Characters/Pairings: Dave Wilson, Ted Ambrose. None.
Genre: General
Summary: Why Dave should not leave Ted alone in the house when he's occupied.
Dave
groaned at the stick poking him. It’s a bright morning, with the light
streaming through the all-too-big, ceiling to floor windows. Falling asleep with
such glaring evil had been hard enough, he didn’t need more “help” from Ted. Didn’t
he have basketball practice? He was pretty sure he had; it’s Saturday after
all. Or was it? He didn’t really remember the days. The names, yes, the current
date, no.
“I know only one person who needed twenty minutes to wake up.” A mumble.
Dave turned around, grabbing his pillow and covering the back of his head with
it. It made breathing a tad harder, but all was done for the sake of both
annoying his so-called friend and to get more of some eyeshut. He heard a sigh
and could imagine the other rolling his eyes at his actions. Why wasn’t this
guy leaving yet? Dave proved he was a lost case, really. And he wasn’t about to
get up either. He was tired. He didn’t even remember when he last slept. By that,
he meant he didn’t remember how often he slept yesterday.
The prodding persisted until he felt his legs being lightly smacked by
the baseball bat. Dave cracked open an eye, glad that he was on his stomach
because otherwise Ted would notice. Dave kept his silence and stayed still,
anticipating something but so far, nothing. But that was before something hard
hit his back, making him nearly jump.
“I know you’re awake.”
“No you don’t.” Dave finally relinquished his hold on the pillow to flop
onto his back and glare at Ted, who had rather casually threw a ball at him and
was currently smirking like he won this game now. Well, he might have, but that
didn’t mean Dave would give up. With narrowed eyes, he moved away and lied on
his side, just over the edge of the bed and tried to lull himself back to
sleep.
“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” he heard Ted said before he was pushed
off. Dave yelped but it was silenced when he hit the floor.
“Okay, I’m hoping you’re not dead down there cause I really want ice
cream right now.” Ted peered over the bed, blinking, probably not realizing
that Dave didn’t really expect a push. Dave just groaned and lied on the
ground, not wanting to get up. He could almost feel that ball-shaped bruise
forming on his back, a bump on his head, and he might possibly feel sore for
several hours.
“Come on, you can’t be sleeping at this time of day. It’s already
eleven. Your plants are dying from the heat.” That got Dave pushing himself up,
eyes wide. He nearly forgot. What would happen to the species that needed extra
care on being watered on time? He didn’t want them to die. They were rare and
delicate, and surely they would still be somehow surviving? No, they might not
be. After all, the weather here was harsher than their original countries.
Getting onto his feet, Dave ran out of his room, nearly stumbling over the
rails before he turned and found the stairs. Ted shouted behind him, and there
was a thump that sounded like something being dropped, but he had no time for
that. Did he turn on the automatic watering system? His memory was a bit blurry
there.
Dave made an abrupt turn to the left just before he entered the living
room, running straight for the gardens. The sun was indeed harsher today, and
he didn’t want his beloved to wither. They were so precious they were literally
priceless—some cost high enough to turn people off from buying it as ornate
plants, as beautiful as they were. But some of the hybrids were amazing and
Dave loved them like he would have loved… them.
Quickly ducking under the net of the greenhouse entrance, Dave snatched
the watering can and let the water pour into it, waiting until it was nearly
full. He then rushed to that part of
the greenhouse, where all the plants that needed extra care were kept, and
smiled as he entered the cooled off room. The weather-controlled system was
working then. His pace slowed as he looked around to appreciate the view. He
should start with the tuberous begonias.
Then Ted came marching in, except that he had ice cream in his hands.
Dave raised his eyebrows as he put down the watering can, expected, but
accepted the outstretched offering of the cold treat. He plopped down on the
ground, eye-to-pot level with most of the plants, and Ted just looked at him
weird. Probably about the dirt thing. He thought outdoorsy people like Ted
wouldn’t care about getting a bit down and dirty. Still, who cared. Ripping
open the packaging, he let the plastic fall onto his lap as he focused himself
on eating his unhealthy part of breakfast.
“You planning to do nothing at all today or are you going to finally
move? Your sister just sent me a message saying that you should do some exercise.”
“I exercise. I water the whole garden and greenhouse every day.”
“Your dad said we’re going to a nearby shooting range this afternoon.
Said that you should learn self defence or something. I don’t really remember,
we were having breakfast.”
“Why are you having breakfast with Dad? And why would I need to know how
to defend myself? I’m homeschooled. I don’t even go out to buy groceries. I
only go to the gardens.”
“Because your parents, unlike you, were awake when most people are
eating breakfast.” Ted shrugged, seemingly uncaring. It seemed strange that
this was the sort of person he befriended—well, despite everything, they were
friends for nearly a decade and Dave’s not stupid enough to just discard his
only friend because Ted was slightly on the weird side. The argument could always
be flipped, and the result would heavily lean on his side. No matter what, Dave
would be weirder.
He could try out the equation sometime. It probably won’t be that hard,
really. Judging from violation of society’s expectations, he could gather more
than enough parts to constitute the x and y. If he was to add things like
actual strangeness, that would sent the scale spiraling down like someone
placed a Rafflesia arnoldi on one side and a Jasmine petal on the other. He won’t
even need his blackboard.
“When?” Succumbing. That’s the word, wasn’t it? He didn’t have much
aptitude for literature; his teacher said that he understood but he didn’t have
the drive most language appreciator had. He really wondered why the teacher
even said that—his family was full of scientists,
why would he have a brain for writing? Honestly. The only thing he had ever
written was his homework.
“Three o’clock. You might want to take a shower, because seriously, dude,
how do you live with this heat.” Dave shrugged as he stood up, trash in his
hand, and he left the greenhouse to enter the kitchen.
He then left for his room while
Ted busied himself in the pantry. Typical. There was a lot of food and everyone
was content with someone eating
anything in the house. Sure, they were mostly vegetables harvested in the
garden. Still, food.
When he came back from the showers, Ted was trying to cut cookie dough
into animal shapes. Dave stared at him. He looked up, mouth curving into an
evil smirk.
“Don’t little Davey love animal crackers?”
“What did you do to the cookie
dough, Theodore Ambrose?”
“Animal crackers.”
The dough was green.
“Leave those strangely coloured cookies,
boys. Or bring it. Maybe we can use it as shooting targets.”
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