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Last night had been incredible.
Wilford had found a torrent for old Disney movies, somehow, and he and Bim invited the rest of the Egos down to the living room to watch.
Wilford, once again, transformed the room into a giant blanket fort, covered in pillows and soft fabric. Bim, once he was settled into the couch, munched on snacks and shushed the Googles pointing out inaccuracies. Dr. Iplier busied himself with making popcorn, ordering pizza, and refilling drinks– he’d already seen this movie, after all. When Wilford had the idea to bring all the snacks out into a pile on the living room floor, Dr. Iplier sat by the Host and described the on-screen action as best he could, laughing as the Host turned to explain to the Googles the concept of artistic freedom, the purposeful distortion of fact.
The Googles, when they weren’t harassing Bim or the Host, checked to make sure the TV was running smoothly (Bim throwing popcorn whenever they got in front of the screen). Wilford, once he was done rearranging the room, plopped down in the back corner by Dark, chattering endlessly about the movie. It was only when Dark threatened to put a pen through his eye that Wilford moved to sit by Bim, pointing out animation and story arcs to each other.
It was a peaceful night. Bim didn’t get up a single time, refusing to miss any of the story. They saved some pizza for him, but by the time the movie was over, Bim was fast asleep. Dr. Iplier had quietly covered him with a blanket and shooed them all back to their rooms, insisting that they leave him alone.
Morning light found Bim with his face squished against the couch pillows, shirt crumpled and covered in popcorn crumbs and drool. He woke up slowly to the sun in his eyes and a quiet growling from his stomach.
Bim swung himself off the makeshift bed, groggy and disheveled. He yawned, rubbing crust out of his eyes, feeling the ache in his back. It was a lumpy couch, really.
There was a shuffling from the kitchen, and Bim was suddenly, forcefully reminded of the way his stomach was hollowing itself out underneath him.
“All right, all right,” he muttered to no one, standing up. It was time for food. What sounded good right now? Cereal? Toast?
Memories of the night before came floating back, and his stomach grumbled angrily.
Pizza. Man, he’d kill for some cold pizza right now.
Bim slipped into the kitchen in his socks, making a beeline for the cardboard box on the counter. He reached for it. Ah, pizza–
Another hand blocked his from touching the box. Bim, still blinking in the light, looked up to see the outline of Dark leering at him.
“Good morning, Bim,” Dark said, offering an oily smile.
“Mm,” Bim mumbled, eyes fixed on the box.
“Now, now. Good morning,” Dark repeated, as if to a child.
It was physically painful not to roll his eyes. “Morning, Dark,” Bim said, voice rasping. Pizza and maybe some cold milk sounded amazing right now–
“Well, aren’t we a ray of sunshine,” Dark said, the words lashing, a honey-coated bullwhip.
“Mm,” Bim grunted again, looking at Dark, still feeling half-asleep. “Yeah.”
Dark grinned, showing all of his teeth, and moved to open the pizza box, brushing Bim’s hand out of the way.
If there was anything to wake him up, it was that.
Bim made a limp grabbing motion for the counter. “Dark, that’s…”
“Yours?” Dark smiled, if possible, even wider. “I don’t believe so, it is first-come, first-served around here.”
Bim saw red. Or, more accurately, purple.
Dark didn’t see it coming, not this early in the morning, and Bim found a kind of satisfaction in the fact that Dark’s aura was ringing faintly, smoke wispy above his head.
In the end, it was almost too easy.
“Dark,” Bim purred, looking up at him, “you wouldn’t deny me that last slice, would you?”
Dark’s heart stopped in his chest before jumping up somewhere by his vocal chords. “I…” he started, gruff, completely swept off his feet, “I–”
“No?” Bim practically whimpered, casting his eyes down. “Dark, I haven’t eaten since yesterday–” his stomach growled loudly, in conspiracy, “–but if you really want it, you can…”
“No,” Dark managed to choke out, seizing Bim’s shoulder. “No, you take it.”
“Are– are you sure?” Bim looked up, doe-eyed, in an open-mouthed smile, and Dark just about fell to his knees.
The rest of the Egos wandered into the kitchen to the smell of sizzling bacon, the pizza cold and abandoned on the counter.
“Is something burning…?” Google_R grumbled, looking around.
Bim waved them all over to the dining table, fork in hand. “Come eat with us!”
Dr. Iplier felt the tug of Bim’s aura and knew what was happening before he saw it.
Dark, complete in an apron, hurried past them with a plateful of bacon, eyes practically gleaming as he looked at Bim. “Some more, love?”
“Thank you,” Bim smirked up at him, and then winked at the others.
Wilford caught Dark’s eye, a storm in the room.
And that’s the story of how Dark and Wilford nearly killed each other over an incubus and a 16-course breakfast.