#tim losing his MIND over homemade cinnamon rolls is just so important to me you know

[mamawasatesttube]

a snippet of chapter 2 of androecia, complete with meme accompaniment:

“Coffee sounds great.” Tim hesitates, hovering awkwardly just out of arm’s reach. He hates this. He’s not supposed to feel awkward around Kon. “Need me to do anything?”

“Uh…” Kon glances up, clearly searching for a task to assign Tim. “Well, you could take the coffee over to the table if you want, but I got it, honestly, so you can just go sit down if you want.”

Tim likes to feel useful. He takes the coffee to the table.

Kon follows him with the plate of artfully-glazed cinnamon rolls. He doesn’t bump Tim’s shoulder with his own as he passes him, or playfully nudge his shin under the table once they’ve sat. It’s almost like… he doesn’t want to touch him at all. Guiltily, Tim wonders if Kon did notice how rapidly he pulled his hand away after waking up.

But… the cinnamon rolls. His mouth waters. He’ll worry about that in a minute. First, there’s some beautiful pastries on a plate calling his name. His stomach rumbles again, and he stares as Kon pushes the first one onto his plate.

Shit, they really do smell heavenly, and they look it, too; they’re the perfect golden-brown color, drizzled with a tantalizing vanilla topping. Holy shit, Kon is spoiling him.

They sit in silence for a minute or two while Tim ravenously inhales his first cinnamon roll. It tastes like heaven on his tongue—what little of it he actually tastes in his haste to scarf it down, anyway. He doesn’t even bother with utensils; he just grabs that shit with his bare hands and dives right in. By the time it’s gone, his fingers are sticky with cinnamon-sugar and vanilla icing, and he pauses briefly to lick them before he snatches the next cinnamon roll from the serving plate.

Kon eats at a more sedate pace, chuckling as Tim continues stuffing his face like some kind of feral raccoon. “I take that to mean you like ‘em?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“Howy fuckin’ shi’bawws, yeff,” Tim says, as best he can manage through a large mouthful of cinnamony-sweet goodness.

Kon laughs. “Ma’s astrally projecting through me to tell you not to talk with your mouth full, bro.”

Tim flips him off with a cinnamon-sticky finger, and Kon grins back at him. This, at least, feels normal.

By the time he’s on the third roll, though, he’s much more sated, and his thoughts start to wander from the realm of holy fucking shitballs, yum, get in my mouth forever. He eats more slowly, watching Kon finishing up his second one; the silence is companionable, but not as easy as it should be.

That’s when Tim finally notices that both his coffee and Kon’s are rapidly stirring themselves in their mugs, sitting on the table. That’s a huge red flag that Kon’s nervous. He’s probably so busy trying to keep himself from fidgeting with his body that he’s not paying attention to the outlet his TTK found, or else he was banking on Tim being too distracted by his brunch to notice.

Tim bites the inside of his lip and stares down at the cinnamon roll in his hands. It’s really, really good. Kon made him a scrumptious breakfast after everything he did for him last night. He’s still taking care of him even now. And he’s nervous.

kon: malewife mode engaged tim: