Make breakfast

*beep beep beep beep*

Ugh, fuck. That would be your alarm going off. Usually you are awake before the damn thing even has time to realize it should start its infernal beeping but not today, today is the first day of summer break and like a genius you rewarded yourself by staying up far too late and not enough sleep. Like usual.

Wham!

There, blissful silence. The only benefit to this machine from hell waking you up is you get to beat it back into submission first thing in the morning.

Ugh, morning.

The Suns rays pierce right through your thin curtains and directly into bleary, unfocused eyes as you try to remind myself why you even get out of bed in the mornings, and why the hell you ever bothered to set your alarm so early. But of course, the answer instantly comes to you.

Mother.

She's going to be up in about an hour to get ready for her underpaid job as a waittress in order to provide for both of you, and since she had expressley forbidden you from working until you get graduate college (she had been working practically since the day she was born, which undoubtledy is the reason why she wants you to live your youthful years as stress free as possible) the least you could do is ensure *her* transition into work goes as smoothly as possible.

"Carpe Diem, I suppose"

You push yourself off your bed and lumber over to the shower, ready to seize the day.

You tug on a pair of sweatpants and pat the rest of your short hair dry, before hurriedly pacing your way into the kitchen, barefoot.

"Spent too long in the shower again, dammit. Barely have any time to make breakfast."

The click click *woosh* of the stove turning on and soft, but frantic pacing are the noises currently emanating from the kitchen as you do your best to quickly (but quietly) prepare the most important meal of the day for the beautiful lady sitting in the next room.

Stove? On

Eggs? Cracked

Pan? Sizzling

Other pan?

...

Where the hell is the other pan?

You rifle through cupboards and scan the kitchen and dining room to try and find it, this bacon needs to be on now, dammit!

"No, not in there...I must have left it on the-"

*crash*

Found the pan. Or rather, your elbow found it and knocked it off the counter to acquaint it with the tile floor.

The silence following the great clang of cast iron on tile is almost as deafening as the noise itself. You spare a moment to glance at the kitchen floor, thankful that the tile is unbroken (wouldn't want her cutting her feet) and draw your gaze to the door of her room, straining your ears to see if you woke her