Of Poppycock and Microwave Oatmeal, a Sonny With a Chance Fiction

I do not own SWAC. Please review!

In the dead cold of winter the last thing I want to be is freezing under a blanket with Chad Dylan Cooper. Actually make that half under a blanket. Somebody is hogging his half of my blanket. For not liking my Wisconsin afghan, he sure is cozy wrapped up in it. The tips of his boring white socks stick out the ends next to my eccentric Dora socks. Chad has already made fun of me twice today for wearing them. Remind me again why I agreed to sharing my blanket with him?

I swear my mother must've turned on the air conditioning before she left. If I were to cry at this overly ridiculous episode of Mackenzie Falls that I'm being forced to watch, my tears would come out as icicles. Okay, so maybe forced isn't the right word. But it was either this or the weather channel. And I don't need to be told how cold it is outside. Or how it's too icy to let the blanket hog safely drive home. I was the one who begged him for a ride though.

Mom had gotten stuck at work and couldn't pick me up. So doing me a 'great favor' as she puts it, she called Chad. The ride home was full of static, most likely coming from the car radio that he refused to believe was still turned on. I kept hearing this buzzing noise. Every time I'd reach to adjust it, he'd swat my hand away. He didn't want me touching the Chadmobile. Well my butt was obviously touching the Chadmobile, so hah.

I crawl off of the couch. Chad doesn't seem to notice. I sneak off into the kitchen and open up the cupboards. I can't find any hot chocolate. I stare at the open cupboard, hoping some will magically appear.

"What are we looking for?" Chad's sudden presence catches me by surprise. I jump. He laughs at my expense and I settle down.

"I thought you were watching yourself on TV." I ignore his question and go back to searching the cupboards. I pull out a canister of oatmeal instead.

"I didn't have anyone to tell how great I was to." He stole a grape off the fruit bowl on my counter. He popped it in his mouth. "Besides, I'm hungry."

I filled a microwave bowl with oats and water. Chad took the bowl from me and set it in the microwave. He fumbled with the buttons. The microwave lit up, cooking the oatmeal.

"Shouldn't you have read the directions first?" I patiently lean up against the counter. The microwave sounds that it's done and Chad opens the door to retrieve the oatmeal. Except, instead of being all nice and in a cup, it's all over my microwave. My eyes narrow at the mess he's made.

Forming a spoon with his fingers, he clears a section of the microwave. He licks it off his hand and sighs contentedly. "This is some really great oatmeal Munroe. Try some." He goes back for more, using his clean hand. He licks this hand too.

"No thanks." I'm slightly disgusted by his actions. It's not something I'd expect him to do. Just like how I didn't expect him to take both of his newly washed hands, cover them in oatmeal, and rub it across my entire face, sans my lips.

I've heard of oatmeal facials, but this is a bit extreme. Caving, I take one of the few globs left and smear it across his face. We match, but he manages to make it look good. That's sad. Oatmeal is hardening in the dish, and I'm thinking about how cute Chad looks with a beard of oats.

We remove the bowl from the now clean microwave. There's about a spoonful or two to eat. Or you know, in Chad's case smear on me. This time though, he doesn't use his hand. He applies it like lip balm and edges closer.

"Looks like I missed a spot." He accomplishes his task. Content, he licks the bowl clean, slowly, never breaking eye contact with me. I flushed, not that you could tell. The room doesn't feel that cold anymore. That might be the oatmeal's fault for burning my cheeks. Not that there isn't another source causing my cheeks to burn.

I wash my face off, the oatmeal clogging the drain. We clean it out too. The boring regular way. None of this, smear it all over each others face and pretend we didn't kiss afterwards. Hey, my skin does feel smoother.

The floorboard creaks beneath my feet. "Poppycock?" I suggest, trading the oatmeal canister for a different snack.

"Are you trying to tell me that was your father that made that noise? And that he's a rooster! I mean you introduced me to your mother but not Papa Cock? I can't believe I tried to make a move on you!" Chad crossed his arms and gave me the cold, quite literally, shoulder.

"I was offering you some candied popcorn." I held out the bag of nutty treats. Now that the oatmeal was gone, I could tell Chad was blushing. I decided to let it slide for now since he called my dad a rooster. He embarrassed himself enough without my help.

He expression faltered. "Oh. Well then the last five minutes never happened." He stole the bag from me and retreated to the couch.

"So you didn't try to make a move on me." I nodded my head logically. He was confused at first, trying to calculate how I had come upon that idea. When it dawned on him what he had said, he swallowed.

"Of course not. Me, make a move on a Random. Psh." He swatted his hand. We crawled back under the blanket, turning back to the TV.

"That's what I thought." I snuggled down into the crevice of the couch. Chad pushed a little more blanket towards me. He tried really hard for it to look like an accident. So I took my half without comment, covering everything but my Dora toes. His white toes peeped out at the bottom. His foot rubbed against mine. His head was facing the TV, his gaze pointed at me.

Chad Dylan Cooper did not make moves on Randoms. He also didn't share blankets with them. But that's just it. To Chad I'm not a Random. I'm his friend, hopefully soon to be more if he ever gets his act together.

So we sit on the couch watching Mackenzie Falls reruns, munching on Poppycock. And that's just what we are.