I made a guy because I thought there would be a ton of girls... Lol I might just make a girl if we stay short. (Though if I do, We'll have a sudden influx of girls)
Rejoyce
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March wakes up to the familiar feeling of someone on top of him and something cold and wet trickling down his forehead. Ah, mornings. What blissful joy comes along with them!
“Marchhhhhhhh,” a sort of moaning comes from the lump on top of March. “March wake upppp!”
“Go away Auggie,” comes the muffled reply. March would stay in bed, but the water that August no doubt poured all over his head has already soaked into pillow.
August pouts. At the young age of “just 10”, he has yet to learn what maturity is. Or how to practice it. “But it's Jules birthday and if you're late you can't get her a pastry from your weird cafe place and if you can't get her a pastry from your weird cafe place then I can't mooch any pastry off of her!”
“July will let you have pastry over her dead body.” This is very true. July, unlike March, has a huge sweet tooth.
The two of them banter back and forth for another 5 minutes until March is so tired of laying on his wet pillow that he stands up while August is still on him. August falls on the floor with a shriek of protest
Ah. Mornings. What blissful joy comes with them.
March feels like he ought to stay home, but since he's head cook and he doesn't know when Monty is coming back, he can't just call in sick. Sorry July, but your 13th birthday celebration must wait until this evening. It's alright though, he'll ask Amelia for the sweetest pastry before he leaves!
He drags himself through his morning routine, distracted only by a yelling 7 year-old and a rushed sister wrapping presents.
“Mar-mar, do you want me to wrap yours? April lays aside a present wrapped in bright green paper labeled “from Sep!!!!!”
March, in middle of making breakfast for everyone while also ironing his uniform, only grunts. “Yeah. Sure.”
The morning is only slightly more chaotic than usual, and it's just because July's birthday is today. Also because the whole family does everything last minute. March checks his watch, slides bacon and eggs onto the table, runs off to change into his freshly ironed uniform, and returns to a table already full.
“Happy birthday to me!” July cries, already stuffing her face with bacon.
March laughs and tosses her a tiny box. “Yeah, happy birthday to you. Open it quick ‘cause I gotta go soon, okay?”
Yes. The sweetest pastry Amelia has, if she doesn't mind.
“Marchhhhhhhh,” a sort of moaning comes from the lump on top of March. “March wake upppp!”
“Go away Auggie,” comes the muffled reply. March would stay in bed, but the water that August no doubt poured all over his head has already soaked into pillow.
August pouts. At the young age of “just 10”, he has yet to learn what maturity is. Or how to practice it. “But it's Jules birthday and if you're late you can't get her a pastry from your weird cafe place and if you can't get her a pastry from your weird cafe place then I can't mooch any pastry off of her!”
“July will let you have pastry over her dead body.” This is very true. July, unlike March, has a huge sweet tooth.
The two of them banter back and forth for another 5 minutes until March is so tired of laying on his wet pillow that he stands up while August is still on him. August falls on the floor with a shriek of protest
Ah. Mornings. What blissful joy comes with them.
March feels like he ought to stay home, but since he's head cook and he doesn't know when Monty is coming back, he can't just call in sick. Sorry July, but your 13th birthday celebration must wait until this evening. It's alright though, he'll ask Amelia for the sweetest pastry before he leaves!
He drags himself through his morning routine, distracted only by a yelling 7 year-old and a rushed sister wrapping presents.
“Mar-mar, do you want me to wrap yours? April lays aside a present wrapped in bright green paper labeled “from Sep!!!!!”
March, in middle of making breakfast for everyone while also ironing his uniform, only grunts. “Yeah. Sure.”
The morning is only slightly more chaotic than usual, and it's just because July's birthday is today. Also because the whole family does everything last minute. March checks his watch, slides bacon and eggs onto the table, runs off to change into his freshly ironed uniform, and returns to a table already full.
“Happy birthday to me!” July cries, already stuffing her face with bacon.
March laughs and tosses her a tiny box. “Yeah, happy birthday to you. Open it quick ‘cause I gotta go soon, okay?”
Yes. The sweetest pastry Amelia has, if she doesn't mind.
March watches with slight horror as Daehyun dumps more dishes on the growing pile. Confused by Daehyun’s odd behavior, March simply stares at the spectacle made—though whether good or bad, March cannot discern. There are some people in life that March simply has no idea how to respond too. Daehyun is one of them, apparently. March tries to act casual.
