VOLUME II: 38 – Crime Scene

THURSDAY

Technically, this was supposed to be a cooking collab. Realistically, it was a livestream of two adults proving live on camera that the kitchen is a battlefield and so is friendship.

I slammed a pot on the stove. “Tonight’s menu: Mystery Soup 2.0. Ingredients: regret, expired noodles, and Toast’s emotional stability.”

He snatched my bottle of soy sauce mid-pour. “No more liquids until you learn how to measure like a normal human being.”

I hissed. “Measuring cups are government propaganda. Eyeballing is the real deal.”

By hour one:

Soup = green swamp.

Two packs of instant noodles bobbed like cursed rafts.

Noah forcibly narrated steps while I free-styled disaster.

“Step one: pray,” he said flatly.

“Step two,” I sang, dumping chili flakes like confetti, “season until your ancestors threaten legal action.”

Chat:
[H0nKh0nk]: MORE CHILI FLAKES
[PoppyQT]: SPICY SOUP ARC
[LegalGoose]: THE FIRE NATION APPROVES

Midway through, I found his snack stash: chocolate chips, instant coffee, and a suspicious jar marked DO NOT OPEN. Naturally, I opened it.

He lunged. “STOP. That’s ghost pepper salsa—”

Too late. I dipped my finger in, tasted it, and saw my entire life flash by.

“OH GOD,” I wheezed, tears in my eyes. “WHY DOES THIS EXIST?”

He handed me milk like an exhausted father. Chat was vibrating:
[Username12345]: SPICY DAMAGE ROLL
[SaltyShrimp69]: RIP TONGUE
[NoodleGoblin]: I’m crying for you

By the second hour, the soup was unsalvageable, so we switched to pasta. I dyed half the noodles rainbow “for the aesthetic.” Noah’s soul left his body on camera.

“Behold: Rainbow Anxiety Spaghetti,” I declared, smashing a slice of Kraft cheese on top for pizzazz.

He bonked my head with a spatula. “You’re banned from colors.”

We attempted to ‘plate’ the mess. I added a stick figure face in ketchup. Chat unhinged: [H0nKh0nk]: FOOD ART
[PoppyQT]: MICHELIN STAR WHO
[DuckWizard]: protect the ketchup man

Somewhere between taste testing and kitchen arson, we locked eyes over the swamp pot.

“Okay,” I said. “One of us has to clean this crime scene.”

He glared. “Not it.”

“Rock paper scissors?”

“No. You cheat.”

“Fair. Okay, better idea: MARIO KART. Loser washes dishes.”

Chat instantly rioted:
[EggsInMyWiFi]: STREAM IT STREAM IT
[PoppyQT]: MARIO KART DEATH MATCH
[SaltyShrimp69]: I’M READY

Noah buried his face in his hands. “Chat, save me.”

“TOO LATE!” I cackled. I flipped scenes on OBS so fast my model spun sideways. Next thing you know: I’m shrieking into my mic while he booted up the Switch.

“Loser scrubs the sink!” I roared. “Loser also buys post-stream boba!”

He shot back. “Bet.”

The next thirty minutes was a glorious, unhinged Mario Kart side-quest:

I shrieked every time a blue shell hit me.

He physically unplugged my Joy-Con when I tried to do shortcuts on Rainbow Road.

Chat donated to sabotage us:

[NoodleGoblin]: DRIVE BACKWARD OR NO BALLS

[MilkBeforeCereal]: 5 BUCKS IF KETSU YEETS OFF THE TRACK

Naturally, I obeyed. I yeeted myself off the track three times. Noah won by default. I threw my Joy-Con at a pillow off-cam.

“I demand a rematch!” I howled.

“Nope. Sink duty is yours,” he grinned. “Say it for chat.”

I leaned into the mic dramatically. “Fine. Ketsusaki, Queen of Mild Inconvenience, hereby accepts her fate as Dish Gremlin 2025. Clip it.”

Chat lost their minds:
[EggsInMyWiFi]: CLIPPED CLIPPED CLIPPED
[KreiVitamins]: LMAOOOOO
[Username12345]: RIP QUEEN
[NoodleGoblin]: clean the dishes welll Ketsuuu

Three hours. Soup chaos. Rainbow spaghetti. Food art. Mario Kart war crimes. A kitchen that smelled like both regret and chili oil.

At the end, we collapsed at the counter, faces half off-cam, laughing like idiots who’d forgotten about the ongoing stream.

He looked at chat, half-smile soft but tired. “Seriously though, thanks for always showing up. You guys are the reason she’s... well. Her. And you keep me employed. So, you know. Thanks.”

I made gagging noises. “Sentimental on my stream? Mods, ban him.”

He threw a dish sponge at my head. Fair.

Chat:
[CatgirlKilljoy]: BEST STREAM
[PoppyQT]: WE LOVE U BOTH
[SaltyShrimp69]: RIP KITCHEN, RIP BRAIN CELLS
[SyntaxError]: ONE MORE CHAOS THEN GOODBYE CRYING

I saluted with a ladle. My model glitched. Perfection. “Alright, my gremlins. Last stream tomorrow. Bring tissues. Bring pudding. Bring emotional support boba. Toast—prepare your insurance agent.”

I hit End Stream.

Noah’s kitchen looked like it had lost a war no one remembered starting.

Rainbow noodles dripped off the counter. A pot full of soup was quietly congealing next to a lonely can of coffee creamer. My Joy-Con lay on the floor, batteries defeated. Noah sat at the edge of the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing at a plate like it had personally wronged him.

I was half-sprawled across the kitchen table, hair tied up with the same paper towel I’d used to wipe my mouth twenty minutes ago. A boba cup, long empty, sweated next to my elbow.

Above my head, my laptop balanced precariously, the ‘stream ended’ screen still open like an unspoken dare to press ‘go live’ again and make it worse.

I didn’t.

For once.

Noah’s voice drifted through the leftover chaos. Tired, but honest. “You know, for all your scuff… people are gonna miss you.”

I cracked an eye open. “You’re people too.”

“Yeah, well.” He scrubbed harder. “Guess I’m people then.”

A beat. Just the sound of soap bubbles, the hum of the fridge, the leftover laughter ringing somewhere behind my ribs.

Outside his apartment window, the city glowed blue and yellow and stupidly alive. The world kept spinning. Even for idiots who turned pasta into crime scenes for fun.

I sat up, legs cramping from too much laughing. He looked over, half a smirk, eyes that didn’t quite hide how much he was going to hate missing this.

I raised my cup, nothing left but a slurp of melted ice. “One more, huh.”

He leaned back against the sink, arms crossed over his soap-splattered apron. “One more.”

Neither of us said it—the bit about the final. The real graduation.

Somewhere deep in the wreckage of noodles and soup, my phone buzzed with a new donation notification. Even off-stream, my cult was out there, memeing, waiting. Grieving in their weird, pudding-themed way.

I grinned. “Think they’ll riot if I ghost them for real?”

He flicked a drop of dishwater at me. “Probably. But they’ll forgive you.”

I nodded like a promise. Then I dragged myself upright, bones creaking, and picked up a sponge.

“C’mon, Noah. Dish Gremlin’s clocking in. Let’s make this place slightly less cursed before your landlord cries.”

He snorted. “Too late for that.”

Side by side, we scrubbed plates and flicked soap suds at each other like children who forgot adulthood was supposed to be quiet and respectable.

Outside, the city exhaled while we laughed, tired and a little sad at the edges.

Tomorrow, I’d break a few more hearts. Maybe even my own.

But tonight? We have rainbow spaghetti stuck to the ceiling and half a kitchen to redeem.