he was very good at it, to be honest, but he took the main work off his wife. He wasn't a great cook; he often got distracted by videos he played while cooking or games in another room because "competitive matches don't wait for your chicken to fry," but when he really tried, he could make a decent meal (though it had to be simple), sometimes he forgot to hang the laundry after washing and don't even mention that the bathroom were always cleaned last, but overall he... Managed.

He showered his wife with hugs and kisses after work like rain on a desert, always walked their Pomeranian Frou-Frou himself, and honestly cleaned the stove (even if he let it become a crime scene first, but those are details).

The guy got up from his spot and lazily scooped candy wrappers into a pile when his mobile lying nearby buzzed insistently, displaying a reminder notification on the screen.

"What could I have forgotten, huh?" Xan muttered, already completely forgetting what he had noted down, swiped away the lock screen and froze.

Goosebumps the size of quarters shot up his arms. His blood pressure skyrocketed. Staring back at him was a bright yellow note app notification that screamed in bold:

DON'T FORGET YOU FUCKING IDIOT THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT!!!!!! WIFEY'S PARENTS ARE COMING OVER TODAY. CLEAN THE APARTMENT AND MAKE DINNER OR ELSE!!!!

This was a disaster. A failure on the level of someone deciding to go to the beach to sunbathe during a tsunami. Xan awkwardly stuffed the phone into his back jeans pocket and surveyed the apartment.

Dust bunnies in the corners. Candy wrappers. The bathtub drain had been clogged with a clump of Frou-Frou's fur for a week now. In the fridge lay the last piece of fish, a bottle of beer, and two sheet masks.

Xan swallowed.

Fuck.

The guy rushed into battle for cleanliness and his life with a zeal as if the spirit of Sonic had possessed his ass. With one hand he stuffed laundry into the machine, with the other he scrubbed the wall in the shower, with one foot he pushed aside the rug that hadn't been cleaned, well, probably ever, the other foot didn't participate in the chores, lazy bum - it was just needed to maintain balance. Time was critically short, and if he wanted to make it, he couldn't be distracted for a second.

Shit, shit, shit.

Xander dashed out of the bathroom sweating like he was in a sauna, mop in hand and dashed through the apartment like Cinderella on crack. The situation was improving, but he still needed to gather Frou-Frou's toys scattered across the floor and hide any extra game disks out of sight, because he wasn't sure his wife's parents would be thrilled to see his collection.

When he finally got things in order, burning his daily calorie intake in the process, Xan hurried to the kitchen, frantically flipping through recipes in the browser.

Think, Xander, think, you lazy fuck!

He found some flour in the cupboard and pulled out the last of the ingredients to make cinnamon rolls. A baker he was not - if meats and sides sometimes worked out for him, baking never did. But risks had to be taken - there was no time to run to the store, so rolling up his sleeves, Xan got to work.

Frou-Frou came in response to the strange noise and settled nearby, pawing at his leg, demanding attention.

"Not now, beautiful! Daddy's busy, shit, fuck, where's the whisk?! Trying not to fall flat on my face!" he exclaimed as he struggled to keep his cool in a kitchen that had become a culinary war zone covered in flour, eggshells and a crumpled empty milk packet. Xan rolled out some semblance of cinnamon rolls from dough that wouldn't rise and with a sigh that could shake mountains, shoved the baking sheet into the oven.

The kitchen was a mess. He was a mess. The fact that in forty minutes his wife and her parents would be there? Triple mess.

Xander used the last of his energy to change clothes, shoved away trash and wiped down countertops - not perfect, but for now? Better than nothing.

Keys jingled in the lock just as Xander was pulling out his "rolls" - slightly burnt and stuck, their shape resembling something you might step on while walking in a dog park more than Cinnabons. The guy despairingly ran his hand through his hair and turned only to see his wife. Her dad. And mom. Staring at him from the kitchen doorway.

"Hey, hi! So glad to see you! Freshen up from the trip and take a seat - I made us.... Cinnamon rolls?...." He gave the baking sheet with his "culinary masterpiece" a slight shake.