Chapter Text
It started with a breakfast date—The Spoon was now open for brunch on weekends in an attempt to draw that Millennial-day-drunk crowd—one that Cyrus had insisted would be fun. Would be a great way to start their Sunday together. Definitely wouldn’t leave TJ feeling like he was falling asleep at the table.
“What can I get you boys?” The waiter sounded almost as tired as TJ felt, pen readied over paper despite the bloodshot eyes and almost yawn.
“Coffee.” The word tripped out of TJ’s lips before his forehead was even off the table. A quick look from the boy on the other side of the napkin dispenser reminded the older teen of his manners just in time to keep himself from looking like a jackass. “Please—Coffee, please.”
“And I would like a stack of your finest buttermilk pancakes with a side of baby taters—er... tater tots, please.”
“Deep fryer’s not on yet, kid. We got hashbrowns. Home fries. Bacon and sausage if you want some protein.”
“Oh...” Even in his sleep deprived, food deprived, caffeine deprived state, TJ hated hearing the disappointment in his boyfriend’s voice. Especially when there was nothing he could do to fix it.
“Bacon sounds good,” The older teen offers. He knows the Cyrus, as adorably energetic as he is, might take days to choose a different option. And besides, the mention of his favorite breakfast food set TJ’s stomach rumbling in a way it had been too sleepy to do until that very moment.
Cyrus nods happily, and the waiter notes it down. “Stack of pancakes, side of bacon, and two coffees—“
“One coffee!” TJ corrects. He’ll need a lot more energy than diner-coffee can provide to be able to keep up with a caffeinated-Cyrus.
With the coffee quickly delivered and the promise of bacon not far away, the morning starts to pick up. They talk about their plans, they talk about TJ’s upcoming math test, but mostly they talk about nothing. About the R-rated movie TJ is trying to convince his boyfriend to sneak into. About whether tea or hot cocoa is better at warming the soul on a rainy day. Never in words quite so poetic, but the smile on Cyrus’s lips is all the poetry TJ knows how to deal with, anyway—especially when the hours are still in the single digits.
The conversation only lulls when the plates are brought out—a sizzling handful of bacon for him, a tall stack of golden-brown deliciousness for the cutest boy in the world. Perfect. He doesn’t mean for the silence to stay long, but as he looks up from his breakfast, TJ catches the most amusing sight he’s ever seen and his words get stuck in his throat.
His boyfriend is carefully unwrapping a pat of butter, delicate enough to keep it off his fingers before he grabs a knife and cuts it in half. With deliberate precision and complete focus—a chewed on lip and distinct lack of talking betray the importance of the task—Cyrus applies the butter over the top of the pancake, watching it melt into the griddle-fried surface with a careful eye. Then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he reaches out, picks the cake up from the top of the stack, and flips it over. All before repeating with the other half of the butter.
And then it repeats again, one pat for every cake in the stack, each one shuffled to the bottom only once it’s drenched in sweet-cream goodness to his boyfriend’s specifications. The entire stack buttered without a word and Cyrus doesn’t even seem to have noticed the time passing.
TJ finds the whole ritual strangely enthralling.
Then the fork comes out—driven into the stack just off center so the knife can slice the softened pancakes in half, in quarters, in eighths. Only then is the syrup applied, way more than TJ expected. Maybe because there are no parents around to stop him from starting the day with a sugar rush. Maybe that’s just the way he always does it—clearly this has all been practiced many times before.
“What are you staring at?” His boyfriends voice is innocent, breaking him out of his reverie. Soft hands set down the syrup—it’s half empty but started the meal all the way full; maybe TJ should consider a third mug of coffee after all—as Cyrus gives him a questioning look.
“Just at you,” TJ smiles, shakes his head, and returns to his bacon.
“What?” And now TJ sees the smile, the one Cyrus is hiding behind his fake offended look.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” TJ teases.
“It tastes better this way.”
“Is that so?” TJ asks, feeling suddenly more awake as Cyrus’s bright-as-the-sun grin finally breaks through.
“Absolutely.”
“Sweet,” TJ smirks, grabbing a fork and stealing a slice before his boyfriend has a chance to respond. “Then you won’t mind sharing.”