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Chocolate coated flakes of bran

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“I want my cereals,” Logan announces, pushing away the empty box his father put in front of him to explain him the situation. This morning Leo reached out on top of the fridge to grab Logan's cereals to find the box hopelessly empty. He didn't stop to wonder why the box had been put back on the fridge if it didn't contain anything anymore. He knows what awaits him now and that's more important.

There are several major-scale incidents that can be regularly observed in the house. According to a recent list nobody really made for real, the most catastrophic of all are essentially three.

One, Leo not spending enough time with Blaine. Three consecutive days without any time alone with his husband and he becomes restless. A week, and he goes for the throat. Ten days and his hate can move mountains. Nobody has ever wanted to see what happens after two weeks. Not all limits are made to be broken.

Two, Timmy wanting to have his boyfriend Alex over and not being allowed to by Leo. Timmy is an extremely balanced and reasonable young man, which is a miracle in and of itself considering the complete uprooting he went through at the age of four and his life with a deranged and mentally ill man, who later became his adoptive father, during his formative years. He grew up fast and he even took upon himself some responsibilities that shouldn't have been his to take upon, but his patience has an end and when said end is reached (usually by Leo)... God, help them all, because he has no mercy. Timmy's vengeance puts erupting volcanoes to shame. Even Blaine makes himself scarce when Timmy is dissing Leo, mostly because he can't pick a side without being wrong.

Three, Blaine being given the part of a mature man – which he is – in a play where he would have played a younger character twenty years before. Blaine is fifty-five now and this has happened a lot, but he never seems to get used to the idea. At least, not in the first few hours after he receives the news. He must be the only actor on the planet who get sad after getting a part. He drops himself on the couch and there remains like a dry leaf waiting for the winter wind to swipe him away, his words. Everybody learned how to steer clear of the couch not to activate the painful whining moans of doom™, foretelling the end of a career that's been going strong for twenty years and will probably go on, equally strong, for another twenty.

These are metaphorical earthquakes that shake the house for hours and even days. Doors are slammed. Threats are made. Tears are shed until there are no more to cry. They are draining situations that leave everybody spent and wanting for an holiday. Luckily, they don't happen often, and yet there are no long period of peace in a house with three kids, two of which toddlers and one a teen. The twins can't change the tides with their own hate – they are too tiny to contain all the necessary rage yet – but they can cause quite a fuss nonetheless. And the worse of the two is, surprisingly enough, Logan.

Harper is constantly bossing people around – or at least she tries very very hard to do so – and they're all used to their tantrums when something doesn't go the way she wants; but Logan is the proverbial cinnamon roll too good for this world. He's scared of his own shadow and everything makes him happy. He usually does only what he's told, either by his parents or by his twin sister, and he's content with very little.

But he loves his chocolate cereals, it's almost an addiction, and he doesn't take well when he can't have some. From a lovely, obedient child he turns into a cold, heartless machine whose only goal is to annoy you out of your mind. Like his bigger brother, he doesn't scream, but destroys your defenses one piece at the time by methodically refusing to do anything you might need him to do. His disappointment is surgical.

Leo always tries to have a box of those cereals in the house – mostly because having them available for breakfast makes the whole process of getting the twins ready in the morning a lot easier – but sometimes he's late with the grocery shopping or he simply miscalculated the amount of cereals left that could get them through the next trip to the store, and that's when hell breaks loose.

“I know, honey,” he tries to be patient because he knows that the tiny human being staring murderously at him from across the table is his son and he should love him no matter what, not to mention that Logan is three and he's supposed to throw tantrums every now and then. “But I can make you waffles. You love waffles.”

Waffles sound good and Logan seems to hesitate, so much that Leo dares to hope he dodged the bullet. But no, that was too much to ask. “No, I want my cereals.”

Leo grabs the cereal box that has been discarded by the tiny hands of his offspring. It's blue and yellow, with a chubby bear on the front, whose hollow, transfixed stare seems to mirror the apocalyptic emptiness they're dealing with now. “The box is empty. Can you see that, pumpkin?” He asks, turning the box upside down and shaking it a little. Nothing falls down but the empty promises of a chocolate cereals breakfast.

“Put cereals in it,” Logan says, almost stating the obvious.

It's a flawless logic, Leo supposes, if you believe your father has an endless supply of cereals and he likes to refill an empty cereal box with them for whatever reason. He might as well consider it an improvement from a few months ago, when Logan believed the box would fill itself over night. At least, now this act of treachery can be ascribed to the human error.

Leo sighs. He's not a religious man, but he could use a little boost in patience from the heaven above. “Baby, dad's gonna buy them today, I promise.”

“Now?”

“No, baby, later while you and your sister are at school,” Leo says, nervously watching the clock. He's ten minutes behind schedule. If the kids are late for school again, that horrible headmistress will wait for him – always for him, because Blaine is so charming – and lecture him on the importance of strict organization in little kids' life. And he will be late too. And Mark will finally give up on being his agent. The more time he spends shaking this empty box to make a point, the more his life comes undone.

“I'm not going to school.”

“Now, now, let's not say things we can't pull off,” Blaine says cheerfully, entering the kitchen by the backdoor. He's wearing is jogging outfit, so he looks sexy but sweaty. Leo thinks that it's not humanly possible to look happy after running for an hour, but he's glad to have an inhuman boyfriend if that's the result.

“We're having a situation,” Leo says with another sigh.

“Fear no more, younger spouse,” Blaine recites in a silly, booming voice that makes the kids laughs even if they don't understand a word, “I come here with a swift solution for your thorny conundrum.”

Leo chuckles, shaking his head. “What are you even saying?”

“I bring you the chocolate coated flakes of bran our youngest offspring so much desires.”

Leo stares at the brand new box of chocolate cornflakes on the table in shock. “How do you...?”

“How do I know?” Blaine leans over and kisses him on his head. “Love, I know everything.”

“Indeed you do, sir.”

Blaine grins. “Ah! Don't talk like that, I might want to take advantage of the right of the lord with you.”

“Who's complaining?” Leo comments, pouring some cereals for Logan, who already turned back into his usual lovely self. The possession is over.
Blaine chuckles and kisses him again. “There's no time, kiddo. We've got things to do.”
Breakfasts to have, kids to take to school, books to write and parts to learn.

But at least one minor catastrophe has been already avoided.
And this, lately, is a very good thing.