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Most days, when she wasn't surfing or frying wings, Chuck wants to bash her head into the wall repeatedly.
Now, she isn't a masochist (unless Taylor wants her to be). She doesn't want to put a whole through the thin drywall and spend the weekend fixing it (unless Taylor gave her a hammer). And she definitely prefers keeping her pretty face as is (unless Taylor tells her that she looks better like that).
The alarm clock blares, disrupting his thoughts of how badly she doesn't wanna rip her heart out and give it to her roommate on a platter. She slams her fist down on the beeping menace, silencing before rolling out of bed and onto the floor. Crisp autumn air floats through her open window, sending a slight chill down her spine; sleeping topless had pros and cons.
Halloween was close, which meant dreadful menu changes from Papa Louie that nobody found nearly half as appetizing as he did. Genuinely who in their right mind looked at "ecto sauce" and "mummy dogs," and thought, yeah, that sounds yummy and edible. More than once it's forced Chuck to think about how Papa Louie comes up with it. Suspicious? Yes, highly.
At least Halloween also meant candy from trick or treating. Screw that old lady who saw her last year and said she was "too old" be knocking on doors and "begging" for treats. That lady didn't know jack! And yeah, maybe she was right but she still didn't have to say that. The memory still randomly haunts her at night; was it the costume that gave her away?
Blearily brushing her teeth with one hand and half-heartedly running a comb through her hair with the other, a thought struck her.
She and Taylor should go trick or treating this year and wear matching costumes.
Sure, she'll have to handcuff herself to Taylor to make it happen.
She's gonna to make it happen.
"Morning."
Taylor snaps her eyes open. That annoyingly bright and chirpy tone could only belong to the one person. She rolled onto her side, right into a pair of smiling green eyes.
"What are you doing in my bed?" Taylor asks, highly suspicious. It's not as if they've never slept in the same bed together, but they've never woken up with the other in their bed. It was usually a mutual unspoken agreement.
She sits up, awaiting Chuck's response, when something mean and hard tugs on her left wrist. Her mouth is already open ready to whine at Chuck for being so goddamn rough. If Chuck wanted them to stay in bed she could could've just asked (Taylor would've said no, because they have to work,but still), when she actually looks down.
Fuzzy purple handcuffs dug into her skin. The short chain linked her and Chuck's wrists together. The sex handcuffs.
"They match your bonnet," Chuck says cheerily, completely unbothered by this. "I was going to buy red ones, but these were cuter."
Taylor knows her jaw is slack and she should pick it up off the floor. She also knows she has work in an hour at the Hot Doggeria, so she doesn't have time for this at all. If this was Chuck's idea of a prank, it sucked ass.
She should be upset, but as she stares holes into Chuck, she knows this isn't a prank. What the hell is it? She doesn't know anything, except that Chuck is fishing for something without realizing there's no bait on her hook.
"Man, I just had this great idea." Chuck slides closer, resting her head on Taylor's shoulder. She grabs her phone off the nightstand and starts scrolling through Papinterest with her right hand. Taylor's imprisoned hand flops with every movement like limp spaghetti noodles. "You should dress as a cop and I'll be a prisoner and we'll handcu—"
"Get out." Taylor interjects, slightly muffled with Chuck's wild blonde hair attacking her nose.
The only accurate way to describe Chuck's face is a sad baby seal with insufferably big puppy dog eyes. Sort of like those baby seals on Japanese PapaTube channels. But if she lets this overgrown seal keep pouting it'll melt her defenses and she needs to put her fucking foot down because this is still weird.
"Get out." Taylor repeats and thinking better of it once she glimpses an evil ass smile forming at the edges of Chuck's mouth. "Unlock me first."
The handcuff attempt failed. She didn't make it happen. Taylor didn't even hear her out! And it really was a good idea. Kinda.
"Uh, yeah, can I get a, uh, no, wait…"
This is another one of those times where Chuck wants to bash her head into the wall, but only after she bashes the customer's head in first. Usually, she was pretty easy going, but the sun had long dipped and moonlight overthrew its control. Or something like that.
It's five pm already. Taylor hasn't responded to any of her texts. Timm's been trying to order ecto sauce, but can't decide if he should add purple pesto or normal celery. There's only thirty minutes left on her shift, but time has slowed to a crawl.
She's been wearing her charismatic "take-your-time" smile for so long it's gonna break her face and her mouth is gonna fall off. Long ago her eyes gazed over and unfocused. The restaurant lobby has been a blurry sludge soup of muddled details for the past five minutes.
