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OJ was exhausted. There was something about this week that wore him out more than usual. Everything around the hotel seemed to be breaking, there had been more conflicts because of more people coming in and adjusting to the hotel life, and the paperwork just kept piling up. Not to mention the emotional exhaustion he was experiencing, between trying to put more effort in to his relationship with paper and dealing with salt’s usual unwanted advances. He was wiped.
It was late at night and he was working on cleaning the lobby. This weekend, soap had just happened to join pickle to go to some gaming convention, and because of this OJ realized just how much work soap put into keeping the place decent looking. On top of it all, this weekend she was gone just happened to be the same weekend where everyone decided the Lobby was the main place to be. There were new stains on the carpet and endless an amount of crumbs in between the cushions.
OJ felt himself step on yet another sticky spot on the carpet and groaned, reaching over to grab the stain remover on the nearby coffee table. Right when his hand connected with the bottle and he brought it to himself, he heard the sound of glass shattering. He instinctively looked around, thinking he had knocked over something when grabbing the bottle, but nothing was spilled. He looked puzzled trying to find the source of the sound until it clicked that the sound came from behind him in the kitchen.
He sat there for a second thinking about what he should do. He contemplated just leaving, simply walking away and pretending he didn’t even hear it. Maybe just calling it a night and going to bed so he could cuddle up next to his husband. Then, of course, he just had to hear a hiss of pain followed by a meek curse.
He begrudgingly stood up and made his way to the kitchen to find who the suspects were, ready to curse out whatever stupid resident decided cooking in the middle of the night was a good idea. Upon stepping into the room, he saw the cause of the crashing sound. A large pile of sugar was in the middle of the floor, the shattered remains of the glass jar that once held it spread around it. But next to it all was the suspect hunched over and looking at one of their hands. There was a pile of broken glass by both their knees as left cherry anxiously held right cherry’s hand, blood seeping out of it.
OJ was quickly snapped out of his tired daze at seeing the tween’s bleeding hand. He rushed over as fast and carefully as he could, avoiding the glass. He got down to the boy’s level and watched the two pairs of eyes look up at him, widening in shock.
OJ grabbed at the bleeding hand, inspecting it, “were you picking up glass with your bare hands?!”
Left cherry looked down to the hand now in OJ’s as right cherry spoke, “Yeah but-”
“Why didn’t you use the broom?” OJ practically scolded.
“I couldn’t find it!” right cherry explained.
OJ groaned seeing that the wound was pretty deep, nothing that required stitches but it needed to be patched up. He got back up on his feet, the twins following his movement, right before the two were suddenly picked up by OJ. The older man ignored the complaining from the two, he knew they didn’t like being treated like a little kid but he didn’t want them injuring themselves further on the glass. As quickly as he could, OJ placed them to sit on the counter and went to grab the first aid kit in a nearby drawer, thankful that he took paper’s advice to have one stored in the kitchen just in case.
Carefully he picked up the injured hand and grabbed a nearby cloth, “what were you thinking picking it up with your hands?! Not to mention trying to get sugar when it’s nearly midnight!”
OJ felt part of his chest ache when he watched both kids slightly recoil at his volume. He whispered a quick ‘sorry’ right before left cherry spoke, “I was baking, I didn’t mean to drop it, it just slipped out of my hands,” then right cherry explained, “I had to clean it up or else you would’ve gotten even more upset than you already have been!”
“What would-” OJ cut himself off with a frustrated groan as he finished up pressing the cloth on right cherry’s hand, effectively stopping the bleeding for the time being. He reached over to wet the cloth at the nearby sink, gently cleaning the area around the wound, “That doesn’t mean you pick it up with your hands! Doesn’t matter how important whatever you were baking was. Do you understand how dangerous that could’ve been, I mean, you could’ve needed stitches! Don’t do that!”
OJ tossed the cloth to the side, pouring a small bit of peroxide onto a cotton ball as both cherries tried to speak up, “but-”
“Not buts!” OJ interrupted.
Cherries went silent, shrinking down again, regret welled up in OJ’s stomach watching them. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped again, but he couldn’t help it, his concern for the young boy overtook him, and his exhaustion removed what filter and patience he had left. He gently tapped right cherry’s hand and gestured with the cotton ball. The twins both had a look of dread before physically bracing themselves. OJ, as lightly as he could, dabbed at the cut with the cotton ball, hearing hushed hissings of pain from right cherry as left cherry shared a similar expression despite not being able to feel the actual sting of the peroxide. OJ whispered small rushed sorry’s as he quickly finished up dabbing at the area.
He went back into the first aid kit, grabbing Neosporin and gently applying it to the wound. It was only when he went to find the needed bandage that he surveyed the room more. All the usual baking ingredients were out, along with a jar of peanut butter, a large mixing bowl, and a fork. Probably peanut butter cookies, OJ assumed. But he was confused on why. Cherries would usually eat peanut butter cookies because they ate just about anything that was sweet, but OJ remembered them saying they weren’t very high on their list of favorites.
Grabbing out the bandage that he thought should be able to cover the deep cut was when OJ noticed something else: a small box. It was one he’d seen many times before when it came to the cherries, they had an ongoing love for pranking OJ with a new surprise in that very box. Sometimes it was a spring-loaded toy, sometimes a glitter bomb, but it also always included some type of present the twins had made for him.
The pieces clicked together at that moment, the box, the peanut butter cookies (OJ’s favorite), why they admitted that they tried to clean it up so OJ wouldn’t see and get upset. “More upset than he already was,” they had said. OJ thought he was hiding his frustrations well but he should’ve known he couldn’t fool them.
OJ took off the backing of the bandaid, “You were making cookies for me?”
Both of them perked up, eyes wide, “How’d you-” then they saw OJ nod his head to the box and both slumped, left cherry huffed, “stupid box.”
OJ picked up the injured hand again, lightly pressing the bandaid on so it laid flat on right cherry’s hand, “you didn’t have to go through all that, especially getting yourself hurt.”
Left cherry spoke up once more, “you’ve been so… grumpy lately, and all stressed out. I just wanted to help.”
OJ smiled, “I appreciate it,” OJ sighed, gently pressing a squeeze to one of each set of hands, careful to avoid the injured one, “I’m sorry for taking that out on you. I just hate to see you get hurt. I really care about you, and you worry me sometimes.”
OJ loved seeing the ways both sets of eyes lit up, but as soon as the light shone in them, they quickly tried to hide it with a roll of their eyes, “don’t get all weird and mushy, dad!”
To this, OJ smirked laughing as he tightly hugged the two, bringing the bandaged hand up to make a show of ‘kissing the injury better’, “Oh how could I not get mushy over you!”
“Gross, let go!!” Both small voices demanded, but he could hear the laughter and giggling behind every word as the two squirmed in his hold.
Small bursts of laughter could be heard, flowing out of the kitchen and into the lobby of the hotel. Eventually, OJ got the broom to sweep up the mess, as cherries simply watched since OJ forbade them to walk around on the floor till all the glass was cleaned up. OJ tried to usher cherries back up to their room but was met with resistance, so he made a deal that they could watch T.V while he finished up what was left of cleaning the lobby, then straight to bed. There wasn’t much left to clean and when it was finished OJ sat down next to the boy, the exhaustion once again catching back up to him. The same seemed to be true for the cherries as right cherry leaned against left cherry, who then leaned against OJ as they drifted off to sleep. OJ felt the tension leave his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around the tween, feeling better that he could end the day relaxing with his son.