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Dick-bum, Eddie snorts to themselves. This word (a portman's toe or whatever) is not only funny and anatomically correct but also a perfect description of this fuckshit tornado of the day — well, a fuckshitnado will be a better description (and also a portman's toe).
They are alone in Miki's kitchen, nursing a cup of milk by the dull cold light of their phonescreen and whatever passes through the rain and the window. Milk is the only thing drink-adjacent Eddie could find in the fridge, and judging by the empty bottles of lemonade and chocolate milk, the only beverage that survives a day in a house full of children. Perfectly understandable, to be fair.
Her hair is finally dry — she was scolded by Cherry for ruining the hours of work that went into her new and undoubtedly superior (by the decision of majority) hairstyle in the morning, was brushed through again and only escaped torture by a blow dryer because it was the middle of the night and Miki sent the girl to bed.
Eddie is here again because the trailer is stuffed to the roof with sensual lesbian recon-fuck-ciliation (the opposite of gruck — which is, you guessed it, a port man's toe), and she's still not ready to deal with her da... Fra... the family reunion.
The couch is calling her, but milk tastes surprisingly good, especially when it means that the kids will not get to eat their cereal with it, and everyone knows that cereal without milk is the best way of consuming it. Oh, Miki will be so fucking mad in the morning. Does milk even count as a beverage?
Fuck no, she thinks suddenly, do I have to listen to those boring lesbian singers now?
They are not exactly bad, especially considering how many of them are out there, and statistically... Cath's driving playlist in particular, however, is surprisingly bland. Eddie has a vague memory of Cath telling her of one of them covering Hallelujah at some Winter Olympics, but despite Hallelujah being a banger and perfect scream-singing material, Eddie can't think of a context for using it from the top of her head.
She's thinking about the most random shit now, like music and cereal and portman's toes, because she's completely aware of what will happen if she tries to come to terms with what this week or something was (fuckshitnado, as established before, but also not one but two queer awakenings). She's totally not gonna think about Miki's... erm, everything, even though it's predictably difficult because Eddie's in her kitchen. A nice kitchen, but that's not the point.
Oh, and another nice thing — Boss, fka Sprog, is also here and apparently has been here all this time (all dogs are look the same when you're bombarded by cute photos 24/7), absolutely alive, lasagna-farting all over the fucking place. Which is convenient because otherwise Eddie would be thinking some sappy shit about the house smelling of Miki etc etc.
They can smell her right now, though — their head must've got fucked up to the point of permanent brain damage due to all this stress, they conclude, and realise that the cup has been empty for a while. They turn to the fridge to refill it and jump the shit out of their sandals.
"Holy fucking fuck!" they whisper-yell because Miki is — has been — standing there for, most likely, some time already.
There's an unreadable smile on her face.
At least, here's the explanation for her scent. Eddie doesn't say it.
"You been taking creeping-up lessons from my mentos?" she asks instead.
"What?" Miki asks back, confused.
"Nevermind."
The smile is still unreadable, but a glint in Miki's eyes is something more obvious. Eddie is immediately very grateful to Cherry and firmly determined not to wear her hair in a bun probably ever.
But then...
A very stupid revelation visits her. Absolutely of the kind you should share with people.
"Imagine how extremely fucked up it would be if it was you who killed Don after all," she says.
"The fuck?! Why are you still on about it?!"
The smile is gone. The eye glint is non-existent.
"You're such a shithead, Eddie," Eddie mumbles out loud.
"Hey," Miki hisses. "Instead of self-deprecation, I still would like a proper apology for even considering it, and probably an explanation."
"Yeah, well, remember my last case? I kinda had a crush on that murdering cu—"
"Nope, nope," Miki backs up — physically, taking a step back, with disgust on her face. "No explanation. Shut the fuck up."
Eddie shuts the fuck up. However, it's impossible for her to stay in this state for longer than a minute.
"It would be," she says and pauses to find the most fitting word, "ironic, I guess, since, erm..."
Not the best moment to announce her current crush — officially, that is, because the tension is palpable.
"I'd slap you," Miki shakes her head, "if you weren't so," she gestures vaguely in the direction of Eddie's head, "cute with this pathetic expression that's going on on your dumb face."
Eddie, being her typical self, misses most of the sentence and only registers the most important thing.
"Cute?" she asks.
Miki rolls her eyes and replies tiredly, showing the patience of a person who deals with children and crocs on a daily basis, "Yes, shithead."
Eddie's speechless — which isn't surprising whatsoever, though it doesn't last long again.
"The rain," she utters finally, once again choosing weather over animal kingdom facts (a backup plan). "Cool, isn't it?"
Miki doesn't say a word, only raises a brow. Is she speechless too? Is it a good thing? Shit. Why is gay flirting so fucking hard?
"I shot the sky a couple of times, because it wouldn't come."
Hehe, come.
And if Miki wasn't speechless before, she definitely is now.
Shutting the fuck up was a great idea. Too bad Eddie is such shit at good ideas.
"I'm sorry," she says, proving it one more time.
Miki groans and rubs her face.
"I think you should go and sleep," she says. "Sleep deprivation makes you an even worse person than usual."
Eddie absolutely agrees. And they do want to sleep. There's a problem, though — Miki stands in the way, between Eddie and the tempting couch, and it's a safe bet that she doesn't want any kind of physical contact.
Eddie dies inside.
They sigh and try to shimmy through the gap between Miki and the counter, their hands up in a gesture of surrender.
For some incomprehensible reason, however, Miki isn't even trying to move away. When their bodies inevitably touch, she mutters something suspiciously similar to for fuck's sake, and pulls Eddie into a kiss.
Oh, it's so much softer, Eddie thinks, and then all the thoughts leave her brain for at least the next hour and a half.
That's one good reason to sing Hallelujah.