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Cole has been awake for upwards of twenty-four hours, his feet feel like he's back to being a guard at a bank, his head is absolutely pounding, and the dozens of buckets of different kinds of flowers are all blending together.
Not his favorite way to start the day.
There are more flowers than he could ever name in every color he can think of with cute little name cards in front of each bundle, each with a little summary of meaning and where they grow and other information he can't imagine trying to make heads or tails of right now.
Zane would probably know all of it, anyway.
Cole can practically hear him rattling off factoids about how long they take to bloom and the gifting connotations of each kind. Nerd stuff.
Nerd stuff he isn't good at on a good, well-rested, reasonable day, much less day two of being on his feet.
What he wouldn't give to be asleep right now— but this is for Zane, so he's not going to let little things like exhaustion or aches or words swimming in front of his eyes get the better of him. Not now, not ever— especially not on their anniversary.
Zane does not truly need sleep, but he would certainly enjoy a rest.
Unfortunately, he only has a matter of an hour or so before Cole is due back from his errands, so any attempt to work in secret must come first.
A green, plastic bowl— which has been with the team as long as Zane has, somehow surviving the loss of the original monastery and the Destiny's Bounty and half a dozen other homes along the way— rests on the counter with a damp towel over it, dough rising peacefully. The stove is host to a pot of happily simmering sauce. Zane chops herbs, watching the morning sun catch on the fresh garden-deep green, and inhales the fresh scent, and is reminded once more of those early days of training.
The first meals he made for the people that rapidly became family, for the young man that would grow to be the closest connection he has.
A smile slips into place on his lips. He can remember it so vividly; days of young bravado and bright laughter. Learning how to be a member of a team.
Cole, an exhausted dumbass, stood in that florist's shop for so long that not only the poor cashier but also two customers ended up helping him.
They'd worked together for nearly half an hour to build a bouquet based on his descriptions of Zane. And their dynamic. And everything good about his boyfriend, which, in hindsight, he isn't sure was coherent.
He knows he'd called Zane kind and brave and strong. He'd described him as wise. Warm-hearted.
But then he'd quickly (stupidly) blurted something about "not warm, warm, he's cold. But not cold like cold, just- wintery. Literally. But he's so sweet, honest!" that probably made everything much more confusing for literally everyone involved.
The strangers were polite enough to not ask if he was drunk, so that was nice.
They'd walked him through some two dozen floral options, different pastel colors and beautiful greenery, and somehow he'd strung together enough coherent thought to say yes to some of them. The flowers got bundled up in brown packing paper, layered with sparkling, white tissue and a ribbon made of white lace.
They're beautiful. It's a beautiful bouquet. It's gorgeous, it sparkles in the sun, and it looks like a winter wonderland.
Which is why he's so angry to be juggling it during a stupid brawl.
"You guys picked—" he kicks a masked man in the face, cradling the flowers to his chest as he whirls to elbow another— "a terrible day—" another man throws himself directly at Cole, and he throws the man into another— "to rob a grocery store!"
Zane made the foolish mistake of walking out of the kitchen for two minutes to help Kai with a misbehaving television remote. In that time, the chicken that also calls the monastery home has wreaked utter havoc.
The dough bowl is on the ground, with the spongy ball of would-be bread spilled across tile.
Minced herbs are everywhere, as though a blast of wind had hit the cutting board directly and without mercy.
The sauce is burnt and dripping from the ceiling, neither of which are things he can explain beyond blaming the chicken.
"Naturally," he sighs, dragging a hand down his face as the chicken chirps pleasantly up at him.
It hops over to him, as cheery as he's ever seen it, and zaps him in the leg.
Cole manages to keep the bouquet safe as he handles the rest of the robbery. Somehow.
The bad guys are stopped, the money is returned, and the day is saved.
No amount of heroism can save him from the other risks of the city, though.
No, the walk home is spent dodging people that refuse to look where they're going. It's spent trying not to let then wind hit the flowers and ruin their petals. It's spent staring down every bird he sees, just daring them to try to come mess with the bouquet.
It's a longer trip than usual.
Impulsively, he manages to make it even longer by adding a stop into a candy shop.
It's been around for years, even if parts of it were rebuilt after a crisis here or there. Lloyd loved it when he was little, so Cole knows the aisles well— even with a replaced roof from after the Great Devourer and a rebuilt front door from after the Sons of Garmadon took over town, the inside really hasn't changed much.
The floor still creaks just like it did under that young boy's shoes. It still smells like the same candy-and-chocolate punch-in-the-nose it always was.
He can practically hear Zane's laughter as Lloyd reads jokes off the back of taffy.
Bad jokes, but innocent ones. The kind that still make Zane chuckle, warm and hearty in his chest, and send Cole's own heart into a puddle of goo.
Even back then. Even before he really knew why.
Dinner is… beyond repair, Zane concludes.
His plan to have a more elegant meal will simply have to wait. For now, he pivots his attention to practical, because Cole is due back shortly.
Spaghetti. Simple, nice, close to his plan without requiring extended prep time.
He can tweak the store-bought sauce in the cabinet and garnish with fresh basil and have something filling and pleasant. It will have to do.
He sets to work, boiling water and cleaning the disaster.
Cole gets lost in the small candy shop.
More accurately, he gets lost in his own memories. Bringing Lloyd here for a treat after training; watching Jay and Kai argue over snacks for movie night ("We have the budget for both," Zane had chimed in kindly, only to be met with a chorused "That's not the point!" and them babbling about "standards" and how awful the other's taste is); trying not to laugh as Nya ranted about the 'new and improved' version of her favorite sour candy, which was evidently new and much, much worse.
Coming in with Zane to buy Lloyd a birthday gift two years back, and falling in love all over again as the nindroid had mused on his options.
