Who Needs Trick-or-Treating? (James)

[James Fawcett]

"Just...on the stove?" James suggested without much conviction. He placed his own boxes on the stove, as well; it wasn't on, after all, and the counters were occupied by their other project. "Should I go ahead and fix plates while you finish up or d'you want me to wait?"

Despite the question he'd already opened the cabinets, reaching for the plates. A pitiful mrow could be heard from the bathroom, and a twinge of guilt sent his gaze towards the door. Poor Maybe, but he simply couldn't allow her access to a revolving door of candy distribution. Perhaps eventually they would turn the lights off and pack up on the trick or treaters, ensconced in movies and food, in which point she would be allowed out again.

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Simon followed suit, claiming one of the burners for the garlic knots before he slid over to resume his position at the counter and the microwave. The nearest mixing spoon made its way into his hand after the barest of searches, arm stronger than it should have been given the utter absence of physical activity in which he engaged. Muscle memory worked to his advantage here, their body long-used to vigorous mixing from Cyrus’s hobbies.

”A plate would be great.” It hadn’t occurred to him to ask; he was content to wait but if James had offered, then he wouldn’t turn it down, no matter what Ms. Manners might say about the division here between guest and host.

Then, because James wouldn’t just know what to make him, he added, “I’ll, uh, have a little of everything.” Garlic knots, pizza, zucchini sticks, while it was still piping hot enough to burn the roof of his mouth.

His gaze slid back to his bowl, and, content with the mixture, pulled back the spoon, shoved the bowl into the microwave, and set the timer. It roared to life, counting down each second as the chocolate and peanut butter melted into liquefied bliss.

Maybe’s pitiful whine cut through the air, and Simon turned slowly in the the direction of the bathroom, bit his lip sympathetically. His powers didn’t work with animals, exactly, but he identified whenever they were lonely, miserable, or pained. “It’s…it’ll be a long night, I guess.”

[James Fawcett]

James held one plate in his hand, the other flipping over boxes and pulling food over the edge and onto the ceramic. He glanced towards Simon when he was done, then towards the largely occupied counters, before deciding to carry the plate out into the living room. They would be eating out there, anyway, so why not go ahead and get set up now?

"Sorry," He called back, apologetic on behalf of his cat. "Maybe I should stick some canned tuna in there with her..."

That would keep her silent for the amount of time it took her to gobble the tuna up, licking all about the can until even the juice had been vanished. But it wouldn't be enough to keep her for the entire night.

"She'll try and get out when people come to the door."

A fact Simon had observed for himself.

He returned to the kitchen, fixing his own plate with half as much food as he'd given to Simon, assuming his friend would have a similar appetite to that of his twin.

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

”It’s okay.” Was he absolving the other man of guilt over locking her up or because he thought he might have offended Simon given one conversation they’d had about prospective pet ownership? It hardly mattered in the end.

The beep of the microwave briefly drowned out her mewling cries, and Simon tugged open the door and withdrew the bowl gingerly, fingers splayed around the edge to stave off steam burns instead of reaching for a dish towel or the nearest pot holder. It clattered to the table, and he nudged shut the microwave with his elbow while lifting the spoon again to give the mixture another three hearty stirs.

Followed by pouring nearly all of the box of Chex into the bowl and turning them over with the big spoon - wishing that he had grabbed a soup ladle instead, but it was too late for that. The cereal, with every stir, was coated in the dark brown gooey goodness - similar to making Rice Krispies treats but with a more decadent and thus delicious finished product. When he could no longer detect any bare cereal squares, he added the final ingredient, the powdered sugar, transforming the soil-like landscape into a series of snowy mountains.

Just as promised, it was the best when fresh. He traded spoon for his hand, taking a few pieces to munch on before they cooled, and he gestured with the other for James to follow suit.

[James Fawcett]

James reached out with his free hand grabbing a square and pulling it from its mates. It nearly burned his tongue as he popped it into his mouth, and he winced. But once the heat had faded he had to admit it was actually tasty.

"This is good!" He exclaimed, licking his fingers of sticky residue. "You'll write down the recipe for me?"

Not at that moment, though, not with both of them sticky handed from the puppy chow. "You wanna take it into the living room with us?"

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Before saying anything, he crammed the handful of chow into his mouth, ignored the familiar burning - took comfort in it, in fact, it meant he could feel something - and munched, savoring rather than swallowing swiftly to speak.

“Yeah.” Simon’s one syllable response was intended thrice over. Once to agree with James’s assessment that the resulting concoction was delicious. He might lack his brother’s more refined and experimental palate, but he was capable of discerning tasty from foul, and this wouldn’t have ascended to the coveted position of comfort food if it was bitter, sour, or off-putting. A second time to promise that he would share the recipe either before leaving tonight, or else passing it along through Cyrus the next time they met up. And then the third that he did, in fact, want to eat the Puppy Chow with dinner and to confirm that he would bring it with him.

The sides of the bowl had already diffused some of the worst of the heat, allowing it to pool at the bottom, and Simon avoided that by splaying his fingers all along the circumference of the sides, pressed it against his chest for further perch, as he followed James into the living room.

He deposited it closer to the center of the table than to his own plate. They were sharing, after all.

[James Fawcett]

James pulled the DVD for Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin out of it's case and into the DVD player. The machine churned to life, and then title screen appeared. Even with the food on his lap James left a whole seat cushion between himself and Simon, more space than he would have given had Cyrus been present. As the movie played they were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell, which caused James to leave his pizza and the sofa behind, ignoring the insistent meowing from the bathroom. Hand out candy, return to the sofa, and from there they were able to watch the entirety of the movie without any further interruptions.

Few trick or treaters made it to their apartments, leaving them to enjoy their movies and snacks in relative peace. At the end of the night the bowl of candy had barely diminished at all, and James asked if Simon wanted to take any with him (as well as the leftovers from their dinner, which were far too much for him alone).

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Simon had to admit that it was somewhat comforting to have another person to watch movies with, an opportunity long-lacking since uprooting to Vermont. How he had managed to live in Pilot Ridge and not make a single friend had been a periodic topic of discussion with his therapist, as they reached for material to fill those fifty-minute sessions that otherwise stretched into infinity of awkward silence and the gentle hum of a white noise machine. That failed to change his social isolation or his inability to occupy the other half of the couch while he and Cyrus together chose a movie or passed a bowl of popcorn or Puppy Chow back and forth like any other set of twins on this planet.

No, this was as nice as it was unfamiliar.

Through the evening, they watched much of Simon’s typical lineup, switching to Garfield and his ghostly pirate adventures when they had finished with Charlie Brown, and then introducing James to the unique and forgotten tale of The Halloween Tree, followed by a few of the best episodes of The Simpsons: Treehouse of Horror and culminating in Rugrats because they held a special place in his heart owing to their later holiday accommodations. They managed to polish off their Puppy Chow without Simon primarily shoveling handfuls of the sugary goodness into his mouth between bites of pizza.

When they finally finished, and he packed up his movies and had taken his share of their leftovers, he found he hadn’t regretted the night at all, not even with his absurd and somewhat revealing costume or the exertion of social engagement. He grabbed a handful of miniature chocolates as he parted and returned to his apartment feeling calmer than when the evening had begun.

One of his better Halloweens in recent memory.