“I’m messin’ with ya. You don’t know me, but you might in time. Dae-Hyun, pleased to meetcha’.”
March messes with his hair again, because words elude him. “Uh. Yeah.” after a second of heavy awkwardness, he realizes he should introduce himself. Trying to make a quick amends, he splutters out “I-I’m March!” He feels like he ought to salute, but that would be weird. Especially with the cat ears.
Thankfully, Amelia saves him from further humiliation by chiding Daehyun. Upon the mention of his uniform, however, March glances down at it and hurriedly brushes off flour—it was never there, trust him—and straightens his bowtie. Again.
This moment might be nice to ask Amelia about a dishwasher, but the second he opens his mouth, she’s gone. Next he’ll be faster than her—if that’s even possible.
“It might be nice— Ah, never mind, he mutters, strangely self-conscious. In truth, not only would it be useful to have a dishwasher, it also would be nice to have another person working back here. It’s not like he’s lonely or anything, but he wouldn’t mind the company. (Okay, well maybe he’s a little lonely, but he’ll live.)
With Daehyun shooed off nicely, March is once again left to his own devices. He turns back to the slightly squished butter, cringing at his own awkwardness. He checks his elbow—very little damage done—rolls up his sleeves, and pulls the fresh batch of croissants out of the oven.
“I’m messin’ with ya. You don’t know me, but you might in time. Dae-Hyun, pleased to meetcha’.”
March messes with his hair again, because words elude him. “Uh. Yeah.” after a second of heavy awkwardness, he realizes he should introduce himself. Trying to make a quick amends, he splutters out “I-I’m March!” He feels like he ought to salute, but that would be weird. Especially with the cat ears.
Thankfully, Amelia saves him from further humiliation by chiding Daehyun. Upon the mention of his uniform, however, March glances down at it and hurriedly brushes off flour—it was never there, trust him—and straightens his bowtie. Again.
This moment might be nice to ask Amelia about a dishwasher, but the second he opens his mouth, she’s gone. Next he’ll be faster than her—if that’s even possible.
“It might be nice— Ah, never mind, he mutters, strangely self-conscious. In truth, not only would it be useful to have a dishwasher, it also would be nice to have another person working back here. It’s not like he’s lonely or anything, but he wouldn’t mind the company. (Okay, well maybe he’s a little lonely, but he’ll live.)
With Daehyun shooed off nicely, March is once again left to his own devices. He turns back to the slightly squished butter, cringing at his own awkwardness. He checks his elbow—very little damage done—rolls up his sleeves, and pulls the fresh batch of croissants out of the oven.
March, rolling his eyes at Jet's stupid smile, turns back to his cooking. March thanks goodness he doesn't have to work with customers--people aren't terrible, it's just that he's not exactly a people pleaser. (His uniform alone has been found deeply distressing to Amelia, mostly because it took him over a month to figure out how to tie the bow tie. He hopes to never anger her again. She's really quite terrifying when she's mad--honestly, March is afraid of her all the time, but maybe it's just because she's so outgoing he doesn't know how to speak.)
He sets out three more plates of special omelets and stops cooking to clean some dishes. They really need someone to wash dishes, so he makes a mental note to ask. Match doesn't mind extra work, but he doesn't want the quality of the food to decrease. Quality is the cafe's specialty, so he has to make sure he puts his all into everything! That's what his mom says, anyway.
He returns to his cooking, thinking up a schedule as he goes. Crepes need to be made next, and after that he needs to take the mini croissants for the sandwiches out of the oven. A voice he doesn't recognize interrupts the organization process.
“Man, you look so young. I’m feeling old just staring at you…”
March chokes.
”W-what?” He splutters, whipping around to face Dae-hyun. Alarmed by the intensity of the stare that is being given to him, he steps backwards and almost puts his elbow into the butter. After a second of regaining his composure, he pays attention to Dae-hyun once more.
“I'm not… not that young!” He mutters sheepishly, rubbing fingers through his hair in a messy manner. “And uhh… do I know you?”
@OliveYou heyaaaa just waiting for the other two to post :)
Even without being outside of the kitchen, March can easily tell that the café has become a lot more crowded. The orders flow in quicker than the usual work morning, and he rushes to cook and plate everything perfectly. It's nice to be busy, however, and he didn't mind picking up the pace.
"March, two Breakfast sets A, three Breakfast sets C and one Breakfast set B... Oh, and we need six coffees."
