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When Ransom steps into the apartment, the door swinging behind him to close with a soft click and a sharp squeak (he really has to remember to remind Bitty to fix it), he’s met with a sensory overload.
Every electronic device that can be turned on is on. Pop music blares from the speakers they’ve installed throughout the apartment. The TV is on but turned down low, a football game illuminating the screen. Every now and then a shrill whistle from the game cuts through the music. The oven, mixer, and microwave are all running and the rich scent of buttery chocolate permeates through the air, hitting Ransom just steps into the apartment.
In the midst of the chaos, his gaze settles on the man standing in the middle of it all.
Bitty’s a human hurricane, piping neat blooms of frosting onto cupcakes, spinning to take melted chocolate out of the microwave, dancing around the island to check the consistency of whatever’s mixing. Ransom quietly hangs up his messenger bag, toes off his shoes, loosens his tie, and waits. It takes Bitty a full four minutes to notice him, and he only looks up from his tasks when the refs on the screen announce a penalty.
“Ref, are you blind? What the - Ransom! Oh, honey, how long have you been standing there?” The words fly from Bitty’s mouth as he hurries over to Ransom, turning the music down as he moves while Ransom pushes off the wall he’s been leaning on to meet him halfway. Bitty rocks up onto his toes to kiss Ransom quickly, curving his body away so he doesn’t get cocoa powder and flour on Ransom’s work clothes.
“Not long,” Ransom replies, catching Bitty’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt his head to the side so he can kiss a smudge of frosting off his cheek. “I’m guessing you posted a video today?” He asks. The apartment always descends into chaos after Bitty uploads a video he’s nervous about; despite years of vlogging, he’s still not great at waiting for the comments and view to roll in.
Bitty wrinkles his nose. “That obvious, huh?” He asks. Ransom takes him by the shoulders and steers him back into the mess.
“Just a little,” Ransom replies, ducking his head to press a kiss to Bitty’s cowlick. “Is there anything in the oven?”
“Nope, just haven’t gotten around to turning it off yet.” Bitty admits, already turning in Ransom’s grip in an attempt to get back to the cupcakes. He twists the piping bag he’s holding, eyeing the tray with intent, and Ransom knows he won’t be able to pull him away without a fight. He releases Bitty’s shoulders and rolls up his sleeves.
By the time Bitty comes up for air to refill the piping bag with more frosting, Ransom has the kitchen well in hand. It feels good to clean, to organize and scrub and move after sitting in an office all day writing reports and brainstorming social media initiatives. He spends far too much time behind a desk, and judging from the mess he’d found, Bitty’s spent far too much time in the kitchen today. He drops a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s head before he wanders into the living room. Ransom drops onto the couch with a heavy sigh and digs the remote out from between the couch cushions to change the channel.
He’s watched the better part of the second period of the Falconers/Canucks game when Bitty drapes himself over his lap unceremoniously. He smells like chocolate and sugar and cinnamon, tension draining away as he relaxes against Ransom’s chest.
“Sweetpea.” Bitty mumbles. “Honey bun. Muffin. Cupcake.” His fingers twist into the fabric of Ransom’s collar, tugging him until he turns. Ransom obliges, placing a steadying hand against Bitty’s back as he turns. Bitty kisses him, soft and sweet, moving languidly.
“Are you offering me a cupcake, or am I the Cupcake?” Ransom asks when they break apart, lightly threading his fingers through Bitty’s short hair. His other hand smooths up and down Bitty’s spine, circling over his shoulders only to travel back down to his lower back. Bitty laughs, tilting to the side so his forehead rests against Ransom’s shoulder.
“Both,” Bitty replies, settling down with a sigh. Ransom rubs his back and watches the game, waiting for him to fall asleep. Today, he knows, was one of Bitty’s long days, when he can’t seem to stand still enough to concentrate on one task for even the shortest amount of time. Tomorrow, Ransom knows, he might have one of his long days, when seconds crawl by like honey dripping off a spoon, when every minute is agonizingly long and every breath is a battle. When that day comes, Ransom knows, Bitty will hover around him, counting his breaths and updating his many to-do lists until he remembers how to uncurl from the fetal position. They both have their days.
All they can do is their best, and right now, their best is enough.
Bitty wanders through the expansive loft that houses Ransom’s company with a cup of coffee in one hand and a canvas bag full of food slung over his shoulder. The space feels huge without any other people in it, inky darkness dripping from the ceiling down to the corners of the room. The only source of light is the fishbowl glow of Ransom’s glass walled office, tucked along the far back wall.
Bitty can see the line of tension running through Ransom’s shoulders from the other side of the room. He’s sitting at his deck but he’s not working; Ransom is perfectly still, staring at his computer monitor. Bitty can’t see his face but he knows the blank expression on it all too well.
Ransom is officially freaking out. He jolts when Bitty opens his office door but he doesn’t turn around, still too tangled in his thoughts to interact with another person, but Bitty can work with that.
“Hey, Sugar! You’ll never believe what happened today.” Bitty says, voice brighter than the fluorescent lights as he launches into a retelling of his latest kitchen mishap. He sweeps in, flicking on the floor and desk lamps before turning off the bright overhead lights before switching out Ransom’s mug with the coffee he brought with him. The smell of fresh coffee makes Ransom tear his eyes away from his computer screen, and he stares down at the paper to-go cup with wide eyes.
