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Pixel had a habit of humming when doing chores. That’s something that Striker loved about her.
He listens to her hum as he takes the broom from its spot in the pantry, occasionally joining in a familiar note.
He tracked the song down in his mind, and absentmindedly began singing the lyrics out loud. Pixel laughed sweetly, and she took the broom from his hands.
“You should get the mop first, Striker.” She smiles.
Striker nods, disappearing around the corner to grab it. When he returns, Pixel is filling up the bucket for him, and she places it on the floor a few seconds later. Striker dips the mop in the crystal-like water, drenching the strands. He takes one long sweep of the places closest to his feet, then moves outward.
Pixel squeezes past him to get into the pantry, and she pulls out a few ingredients. Along with reaching into a cupboard for a cutting board.
Striker only gets a glimpse, but sees a box of spaghetti, onion powder, basil, and oregano.
Pixel steps around the wet spots from the mop, and reaches into the fridge. Ground beef, beef broth, marinara sauce, and some tomatoes. Striker grabs a knife from the drawer, and hands it to her. She finely chops the tomatoes and garlic, and Striker can’t help but stare in utter infatuation.
She grabs a pot from one of the cupboards, and fills it with the beef broth, garlic, tomatoes, and marinara sauce.
The stove’s knobs click as she turns them, and a warm fire is lit under the grate.
Striker has never been a very good cook, but now he has Pixel.
He realized he had been staring, and he felt his internal fans spin quicker. He looks down, continuing to mop.
He cracks a smile as he hears Pixel chuckle.
“Jeez, do I really look that good when cooking?” She jokes, and Striker leans the mop against the counter. He steps over it, and embraces Pixel.
“You look nice, no matter what.” He says, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. Pixel laughs again.
God, was that laugh gorgeous.
It was akin to a warm summer evening, with the crickets and fireflies. The rustle of the grass and trees.
Pixel pulls back, reaching for a speaker hidden behind some of the mess on the counter. She clicks on the ‘On’ button, and connects her phone to it. The music springs to life.
Harsh tones, at first, but the music comes in, and it’s all wonderful.
Give me your eyes
I need sunshine
The musician sings, voice almost emotional.
Pixel takes Striker’s hand, and one of Striker’s hands finds her waist immediately. The other finds her shoulder, fingers dipping into the somewhat exposed joint. He’s careful to not brush the bungee cord. He can feel how warm Pixel’s chassis was, and his was too. His heart is practically leaping from his chest
Pixel brushes her forehead against Striker’s, and he smiles. She places her hand warmly against his cheek, and Striker melts. He tilts his head into the touch, fanning whirring audibly.
“Your fans, Striker.” Pixel reminds. Striker looks up, and rolls his eyes.
“I don’t care if you can hear them, at least you know how I feel.” He says, turning his head and kissing Pixel’s palm.
Pixel’s fans whir louder at that. Striker laughs, a sly grin on his face.
“Got you!”
“Real slick, Striker.” Pixel snickered, pulling Striker closer to her.
He bends down easily, placing his head in the crook of Pixel’s neck. She laughs quietly as Striker peppers her with kisses. She shoves her hand into the side of Striker’s neck, not giving enough force to push him away.
Striker pulls back, giggling.
The pot on the stove gurgles, and Pixel jumps back, eyes wide.
“Crap!” She hissed, rushing to the pot and turning down the heat. Striker cackled, and returned to his mopping duties.
“You distracted me!” Pixel rolled her eyes sarcastically, “You’re paying for that!”
“How so?” Striker put a hand on his hip. Pixel fell silent, clearly thinking.
Then, her fans kick up speed.
“Not telling.” She says, looking away to the stove.
“Wooooowww… I see how it is!” Striker snorted, bringing the mop to the sink to wring it out.
Pixel slowly added in the other ingredients to the pot one by one, and was particularly insistent on not breaking the spaghetti. Striker always did that growing up, so maybe it was just a thing he did.
And I could give you my apologies
By handing over all the olive trees
And I could take away your shaky knees-
Striker sings along, despite not knowing the lyrics.
After messing up a lyric, Pixel snorts, grin on her face.
“Problem, missy?” Striker asks jokingly, stepping closer to Pixel.
“No sir, none at all!” She says, innocently. Striker practically tackles her into a hug, and she shrieks. It trails off into laughter as Striker picks her up, carrying her like one would a bride.
He peppers her face in kisses; Pixel is a giggling mess. Their shared laughter is warm, one that reminds Striker of the day they got married.
Oh, what he would do to relive that day once more.
He sets Pixel down, and she wipes tears from her eyes, still grinning.
They fall into silence, letting the song and the crackle of the stove fill up the empty space. The silence is still comforting, no matter what.
We’ve both been very brave
Walk around with bowed legs
Wait for the scary day
The song continues on, and eventually Pixel pauses it.
She dishes up the food. Warm spaghetti, with flakes of parmesan on top. Striker says thank you, and takes his seat across from Pixel at the table.
Their table was quaint. Small and wooden, with a vase of flowers that Striker had bought. They were a wonderful assortment of pink, red, and white.
Lilies.
They symbolized something, but Striker couldn’t remember currently, since he was too busy wolfing down his food.
After dinner, he helps Pixel clean up. Rinsing off the dishes, sweeping, wiping down the table.
He doesn’t mind chores, and neither does Pixel.
The two settle onto their couch. Pixel lays close to Striker, somewhat sat up.
Striker absently scrolls for a show to watch, although soon takes notice that the ambience provided by Pixel’s fans had died down.
She was asleep. Striker shuts off the TV, and attempts to wriggle free from under her.
He doesn’t succeed.
Maybe sleeping on the couch for one night wasn’t so bad. He reaches for a blanket, and covers the two of them with it.
He can feel his own fans slowing, and he drifts off to sleep.