Apr 262007

Title: The Benefit of Living Alone
Fandom: Mitarashi Games
Characters: Meeps
Rating: G
Warnings: Meeps doesn't curse at anyone, because there's no one to talk to.
Notes: Well, I wrote the Ko and Mouse one, and then Meeps wanted to play, too.

Meeps stumbled through the door of his apartment, cold and tired, and slammed it behind him. He threw his satchel onto the couch as he walked by, heading for the kitchen. He'd had most of a 12-pack of Jolt, today, along with some ephedrine to keep his lungs in check, and he'd been whirling like a dervish for the last sixteen hours. The latest round of corrections were ready to go out to testing, and on a whim, he'd cleaned up some garbage code that had been in the game engine since day one. It had been bothering him for years.

Food. Right. He needed food. He shook his head to clear it, but that was a bad idea, he decided, clutching at the fridge for balance. In the interest of continued stability, he knelt down before opening the fridge to examine the sparse contents. Last night's takeout and a jar of peanut butter with a spoon in it were at eye-level, and the shelf below was littered with things that might, at some point, have been vegetables. He looked up and spotted a half-empty gallon of Sunny D and a package of cheese slices. He groaned and grabbed the takeout and the orange drink, moving to the side, so the door could close and he could fish a fork out of the dishrack.

He sat down, leaned back against the cabinets, and began stuffing his face. Jaz wasn't around, so there was no reason to eat like anything less than the starving dog he felt like. He devoured the leftover chicken enchiladas with only brief pauses to swig Sunny D, straight from the bottle, and when he was done, he set the box aside and closed his eyes.

The nice thing about living alone, he decided, was that it was okay to pass out on the floor of the kitchen with a full stomach. There would be no one to wake him up and demand to know if he were alright, no one to get angry that he'd been drinking out of the bottle again, and no one to trip over him because they couldn't be bothered to turn the lights on.

Maybe life wasn't so bad, after all.

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