✘ Inconvenient Solutions.

✘ Inconvenient Solutions.

Krux had left you both to do the dishes, turning into a pointless debate about who should do it. Guess who gave up?

#TAGS: Pure fluff, No trigger warnings, Your pronounce isn't specified as a 'she' so it can be kept as gender neutral, Potentially OOC, Romantic or Platonic you decide.

A/N: DAMN I DIDN'T REALIZED THAT I DISSAPEARED FOR LIKE A MONTH?? I really need to get my mental health checked out. 🥶

⪼ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ࿐ཽ༵☆

ᨏᨐ———【𖥸】———ᨐᨏ

Krux had barely left the room when the responsibility fell squarely on you and Acronix. The sink was full of dirty dishes, remnants of meals and snacks that had been happily consumed without a second thought about the aftermath. With Krux off attending to some whatever task he has, he’d passed the burden onto the two of you—a decision he would undoubtedly regret if he returned to find the task still unresolved.

“Alright,” Acronix began, rolling up his sleeves and leaning casually against the counter. “You heard the old man. Let’s get these dishes done.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “We? You mean you get the dishes done. I’m not touching those.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, smirking. “You’re just as responsible for this mess as I am. Why don’t you start?”

And thus, the great debate began.

For what felt like hours, the two of you went back and forth, each refusing to budge. Every argument was countered with a sharper one, every excuse met with an equal bet.

“I cooked dinner yesterday!” you argued, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Yeah? Well, I cleaned the table afterward!” he shot back, crossing his arms.

“That doesn’t count! You just wiped it down with one of those lazy hand wipes and called it a day!”

“Details, details,” he said, waving you off. “Look, the point is, I’ve done my part. It’s your turn.”

At some point, the verbal sparring wasn’t enough, so the two of you resorted to a tried-and-true method of conflict of: rock-paper-scissors.

“Ready?” you said, holding out your fist.

“Always,” Acronix replied, smirking with confidence.

“Rock… paper… scissors… SHOOT!”

You both threw scissors.

“Again,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

“Rock… paper… scissors… SHOOT!”

Scissors. Again.

This went on for an absurd number of rounds, each one ending in a tie. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was eerie how perfectly in sync the two of you were, neither willing to back down either.

“This is ridiculous!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “We’ll be here all night at this rate!”

“Hey, don’t blame me for your lack of originality,” Acronix quipped, clearly enjoying the standoff.

You glared at him, but eventually, exhaustion got the better of you. With a dramatic sigh, you threw in the towel. “Fine. I’ll do the stupid dishes. I guess I’m just born to be a housewife or something.”

You didn’t think much of the comment as you turned toward the sink, but Acronix froze. “Housewife?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, confused. “What? Yeah, housewife. You know, someone who gets stuck doing all the chores while everyone else gets to slack off. Sound familiar? ”

But Acronix wasn’t listening anymore. His expression had shifted into one of pure disbelief, striked with something you couldn’t quite place. “Housewife?” he muttered again, almost to himself. “No. No way. I’m not having you call yourself that.”

Before you could process what was happening, he marched over to the sink, elbowing you gently out of the way. “Step aside,” he said firmly.

“Wait, what??” you asked, baffled.

“I’m doing the dishes,” he declared, grabbing the sponge and turning on the water. “If anyone’s going to be stuck with house chores, it’s me. I’ll show you what a real husband does. You’re not taking on that role, not on my watch.”

You blinked, stunned into silence as Acronix dove into the task with an intensity you’d never seen before. He scrubbed, rinsed, and stacked dishes like a man on a mission, muttering something about “fairness” and “proper roles” under his breath.

“Uh… Acronix?” you finally managed to say.

“What?” he snapped, though not unkindly.

“You do realize this whole argument was about both of us being too lazy to do the dishes, right? Now you’re acting like you’re competing for ‘Husband of the Year’ or something.”

“Exactly,” he said, not missing a beat. “If you think for one second I’m going to let you call yourself a housewife, you’ve got another thing coming. I’m perfectly capable of handling this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of amusement and disbelief bubbling up inside you. “Okay, Mr. Perfect Husband. Let’s see if you can keep this up when Krux asks who cleaned the dishes.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” he said, flashing you a grin over his shoulder. “By the time I’m done, these dishes will be so spotless even Krux will be impressed. And you? You can relax. You’ve earned it.”

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you leaned back against the counter, watching as Acronix continued his self-imposed mission. It was ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary—but also strangely....endearing?

“Fine,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But don’t expect me to call you my hero or anything.”

“Too late,” he teased, winking at you. “I already know I am.”

©leftalpacavoid 2024