The Kitchen Chronicles cast in the Starbucks Misadventures
Part 5
©ESR 2025

Part 1: The Fluff Cup
Part 2: Espresso Awakening
Part 3: Shattered Morning
Part 4: The Apology

The box was huge. Far too big for one mug. And it sat in the middle of the kitchen like it knew it had something to prove.

On top of it was a napkin, slightly crumpled, paw-folded, and inked with something close to legible handwriting. A note, clearly dictated by a small feline with a guilty soul and a flair for the dramatic:

“To the Flame, with apologies. I was stupid. Please don’t stop loving me.
Also, I cleaned the Amazon cart. Mostly.”

He was sitting beside it. No meow, no purr, no dramatic flop. Just… sitting. Head low. Tail wrapped tightly around his paws. Like he was waiting for judgment, knowing he’d earned every bit of it.

The Flame entered the kitchen still barefoot, still wary, still carrying the ghost of glass cuts and caffeine withdrawal. She stopped. Looked at him. Looked at the box. Looked at the napkin.

She said nothing.

Benny stood up. Walked three deliberate steps forward. And flopped. Belly up. Utter surrender.

She sighed.

She crouched…carefully, still a little sore…and opened the box.

⸻

The first thing she pulled out was a ceramic mug, cream white with gold foil lettering that read:

“Queen of Fluffcups — Even When Bleeding”
[with a tiny pawprint-shaped crown above the text]

It was ridiculous. It was perfect.

Then came a heart-shaped trinket dish, hand-painted in blue and teal swirls, with a message glazed in the center:

“Sorry for the spill. Please don’t stop loving me.”

The Flame’s throat tightened.

Next, wrapped in an embarrassing amount of bubble wrap, was a ceramic coaster set. Four of them.

• One had a cartoon of a very grumpy cat with a mop.

• Another featured a majestic rendering of the Flame, steam swirling like tendrils around her hair.

• The third? A paw stamp that simply read:

“Fluffcup Forever.”

• And the last? A very smug, very handsome black-haired Warlord Prince sipping coffee… eyes narrowed toward an offscreen feline.

The Flame may or may not have snorted aloud.

The last item was a coffee spoon rest, shaped like a curled-up cat. On the tail, a little message curled like a purr:

“For when the world spills over. I’ll be good.”

⸻

She sat on the floor. And Benny, quiet, watching, tail twitching with restrained hope, crawled forward. Gently, slowly, until he was half in her lap.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Then she whispered, “You little asshole,” and kissed the top of his head. “But you’re my little asshole.”

He chirped softly.

At that moment, the kitchen door opened. Oro stood there, barefoot but freshly showered, towel still around his neck, and an eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.

The Flame tilted her head toward the box.

He stepped forward. Picked up the Fluffcup mug. Turned it slowly in his hand.

“Acceptable,” he murmured, voice like velvet over thunder. Then he looked down at Benny, still curled in her lap, staring up with the biggest eyes he could muster.

“…And forgiven.”

Benny flopped in complete relief. Dramatically. Of course.

Oro looked down at them both. “But you’re still cleaning the espresso machine.”

Benny meowed in solemn agreement.