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Kong opened his eyes to darkness. It took him a moment of listening to figure out what had woken him- the rumbling of thunder above the house.
Kong sighed. I’m going to guess- he peered up at the top bunk- I guessed right. Triangle was not asleep. A quick glance to the other side of the room told him that Noodle-Neck, world’s actual best housemate, was.
Kong exited the room, quietly shutting the previously slitted open door with a click. Most of the windows had their curtains pulled shut, but one had them pulled all the way back, the one that adjoined the back door across from the kitchen. Triangle was splayed out in front of it, flopped over like a dead animal on the side of the road.
The first time Kong and Ghidorah had found him like that, they’d both flipped out (it was not just Kong, thank you very much, Ichi and Ni had panicked, too) and thought Triangle had torn his stitches and collapsed. Triangle had raised his head to stare at them incredulously and told them to find their own spot on the floor to lay on.
“Well, that can’t be comfortable,” Kong observed in the here and now. Triangle gave a low hum of acknowledgement, but didn’t jump at all surprise, to Kong’s disappointment. He sometimes hated how his friend could just sense how someone else was there. It made him near impossible to jump scare.
“Comfortable enough,” his friend refuted after a moment.
Kong snorted in disagreement. “Yeah, for a piece of plywood, maybe.”
“Your spine is a piece of plywood.”
“Your brain is made of wood chips.”
“Yours is spaghetti noodles.”
Kong rolled his eyes and left the room to get some pillows. If he insists on laying on the floor instead of his own bed, he should at least not murder his back doing it.
He threw the first at his friend and clocked him in the head. Triangle lifted it to give him an irritated look and threw it back. Kong dodged and threw his next missile. Triangle, alerted to a fight, rolled out of the way and returned fire with it, this time managing to nail Kong in the arm.
Kong went to throw another one, but Triangle lifted a hand in a signal to stop. “You’re gonna wake up Ghidorah and MechaG,” he whispered harshly.
“Me?” Kong threw back incredulously, but lowered his voice. “If the storm didn’t wake them already they’re probably not ever gonna wake up.”
“That’s what you think,” Triangle shot back. Kong started arranging the army of pillows on the floor. “And how and why do we have so many freaking pillows?”
“‘Cause someone in this house likes to lay on the floor instead of a bed and some other nice people in that house don’t like it when that someone complains that his back hurts and also the floor is cold. Why do you like sleeping on the floor.”
Triangle snorted. “Well, who says I like it?”
“Well, the fact that you do it four times a week is usually a giveaway.”
The rain pounded harder against the window in the brief quiet that followed, and Kong kind of wished he hadn’t brought it up.
“Hot chocolate?” Triangle offered after a minute.
“We don’t have any hot chocolate packets,” Kong pointed out.
Triangle heaved himself to his feet. “Hot cocoa packets are for sad losers like you.”
Kong stayed back for a moment to keep arranging pillows while Triangle shuffled around the kitchen, opening the fridge and closing it and searching cabinets.
“Monkey,” he called after a moment. “I need you to cut things.”
Kong rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. Triangle wordlessly handed him a knife and pointed at the chocolate.
“Chop this nicely,” he ordered.
“Why can’t you?” Kong shot back.
Triangle shrugged and nonchalantly held out his talons. The old scars that crawled up his arms were glowing a very faint yellow, and his claws and hands shook just from holding them out. Triangle only let him examine them for a second before snatching them back and tucking them underneath his crossed arms.
“What’s that from?”
Triangle shrugged again. “Someone I used to fight.”
Kong started chopping the chocolate, not bothering to push further. If Triangle wanted to tell him who it had been, he would’ve by now. Triangle grabbed a sauce pan and poured milk into it, then turned the burner on low.
Kong rinsed the knife in the sink, a little surprised that all the noise they were making in the kitchen hadn’t attracted Noodle-Neck out in there with them.
Kong leaned back against the counter and watched as Triangle stirred in some sugar, cocoa powder, a touch of cinnamon and a dash of vanilla extract to it and slowly whisked them together, eyes distant like they always got when he started doing things on autopilot instead of giving tasks his full attention.
He hovered a talon over it briefly, then hummed thoughtfully and dumped the chocolate in and continued to stir. It was excruciatingly boring to watch, and Kong found himself tapping on the counter with his fingers impatiently.
All of the sudden, a blinding white flash temporarily lit up the entire house, followed by a deafening clap of thunder a half second later that shook the house and rattled Kong’s chest along with it. When he got his bearings, Triangle had dropped the whisk against the edge of the pot to clamp his talons over the sides of his head. He’d always been a bit more in touch with his senses than Kong was, but it was a bit concerning that he hadn’t taken them down.
“You alright?” he asked.
Triangle blinked rapidly as if to clear his head, then picked the whisk back up. “Yes,” he answered after a minute.
“You sure?”
“Monkey, I’m fine,” Triangle snapped wearily. “I’m just- you jumped, too!”
Kong rolled his eyes. Jerk.
Triangle got out a couple of mugs and ladled the hot chocolate into the mugs and silently passed one over to Kong, keeping the other for himself. Triangle curled onto his pile of pillows, only looking up to narrow his eyes when Kong tossed a blanket at him.
“It’s cold,” Kong reminded.
Triangle huffed, but pulled it over his shoulders, albeit reluctantly. “The arctic’s colder.”
“What, the arctic ocean?”
“Yes.”
Kong stared at him, then shook his head and decided not to question it. He sat down on his own pillows and watched the rain lash against the window, sipping at his admittedly delicious hot chocolate. It was just the right amount of sweet, and the cinnamon really brought out the dark chocolate taste in it.
Triangle flinched every once in a while at unexpected lightning strikes, but eventually he started to nod off, head sinking towards the pillow.
He must be tired if he’s going to sleep in these conditions.
“When’s the last time you slept?” Kong asked abruptly. Triangle jumped a little, and Kong smoothly grabbed Triangle’s empty mug when it slipped from his claws.
Kong was still mentally patting himself on the back for the spectacular catch when his friend tilted his head to give him a look Kong couldn’t read. “You really want the answer to that?”
Kong stared out the window and pushed the mugs to the side. “I’m gonna guess not.”
“Well, you’d be right, tiny brain.”
“Tiny arms.”
Triangle shuddered again at another fork of lightning.
“If you hate this kind of weather so much, why are you watching it?”
Triangle turned his head back to stare out the window. “It’s not the storm itself. Just the memories that come with it.” He dragged his claws across the floor. “Of who used to bring it,” he corrected. “I guess this is kind of an attempt to desensitize myself to it.”
Kong followed his gaze to the window. “Is it working?”
Triangle snorted a bitter laugh. “No, not really.” His friend, seemingly finished with the conversation, laid his head back down on the pillow.
Kong considered dragging him to the bedroom, then decided it would cause too much noise (i.e, Triangle would put up a stupid fuss over it and fight back too hard and Kong was not awake enough to deal with that) and dropped down on his own pillow nest.
“If you kick me or dump water on me to wake me up in the morning I’ll kill you,” he directed at his friend.
Triangle hummed agreeably, but his eyes were already closed and Kong doubted he’d actually listened.
Kong fell asleep to the sound of rain slowing to a gentle patter against the window.