For future reference, all Max fics with a ‘Demonic Shenanigans’ title take place during the four months when Tyrone is Max’s roommate, unless stated otherwise.
Max peeked his head around the corner of the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Tyrone was, as usual, sitting in his chair with a book in his face.
“Ty, did you move the cinnamon?”
Max stared at his roommate for a moment.
“Are you sure? Because I always leave it in the same spot and it’s not there.”
Max sighed and went back into the kitchen. The toaster was still ticking away, but it would be done soon and Max would need that cinnamon. He looked through the jumble of spice shakers in the cabinet, identifying everything his fingers came across, but the one spice he was looking for clearly was not among them. He began looking through the other cupboards, mostly just by opening the doors and glancing inside, because surely an out of place cinnamon shaker would be noticeable at a glance.
The toaster dinged and Max swore.
“Seriously, Ty, where’s the cinnamon?” he called out.
“Why do you even need it?” came the disinterested response.
“Because I’m making toast!”
“There’s plenty of kinds of toast that don’t need cinnamon.”
Max made a vague angry gesture at the kitchen doorway.
“I saw that,” said Tyrone.
Throwing up his hands in defeat, Max decided to just make the toast without cinnamon. It wouldn’t be the same, but it might satisfy his craving anyway. Then he remembered he hadn’t taken the brown sugar out, so he opened up yet another flimsy cabinet door, and…
What was that?
Something on the inner wall of the cabinet caught his eye. It didn’t look like anything solid - what it looked like was a tangible eye strain, and Max couldn’t resist reaching for it. His fingers brushed against it, feeling something like the pressure of being squeezed into a tube too small to fit around them. It didn’t hurt. Max got distracted poking his fingers into the wonky spot over and over again. Finally he grabbed at it, and felt something give way as he pulled.
Out of the cabinet tumbled an unending mass of plastic tubes of various lengths twisted into various shapes. Max jumped back but they covered the kitchen floor with alarming rapidity and before he could yell Tyrone’s name he was buried in them up to his knees.
Tyrone appeared in the doorway, shocked at first, but as the silly straws continued pouring out of the hole in the cabinet he just threw his head back and laughed.
By the time Ty stopped laughing the flow of silly straws had slowed to a trickle, though they were clearly not done coming. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face as he waved a hand, and the straws disappeared back into the hole like they were being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.
“Sorry about that,” he said, trying hard not to start laughing again.
Max gave Ty an expression that involved contorted eyebrows and so much doubt it was almost tangible. “No you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m not. That was hilarious.”
“Shit, my toast.” Max pulled the wasted slices of bread out of the toaster. “…Burnt and cold. Great.”
Ty snapped his fingers and the ruined toast transformed into hot, crispy perfection. Max raised an eyebrow at him. Ty shrugged.
"By the way, you didn’t look in the fridge.” Tyrone left the kitchen, still smiling.
Max found the cinnamon beside the milk, though he was certain it hadn’t been there that morning.
The toast was every bit as delicious as he’d intended it to be.