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All of the recent talk of Omelettes and helping Nick Bottom plan that musical was quite the hazard. Why, you might ask?
Because omelettes were really good and Thomas hadn’t had one in far too long.
But today was the day. There was no rehearsal, as Nick was busy with something or another, which meant that he could finally sit down and have a deliciously scrambled egg with all the fixin’s inside.
Yeah, it only made sense to write the world’s first musical about such a culinary achievement.
He began gathering the necessary ingredients, humming to himself as he worked. “ We see the light , uhh… something something.”
Eh, lyrics weren’t important. He hadn’t even been there for that number anyways.
He picked up egg number one — because every good omelette needed at least two eggs, of course, and—ooh, a vision!
It washed over him easily, almost without him even needing to look to see.
“Yeah? You like being a pretty little object for me to use?”
“F- uh - fuck .”
The egg burst in Thomas’s hand, and he dropped it in surprise and, quite frankly, horror.
No , no no no. That was the last thing he wanted to see. Had he anything in his stomach, he might have actually thrown up a little.
Ew…
Okay. Okay. It was just a weird fluke, he just needed to push it the hell out of his mind forever and then burn the very memory itself, and more importantly, he just needed to cook himself a delicious and nutritious meal.
He went back to humming, desperately hoping that it would aid in his attempts to take his mind off of whatever that had been.
“ This Bottom’s gonna be on —” he grimaced, a sour taste in his mouth. “I don’t like that song anymore.”
He cleaned up the egg in silence instead, and by the time he was done with that, he was already feeling less nauseated.
“Okay,” he said to himself. “Omelette time.”
He cracked two eggs, thankfully without incident. Phew.
But, just as he was feeling safe again: tragedy struck .
He went to sprinkle in his fixin’s, but as he did…
“Who’s in fucking charge?”
“Y- You .”
“Say my name .”
This. This was Thomas’s nightmare. He had absolutely no desire to see this. It was invasive and, while he was in no position to judge, it was just gross .
Of course, he wasn’t particularly surprised, or even against, Nick Bottom and Shakespeare being… together. They could do whatever they wanted, but all Thomas wanted was a goddamn egg!
And he would be getting his omelette — no! The fixings! He’d gotten so distracted that he’d proportioned them all wrong!
Thomas stared at the sizzling egg in what might have been the most miserable moment of his career.
But it was okay. He could still fix this. He could fix this.
Carefully, with his fingers, he scooped out some of it, but because the universe was frowning upon him today (had he done something wrong? Was he being punished?), naturally, he just had to burn his hand as he did.
He screeched in pain, but it was nothing compared to—
“Nick, please .”
“I’m gonna fuck you real good, pretty boy.”
Whoa. He’d been in so much pain (physical and mental, if that wasn’t obvious), that he’d managed to see right into an entirely different story.
What had he done wrong? He was a nice guy! He didn’t rip people off! He used his skills for good!
What had he done to deserve a horrible, horrible sneak peak into someone else’s very private personal life?
He sighed, cleaning up the small burn so he could just get back to cooking.
And wow, somehow it was still mostly raw.
“These eggs are taking a while to scramble,” he murmured, “almost as long as it’s taking the author to reveal themself.”
Oh no. Another vision.
“A thing ?” Nick asked, swaying on his feet with intoxication, “you call this —” he gestured between the two of them aggressively, “a thing ?”
He laughed, upset, beginning to pace unsteadily. “ This is not a thing . It’s — I don’t know what it is, but it’s — it’s not like we’re dating ! We’re just two guys who hate each other who sometimes, occasionally , like once every other week maybe, end up having weirdly passionate sex! But just because we do that sometimes, and just because I’ve dreamt about you once or twice, doesn’t mean, it’s a thing .”
Well… at least they’d both been fully dressed, this time.
Hey, what was that smell?
No… no!
His omelette! The one good thing in the midst of this horrible horrible day… it was burning!
Frantically, he removed it from the fire, praying it would be salvageable.
“God is always watching. ”
That was… oddly out of place.
But at this point, all Thomas cared about was his poor, burnt meal.
It was far too overdone to even be considered edible.
This… this was worse than any other divine punishment. Those had been his last two eggs.
All he’d wanted was an omelette. All he’d wanted was the scrumptious meal that he’d been craving for days .
Thomas sank to the floor.
And he began to weep.