“And then,” Bitty continues as he arranges the messy spread of papers into a semi-neat stack to clear a spot for the food on Ransom’s desk. “The white chocolate started smoking, which is what I get for not using the double boiler but I swear, I haven’t seen that thing in months, have you? I’m not sure it even exists anymore but that’s how it seems to go in our kitchen sometimes. Oh! Remember those herb scissors that disappeared last May? Just in time for rosemary season, too, so you had to run on out buy me another pair. Guess what?” Bitty pauses to take a breath, and just manages to catch Ransom’s questioning hum. Good, at least he’s processing the words. Bitty drops a kiss to his forehead and barrels on. “Well, I found the original pair of scissors when I was looking for the double boiler today. Someone put them in the Dutch oven.” Bitty pauses again. The silence hangs between them but at least Ransom’s hands have stopped shaking. “Fine, I’ll concede that it was most likely me but there’s still a slim chance that it was you, and I’ll take that to my grave. What was I talking about? Oh, the white chocolate -”
Bitty goes on until the food is unpacked and by the time he’s arranged it onto the plates he’s brought Ransom’s hand has curled around the coffee cup. He raises it to his lips, tipping his head back as he downs at least a third of it in a long series of gulps, and when Ransom sets it back down on the desk he gives himself a little shake.
Bitty waits.
Ransom blinks. Rolls his shoulders. Looks around his office for a long moment to re-orient himself.
Bitty waits.
Ransom takes a deep breath, lets it out, and finally speaks. “How much caffeine is poisonous? Asking for myself, I’m actually worried.” He says, and Bitty laughs. He turns Ransom in his desk chair and sweeps his fingers over Ransom’s broad shoulders just to feel the muscles relax under his fingertips.
“You should know, Mr. Former Bio Major. But don’t worry, you just drank decaf.” Bitty murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Ransom’s lips. Ransom hums, low and familiar, and he tastes like coffee so Bitty kisses him until the bitterness fades away. “Time to eat,” Bitty says when he finally pulls away, hands busy loosening Ransom’s tie. Ransom skates his palms up Bitty’s legs to cup loosely over his hips, thumbs pressing in just above the bone.
“Okay,” Ransom breathes, but he doesn’t let go of Bitty’s hips. Bitty tries to twist back to grab their food but Ransom just tightens his grip.
“Ransom, you know the rules. Food, then cuddling.” Bitty admonishes. They have a routine for Ransom’s Moments of Disposition, as Bitty calls them. Ransom always wants to cuddle, but they always have to cut it short because his stomach starts rumbling. Still, Ransom doesn’t let go. “Ransom. Rans.” Bitty tries, trying to cajole him into relaxing his grip. “Honey. Sugar. Muffin. Cupcake. Squash blossom.” Ransom wrinkles his nose, and it takes all of Bitty’s self control to not kiss it.
“Squash blossom?” Ransom asks, and in his confusion he loosens his grip just enough for Bitty to escape. He twists around, ducking away to grab the two plates of food, and thrusts one into Ransom’s open hands before sitting himself down on the desk. Ransom scoots his chair over, inching closer and closer until he’s satisfied.
Bitty reaches out, unable to help himself, and brushes his thumb over Ransom’s cheek. “Yeah, Squash Blossom. I think it suits you.” Ransom grins, cheek shifting under Bitty’s palm.
“It’s better than Muffin, so I’ll take it.” Ransom says, and pops a green bean into his mouth. Bitty’s torn between victory and indignation.
“I think it suits you fine!” Bitty protest. “It’s perfect! Sweet but not too sweet, healthy-ish but full of flavor…” Ransom laughs, and the sound is sweeter than the toffee Bitty brought for dessert.
Ransom ebbs and flows after a Moment. He needs food and physical contact and he can go from exhausted to energized and back again at a moment’s notice. He’s wide awake as they finish eating and pack up the Tupperware but he dozes off on the car ride back to their apartment. Bitty wakes him as gently as he can and leads him to the elevator but by the time they reach their floor he’s awake enough to unlock the door and place his bag on the kitchen island. He makes it into the bedroom but once he’s through the threshold he stops, looking around the room as he tries to decide what to do next.
“Rans,” Bitty says, voice barely above a whisper. “Why don’t you sit on the bed while I get your pajamas?” Bitty suggests, tugging on Ransom’s shirt to untuck it before he sits down. Ransom hums in agreement and has his shirt unbuttoned by the time Bitty returns with his sleep pants. After he changes Bitty pushes him into the bathroom and follows him in. When they’re both done Bitty settles himself in the middle of the bed, back propped up against the headboard, and waits. Ransom crawls across the bed, moving languidly, and all but collapses on Bitty’s lap.
Bitty lets him lay there, tracing random patterns and writing recipes over Ransoms back and neck until his legs go numb. He taps on Ransom’s shoulder, and Ransom rolls onto his side and pulls Bitty down until their eyes are level. Bitty carefully arranges them, fluffing pillows and dragging blankets into place until everything is perfect, and then he tugs Ransom closer.
“Comfy?” He asks, lips pressed against Ransom’s collarbone.
“Mmmmhmph.” Ransom rumbles, his hum vibrating through his chest. He tilts his head and presses a kiss to the top of Bitty’s head. “Thanks, Bits.” He mumbles, already half asleep, and Bitty smiles against his neck. They’re quiet for a long moment.
“My lil’ squash blossom,” Bitty mumbles, and Ransom’s huffed laughter is the last sound Bitty hears before he falls asleep.