Work Text:
Something was wrong. “Fuck,” Scott said, because when things went wrong, saying “fuck” was the best thing to do. So he said it again. “Fuck.”
His mom walked into the kitchen, frowning. Maybe it was about his language, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she joined him at the counter and poked the Yule Cake, which was crumbling, and not rolling, like it was supposed to. “Forget something?”
Scott looked around and spotted the milk, poured into a measuring cup but not the batter. “Fuck,” he said again.
“Yep.” She broke off a piece to eat. “Take two?”
He sighed. “Fuck.”