Reciprocity
Sometimes, although this was not something that happened often, Crawford found himself actually glad that he had taken Schuldig on his team. Granted, this happened approximately once every year or so, but when he woke up smelling fresh baked goods, he felt a twinge of it.
Schuldig was rarely up before him unless he hadn’t gone to bed, which Crawford suspected was the case, as it was only six o’clock in the morning. He had always been an early riser, and Schuldig was, at times, the epitome of the sin sloth: he would sleep up to fourteen hours a day if no one gave him reason to get up. Then again, Schuldig was also fairly skilled at impersonating the other six sins, as well, so Crawford thought his metaphor was probably a little bit off. He chalked it up to being early in the morning.
He could remember a time when Schuldig’s habits of going to bed near dawn and sleeping most of the day had annoyed him. That was before he realized that they got along better if they were only conscious at the same time a few hours each day.
By the time he made it out to the kitchen about ten minutes later, he was immaculate as always. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see him in any other state. There was a box of cinnamon rolls on the counter from a local bakery. It was, miraculously, unopened. Given that food of any sort, let alone a treat like pastries, rarely lasted more than an hour, this made Crawford eye the box suspiciously, wondering if it was booby-trapped.
“Yo, Crawford!” Schuldig wandered in wearing only a loose pair of jeans, his hair tied back messily with a yellow bandana.
Crawford pointed at the box. “Are these drugged?”
“Why’d you think that?” Schuldig asked, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of milk, drinking it straight from the container.
Crawford gave the unopened box a pointed look.
“You’re such a baby,” Schuldig said. He opened the box and took one of the two of them out, beginning to eat it. “Here I get up early just to bring you back cinnamon rolls on Valentine’s Day, and this is how you repay me.”
Crawford arched his eyebrows. “Valentine’s Day.”
Schuldig smirked. “Yeah.”
“I suppose you think you’re going to get something on White Day?”
“That’s what life is all about, right? Reciprocity.”
Crawford picked up the remaining cinnamon roll and gave it a speculative look. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You bought something for yourself that you like, and tried to pass it off as a Valentine’s Day gift, so when White Day rolls around, you’ll get something else that you like.”
Schuldig thought it over. “Sounds about right.”
“I suppose I should just be glad that you gave me the man’s role,” Crawford replied.
“Yeah. You gonna eat that?”
“That,” Crawford said, “is one of the stupidest things you’ve said today.”
“Eh.” Schuldig shrugged. “It’s early yet.”