Match sighs. “I can't do coffee, Jet. Apparently I make it so bad it deserves to be poured out over freshly laundered uniforms, too.” He grimaces at the last part of the sentence and begins arranging more breakfast sets. “I have a couple of breakfast sets ready over there, but I need to make more breakfast sets B… give me sec.”
He hands the finished breakfast sets to Jet and waves him out the door. “Go smile at people or something."
He has the kitchen back to himself now, and he continues making special omelets. They seem to be very high in demand right now. (This, he thinks, is very good. Omelets are incredibly easy to make.)
March stops for a second to take a sip of his latte, but he is met with disappointment. The cup is empty. The aroma is still there though, so he sticks his nose in the cup and breathes in. He pouts cutely for a moment, silently mourning the empty latte cup. Then Naomi walks in.
“March, another omelet.”
Alarmed, March sucks in his lower lip. He didn't even hear her enter--no doubt the work of the empty latte cup.
“R-right …” He mutters, embarrassed. Hopefully she hadn't spotted the pout.
To his surprise, he notices Naomi hugging her stomach. It's not even lunch time yet, is she already hungry? Did she even eat breakfast? Is she overworking herself? After a small moment of minor freak out, March regains his composure.
“Do you want a little tea sandwich while you wait for your lunch break? He asks quietly, gesturing towards a plate of small sandwiches. “I have extra, and lunch break isn't until the lunch rush is over… I don't mind, really. Besides, you have extra work since Minkyu is busy...” He trails off, and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah.”
@OliveYou
I love the GIFs, they're really cute~
I love the GIFs, they're really cute~
@Oliveyou @DestinyStar
As soon as March hears Mari hit the floor, he spins around and digs in his pocket for his handkerchief. He keeps it for occasions just like this one, which are common occurrences in his household. (His sister is trying to learn how to backflip, but so far it hasn't gone very well.)
After a moment or two of digging, he comes up empty handed. He must have left it at home. Disappointing. Thankfully Amelia has one to spare, so Mari does not stand there bleeding. March, admittedly, already is worrying for her. It's his paternal instincts. Or something. He waves awkwardly at Mari, in hopes to be friendly. He just regrets it.
“They're done. Enjoy.”
At the sound of Minkyu's voice, March turns around to his latte. It's gorgeous, as well as tasty. Truly Minkyu is an artist.
“Thanks,” March mumbles, taking the latte. “I ‘preciate it.” He smiles and nods at Minkyu, and then takes his latte back into the kitchen.
March loves the kitchen. Admittedly, it is a bit cutesy for his taste, but all the appliances work smoothly (unlike a certain oven at home) and he can remain (mostly) undisturbed for hours, cooking away. He removes his apron--an apron with tiny cartoon cats all over it--from the hook and ties it around himself.
“Better get cooking,” He mutters. “These omelets won't make themselves.”
As soon as March hears Mari hit the floor, he spins around and digs in his pocket for his handkerchief. He keeps it for occasions just like this one, which are common occurrences in his household. (His sister is trying to learn how to backflip, but so far it hasn't gone very well.)
After a moment or two of digging, he comes up empty handed. He must have left it at home. Disappointing. Thankfully Amelia has one to spare, so Mari does not stand there bleeding. March, admittedly, already is worrying for her. It's his paternal instincts. Or something. He waves awkwardly at Mari, in hopes to be friendly. He just regrets it.
“They're done. Enjoy.”
At the sound of Minkyu's voice, March turns around to his latte. It's gorgeous, as well as tasty. Truly Minkyu is an artist.
“Thanks,” March mumbles, taking the latte. “I ‘preciate it.” He smiles and nods at Minkyu, and then takes his latte back into the kitchen.
March loves the kitchen. Admittedly, it is a bit cutesy for his taste, but all the appliances work smoothly (unlike a certain oven at home) and he can remain (mostly) undisturbed for hours, cooking away. He removes his apron--an apron with tiny cartoon cats all over it--from the hook and ties it around himself.
“Better get cooking,” He mutters. “These omelets won't make themselves.”
A far too audible sigh of relief escapes March once it is confirmed he is not late. He's never been late before, and he'd hate to ruin a perfect record. (In all honesty, he's skipped more than one breakfast in the rush to appear on time. He hopes no one has noticed. That's another perfect record he'd hate to ruin.) He takes his perfect records very seriously--too seriously, his mother says.
