1 - Pancakes

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**[WARNING!]**

**[THIS STORY CONTAINS: ABUSE, SELF HARM, AND GENERAL VIOLENCE]**

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Balloon stepped into the hotel, luggage at his side. He looked around, wheeling the suitcase behind him. People stared. It made him anxious. Reluctantly, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes until he'd reach the end of the hall, where OJ waited to give him the room key. He held those keys like a man who had a terrible hangover. The bags under his eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

"You gonna be alright?" He asked Balloon.

"D-Don't worry!" The salmon-colored helium ball replied. "I-I can take a few curious eyes!" Balloon forced a smile, hoping OJ wouldn't sus him out. 

The juice stared at him with an unconvinced expression for a long moment, until, eventually, he shrugged. "Fourth door on the third floor." 

Balloon nodded, waving his thanks as he climbed the steps to his room. He'd slowly open the door to the room. It was orange, just like the rest of this godforsaken soda-themed place. Stepping inside, he rolled the suitcase to his bed, not bothering to unpack as he rolled into the covers, staring up at the ceiling. Again, more orange. At least it wasn't hard on the eyes, unlike the gruffly way Nickel constantly looked. Please, he looked like someone found him being attacked by raccoons in the dumpster. Balloon laughed to himself, imagining Nickel suffering made him feel a bit better about his situation. Unwanted by everyone around him and only being let in out of the pity in Paper's heart. Yeah, Paper was the one who convinced OJ to let him stay. Balloon's eyelids felt a bit heavy. With happy thoughts on his mind, he let them close, drifting into a long slumber.

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Balloon was awoken by the sound of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. He sat up, groaning. Balloon looked to the window. Perhaps it was morning already? But to his sorrow, it was not. Pitch black without even the moon in sight. He glanced at his phone: 1 fucking am in the morning. And from what it sounds like, he's not getting any sleep. Balloon reluctantly got from his bed, feet shuffling quietly out the door as to not wake Nickel up. He halted, running back over to Nickel with a marker, carefully drawing a mustache on his sleeping face as he stopped himself from laughing, then hurrying out.

Balloon turned corner towards the kitchen to see none other than OJ, cooking breakfast for the entire hotel. The kitchen was covered in egg batter and flour. Bowls, whisks, and spatulas alike were stacked high into the sink, towering over and threatening to fall at any moment.  The microwave looked like something had exploded inside of it and the floor had the occasional eggshells scattered about.

"OJ?" He called out to the glass.

OJ would flinch, whipping around to face Balloon. "Oh! Good morning, Balloon!"

The two stared at each for a long moment, until the eggs started burning. "Ack! Shoot!" OJ quickly took them off the stove, sighing. "...There goes the fifth batch."

Balloon looked at him like he was crazy. "Fifth ba- Wha- Why the fuck are you cooking so early?"

OJ cracked another set of eggs into the pan. "I couldn't sleep, so I decided to do something productive." He put it simply. Straight and to the point. "Did you want some pancakes?"

Balloon furrowed his brows, stepping further into the kitchen. "I wanted to sleep, but it looks like I'm not getting any more than you have."

"...Is that a yes?"

".......Yes."

The juice smiled welcomingly as Balloon sat on one of the barstools, grabbing a small paper plate. "Oh! Do you have any allergies, or...?"

"Just give me a fucking pancake."

"Will do." OJ served up a less-than-appetizing stack of pancakes, before returning to cook more.

Balloon poked at his food with a fork, splitting it open. "Uh, OJ? These are undercooked."

He blinked at Balloon for a moment. "OJ?" He waved a hand in front of his face, which seemed to bring him back to reality.

"Ah! Sorry, sorry! I'll fix em, don't worry!" OJ quickly snagged the pancakes back, placing them onto the pan, before burning his sixth set of eggs so far.

Balloon watched as OJ worked tirelessly to fix the mistakes he'd keep making. Over and over and over and over again. Balloon didn't really think much of it. He just wanted pancakes.


Unfortunately for him, he'd never get those pancakes.

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