Little fuzzes began dotting her vision until the restaurant door bell clanged. In who walked set her heart ablaze (or it it's heartburn from devouring several buffalo wings earlier): Taylor.
"Oh, okay, I think I know what I'll get now—"
"No rush, Timm." Chuck waves dismissively, attempting an eager-but-not-too-desperate sidestep. She starts writing down Taylor's order beforehand since she's got it memorized. "Hey, Tay."
Taylor plucked out an earplug, visibly suppressing her amusement. "Hate that nickname. I'll get the—"
"Three buffalo wings, three medium shrimp, six green peppers, and two ranch dips." Chuck lists off in one quick, practiced breath. More than a little stalkerish, but she could blame that on having great photographic memory and being good at her job. "I know."
That's shock in Taylor's face for sure, yeah. Even Timm looks a little creeped out, but this isn't about Timm right now. That's cool though. It's cool. Chuck's cool.
Chuck and Taylor are locked in a staring match while Timm stares between them, probably the only one with a brain, realization washing over his face. He's definitely caught on to Chuck's strange behaviour. Despite his attempts to quietly remove himself form the situation, Timm trips over his own shoelace, and curses. Taylor looks over (Chuck keeps staring at Taylor), so Timm just does the walk of shame, head hung low. The bell rings loudly in the relative silence of the Wingeria.
Taylor turns back to her, disturbed and confused.
Chuck has to say something. They have to go trick or treating together, scare people, and get cavities from eating too much candy and have their teeth rot out of their heads. She has to persuade her somehow.
What better way than to give someone a thousand things they like for the price of one?
"It'll be a while. Just wait here," Chuck says and gives Taylor an eerily wide smile before pivoting to the kitchen.
Saying it took a while would be a massive understatement. It takes Chuck at least two hours, and by the end of it even her skin has absorbed the smell of ranch and buffalo, and her fingers permanently smell like peppers. The plate is so heavy, someone like Whiff would have trouble lifting it.
Luckily, Chuck's determination gives her the strength to carry it to the ordering counter and slam it down it with excessive enthusiasm. She was buzzing with excitement. She'd have Taylor in the palm of her hand with this.
"Well?"
Taylor's face instantly morphs from irritated and impatient to objectively horrified. Aghast maybe? Her phone slips from her loose fingers, and hits the floor taking her earbuds with it. She looks from the plate to Chuck and back at the plate again. Not quite the overjoyed reaction Chuck expected from her.
"What… is this?" Taylor finally croaks out after what feels like an eternity where Chuck sort of wants to be shot in the face.
"It's your wings, man! 1,026 of them to be exact." Chuck tries to maintain a proud attitude but it's flagging slightly with the worrying lack of "thanks so much, Chuck! I love you, Chuck! Let's go trick or treating together Chuck!"'s from Taylor. "There's more than love in it; there's blood, sweat, and tears."
Chuck picks up a wing, guiding it to Taylor's beautiful lips. Taylor slaps her hand away and the wing flies into the wall with a splat. Only Chuck turns to look at it, frowning. That's about thirty seconds worth of saucing flung into nasty-shoe-haven. Chuck opens her mouth, ready to whine, but Taylor beats her to the punch.
"Genuinely, and I mean genuinely, what is this about? This is, like, psychopath behaviour, dude." Taylor tilts her head, and it disappears behind the counter while she bends down to retrieve her phone.
"Oh, come on." Chuck says nonchalantly, pretending to casually lean against the counter, eyes straying. "Can't a girl can't show a little love for her roommate?"
Taylor's head pops back up. Her brows are furrowed as she leans forward. They're closer than ever now. Just a little further and they'd kiss.
"What kind of love?"
"The kind where you eat the 1,026 wings I lovingly prepared for you, dude. And where you go trick or treating with me in matching costumes. And maybe a kiss." Chuck mutters. She's a little embarrassed now that she's admitting it, since actions were supposed to speak louder than words. "We should start with the kiss."
"You could've just asked instead of acting like a maniac."
"So… yes?"
Taylor sighs and her eyes flutter shut for a second like it pains her to even admit the truth. "Yes."
"Great. I was thinking I should be Santa and you should be the elf." Chuck grins wolfishly, all teeth. "Since, you know, I love cookies—"
Taylor grabs her by the collar and slots their mouths together. Taylor tastes like sour candy and orange mocha. Chuck doesn't even care that she was supposed to clock out two and a half hours ago, or that Mandi is standing by the door watching them make out.
She's already planning their Halloween outfits for the Santa parade.