It's three a.m. Monday morning, and Daniel's up cooking. This has almost become a habit, getting up at insanely ridiculous hours to make food for his former partner, who for some reason, thinks that it's okay to bust into his house. The microwave beeps. Well, maybe he has encouraged this a little bit. After all, Rorschach has never actually requested the he heat him up something to eat, and he's sure that even Rorschach is capable of heating up a can of soup in the microwave. He has to admit though, that he enjoys these late night, early morning rendezvous with his friend. Just as much as he does his weekly beer sessions with Hollis.

Sometimes they sit in an not so awkward silence -even when Dan tries to start a conversation-. Other times Rorschach will go on long winded rants about various theories, ranging from the fluoride in bath water turning people gay, to how the Doomsday clock was made for some secret military agenda. That is actually what Dan likes the most, Rorschach's crazy theories, because everything is a lot funnier when it's three in the morning and you're tired. Though he's never laughed at Rorschach, ever, he is sure that he must have a goofy, sleepy grin on his face most nights.

Daniel pulls open the microwave door and pulls out the plastic bowl, being careful not to let the steam burn his fingers. It looks like he's cooked it a tad too long, well, that's what happens when you're still half asleep. He places it on the table and goes about rooting for a spoon. Normally, he wouldn't bother, because frankly, Rorschach has terrible table manners, and he'd probably just drink it out of the bowl, making amusing slurping noises the whole time. However, since Daniel has cooked it for way too long, there is no possible way for him to do this with out burning his mouth.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention when I cooked it," he explains as he turns around, spoon in hand, to see Rorschach with his mask pulled up over the bridge of his nose, staring down at the bowl of soup in front of him. Daniel doesn't even have to see the rest of his face to know that he's glaring at it with disapproval. He sits down across from him and holds the spoon out, an apologetic look on his face. "Daniel." The man across from him grabs the spoon out of his hand. "Hmm?"

"...This is alphabet soup."

He's quiet for a moment. "So?" Does he not like soup or something? As far as Daniel knows, Rorschach is not a picky eater. Across from him, Rorschach stabs the spoon into the soup and pushes a few of the letters around. "So? Alphabet soup is just..." As Rorschach starts talking about the soup sending subliminal messages, despite the grave tone the other man is using, Daniel can't help the smile that settles on his face. It is going to be a good night.