Chapter Text
It started with a steaming hot mug sitting inconspicuously on his nightstand.
Unsure if he was seeing things, Hater blinked at the mysterious cup beside his pillow. When he was positive it wasn’t his grogginess playing tricks on him, he sat up and rubbed at his face, wiping the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.
It couldn’t have been coffee; Peepers knew he hated coffee, as well as tea. Leaning over to get a better look at its contents, Hater tentatively eyed the mug at his side, seeing his reflection washed out in browns. Taking a short, weary whiff, he figured out to his pleasure that it was indeed not coffee, but chocolate—hot chocolate, to be exact.
Hater reached for it by the handle, giving it another good sniff, which instantly made his stomach groan. Looking from left to right, he saw no other soul in sight, and came to the conclusion that the beverage was left for him.
“If Peepers thinks he’s getting a raise, he’s got another thing coming,” Hater murmured to no one, wrapping both hands around the cup’s hot middle.
It was a nice gesture anyway—not that Hater planned on telling him. He was thinking of how great it would be to wake up to with piping warm cup of hot cocoa every morning. Already, Hater was thinking up plans for a custom skull-mug, with lightening antennas and streaks of green electricity, to be sitting at his bedside every morning this fall.
Careful to blow off some of its steam, Hater watched the liquid ripple beneath his breath, till a group of marshmallows settled up from below the surface. The cocoa was hot enough to melt them, till they were just lumpy, white mounds floating about in his drink. Even so, how droopy and melted they were, Hater quickly distinguished the design they made within the cocoa with a loud, scoff of annoyance.
The marshmallows lined up to make a smile, which meant only one thing: the drink was from Wander, a realization that made Hater slam the mug back down on his bedside table in anger.
Of course it was from Wander—it explained why it smelt so good, how it managed to stay just the right temperature, how the marshmallows magically kept up their pattern of a big, happy grin. No doubt, it would taste amazing, but that didn’t make Hater feel any less grumpy about it.
Besides the fact it meant Wander had been gallivanting about his Skull-Ship again, it also meant that drinking it held up the usual promises from Wander: even one sip would mean to Wander that Hater loved him, that they were truly the biggest and bestest of friends, and that he could free load about his ship as much as he pleased. There was no way Hater would ever agree to that, no matter how much he loved chocolate, or how melted and perfect the marshmallows were, or how it smelt just right under his nose.
Crossing his arms, Hater couldn’t help but cast a long face in the direction of the drink. It just wasn’t fair! Of course something so perfect and delicious had been left by Wander! Peepers would have made it too watery anyway, and it wasn’t like any of his men went about leaving him small, tasty treats on the regular. It was from his greatest nemesis, because that was just what his greatest nemesis did, he helped, gave advice and hugs, left gifts.
Hater’s stomach gurgled loudly, making his face soften as he eyed the mug closely.
Okay, Wander wasn’t here, right? It wasn’t like he could prove that it was Hater who drank it. It would be easy for Hater to plant evidence of an “unfortunate accident” between the mug and his carpet. He could spill something else and merely frame it as the cocoa, Wander would be none the wiser.
The absurdity of the plan dawned on Hater with a sigh; maybe Peepers was right, perhaps he had a bit of an issue when it came to the wandering weirdo but! He made it so easy to hate him!
With one last growl from his stomach, Hater conceded. There was no escaping it, it was inevitable. Wander would leave him mug after mug every morning if Hater didn’t drink it. Besides, he tried to reason—otherwise, it would just be a waste of good cocoa.
Hater took a short, careful sip. Instantly, warmth coated his insides, filling him with the tickling feeling of comfort, satisfaction, of happiness, and Hater grumbled with bitterness.
It was good, really good—almost good enough for Hater to not dread what taking even one sip would mean to Wander.