“March,” she says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear, “Life is so much more than perfect records and perfect grades.”
“Well, yeah mom,” He replies. “I just like them is all.”
March is pulled out of his thoughts by Amelia, who is shoving a broom into his hands. He blinks rapidly, shaking himself back into reality. There is sweeping that needs his attention. Quickly, he makes a round around the room, brushing up the crumbs he missed the evening before into a small pile. He squats down and sweeps them into a small dustpan before straightening upright and pouring them into the trash can.
“Um, Minkyu, would you mind making me a latte?” Minkyu makes the best latte March had ever tasted--still, he only asks for one occasionally. It feels strangely awkward talking to Minkyu. March really ought to work on his people skills.
This is why he works in the kitchens.
Thankfully, his less-than-perfect (horror of horrors!) people skills don't apply to Naomi. Or maybe they do, and he just hasn't figured that out yet. All he really knows is that she's younger than him, and therefore he must bestow upon her the great honor of having him want to help her with literally everything she does.
(Obviously, March contains much more self restraint than to do everything for her. He tries to limit himself to just taking out the trash for her.)
By now, the café looks about ready to open--though Minkyu is the real judge of that--and March should probably make his way to the kitchens.
“Is there anything else you need me to do before I go on back?” He asks, directing the question mostly in Amelia's direction.
He then spots the kitten that Megan and Jet brought in. Cats are, strictly speaking, the best thing in the world after his mother and savory crepes.
“It's cute,” he says.
“March,” she says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear, “Life is so much more than perfect records and perfect grades.”
“Well, yeah mom,” He replies. “I just like them is all.”
March is pulled out of his thoughts by Amelia, who is shoving a broom into his hands. He blinks rapidly, shaking himself back into reality. There is sweeping that needs his attention. Quickly, he makes a round around the room, brushing up the crumbs he missed the evening before into a small pile. He squats down and sweeps them into a small dustpan before straightening upright and pouring them into the trash can.
“Um, Minkyu, would you mind making me a latte?” Minkyu makes the best latte March had ever tasted--still, he only asks for one occasionally. It feels strangely awkward talking to Minkyu. March really ought to work on his people skills.
This is why he works in the kitchens.
Thankfully, his less-than-perfect (horror of horrors!) people skills don't apply to Naomi. Or maybe they do, and he just hasn't figured that out yet. All he really knows is that she's younger than him, and therefore he must bestow upon her the great honor of having him want to help her with literally everything she does.
(Obviously, March contains much more self restraint than to do everything for her. He tries to limit himself to just taking out the trash for her.)
By now, the café looks about ready to open--though Minkyu is the real judge of that--and March should probably make his way to the kitchens.
“Is there anything else you need me to do before I go on back?” He asks, directing the question mostly in Amelia's direction.
He then spots the kitten that Megan and Jet brought in. Cats are, strictly speaking, the best thing in the world after his mother and savory crepes.
“It's cute,” he says.
March arrives about 20 minutes after the twins, muttering to himself in frustrated sort of manner and fiddling with the cord of his earbuds. His younger brother had emptied coffee--March's very own coffee, no less--all over the freshly laundered uniform for work.
”It costs money, you know, to wash things,” He had told his brother. But no. It was all in vain.
Thus why he is wearing a slightly old uniform rather than a nice new clean one.
At last, he arrives at the front door. He stares for a moment at the open sign that Amelia had flipped over, and then he bolts inside.
"Am I late?" He gasps in the twins general direction, yanking out his earbuds and pulling off his coat hurriedly. "I thought my watch was on time, I do apologize!"
He rubs his hair sheepishly, shoves a pair of black cat ears on his head with slight disgust, and glances about the room.
It's empty.
He turns back to the twins awkwardly. "So... I'm not late?"
”It costs money, you know, to wash things,” He had told his brother. But no. It was all in vain.
Thus why he is wearing a slightly old uniform rather than a nice new clean one.
At last, he arrives at the front door. He stares for a moment at the open sign that Amelia had flipped over, and then he bolts inside.
"Am I late?" He gasps in the twins general direction, yanking out his earbuds and pulling off his coat hurriedly. "I thought my watch was on time, I do apologize!"
He rubs his hair sheepishly, shoves a pair of black cat ears on his head with slight disgust, and glances about the room.
It's empty.
He turns back to the twins awkwardly. "So... I'm not late?"
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