Watching him mull over a dozen kinds of chocolate bar, with a thoughtful look on his face and an earnest interest in peanut butter-to-chocolate ratios.
Zane's eye twitches.
He has no rational explanation for what he is seeing. There is no reason for the pasta to be gone. He saw the box of spaghetti in the pantry two hours ago. Why is it not there?
He's been in the kitchen the whole morning. No one could have made pasta without him noticing.
"Kai?" He calls, eyes scanning the other shelves in case someone had simply moved it. That would make some sense, at least.
Footsteps approach behind him. He doesn't glance back.
"Yeah?"
"Do you know where the spaghetti has gone?"
Kai's wince is quiet, but audible, and Zane feels resignation creep into the back of his mind.
"I think Jay's crunching on it."
"…uncooked?"
"Uncooked. I can run to the store..?"
His eye twitches again. He will have to look over his facial servos later.
"No, thank you," he sighs, closing the cabinet with a soft click. "I will… reevaluate."
The paper bag Cole takes from the nice, elderly cashier is heavy enough that he thinks maybe he went overboard. Maybe.
But it's for Zane, so does such a thing really exist? Cole would give him the sun if he could. What's a few too many chocolates compared to that?
Besides, he knows Zane will end up sharing.
Zane will end up sharing, because Zane is the sweetest man alive and is a total sucker for their little family. Because he doesn't know how not to give. Because he's kind.
And if Cole has a dopey grin on his face all the way home from thinking about his kind boyfriend, who's going to blame him?
"Uncooked pasta is not a snack!" Zane finally exclaims, incredulity overriding his efforts to keep this conversation productive.
"It's a satisfying crunch!"
"I think he's about to show you a satisfying crunch," Kai mutters, just loud enough for Zane to hear and entirely too amused for his liking.
He makes no effort to deny it. The urge to make a point is, admittedly, present, but it would not be productive. Zane simply sighs instead, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling slowly.
"And the lack of baking soda—"
"Is not my fault," Jay interjects, hands up in surrender. One hand still holds a few uncooked noodles. Zane elects to ignore that. "Kai was trying to clean—"
"Jay that is not going to help right now—"
"Guys!" Lloyd cuts in, sounding almost as tired as Zane feels. "Can we please focus? Cole's gonna be back any time now, and Zane's asking for our help."
"Thank you."
Cole's own steps are the only thing audible in the monastery's courtyard, which is rare.
Rare enough to have him on guard, lightening his steps and watching shadows as he crosses to the front door. Wouldn't it be just his luck to have some new life-or-death threat show up on his anniversary?
There isn't any sound coming from inside, either, which is even worse. No shrieking or laughing or arguing. Not even the sounds of a fight.
Something is very, very wrong.
He creeps around the front, peaking in windows, and finds absolutely nothing.
The warm, sleepy-but-content feeling from earlier has thoroughly thawed, replaced by a hollow kind of dread between his ribs as he tucks the bouquet and candy behind a pillar and launches himself up onto the courtyard wall.
He makes his way to the roof, crossing shingles as quietly as a shadow. A window in the back is open (also not a good sign, but at least it isn't broken), and he slides it open and slips into a dark room.
It's dark enough that his eyes take a moment to adjust, just barely making out the outlines of the couch and abandoned game controllers. The television is off, the console is in standby… no signs of trouble, but nothing to comfort him, either.
He creeps into the hall and down past empty rooms, taking it slowly and carefully and trying to ignore the dread twisting his gut.
Eventually, he winds up near the dining room— which, thankfully, finally has a sign of life.
Zane is pulling a tray of bagel pizzas out of the oven when he hears something out in the hall.
"So… no super villain attack, then?" Cole calls tiredly, and Zane turns to watch him poke his head into the kitchen.
"Not that I am aware of," he says, brow furrowing slightly as he sets the tray on the stove. "Have I missed something?"
"The whole place's quiet as a tomb, s'all."
"Ah." I should hope so. Zane turns back to the food, inspecting the cheese for proper melt. "Yes, the others went out for dinner."
"…they did, huh?"
"They did."
He hears Cole shuffle around behind him, presumably taking off his jacket, but he doesn't bother turning around. Cole has always had a way of seeing through him, which would be less than ideal for what he expects Cole to ask next.
"Any particular reason?"
Just as he expected.
"You would have to ask them," he offers noncommittally, because several threats were implied if they ruined my third attempt to make you a nice dinner just does not seem like the proper response. True, yes, but not proper. "Are you hungry, Cole?"
There's a pause. Zane is nearly sure that he will ask follow-up questions.
He doesn't.
"Mhm," Cole hums quietly, slipping his arms around Zane's waist instead of reaching past him for a pizza. "But it can wait. Hi."
The warmth against Zane's back is as reassuring as ever. Solid, steady— just like the man emitting it. A leader. The cornerstone of the team. He shifts slightly backwards, leaning into the feeling. "Hello."
"Why bagel pizzas?" Cole asks, quiet and soft and curious.
"You like them, correct?"
"I do. I like lots of food, though, and you don't like making them."
"It was how the brownie crumbled," Zane says as lightly as possible. His eye does not twitch. It wants to.
"The cookie crumbled," comes the gentle, fond correction, followed immediately by the hand slipping from his waist to the cookie sheet. "Well, thank you. It smells delicious."
Zane hums in acknowledgement, trying not to consider how many herbs were washed and cut in this kitchen today in order to produce that smell and how few survived to be on the pizza.
"Happy anniversary," he murmurs instead, turning his head with every intention of kissing his boyfriend.
Said boyfriend startles instead, dropping the pizza back onto the cookie sheet and shooting off like he'd been shocked.
"The flowers!"