Work Text:
"My God," Mike sighed and sat on a chair.
Will was making pancakes. The smell of them scattered around their apartment. Mike was staring into the ceiling, while his boyfriend whistled some song under his nose.
"I hate my job," Mike whined, staring at the ceiling. His head felt like it weighed a ton.
"Well, can't relate," Will said, flipping a pancake over. "Did anything interesting happen?"
"Nope. Same old shift, during which you work your ass by sorting all the stuff in the shop. At least I don't talk to customers that much."
"They'd consider you a zombie, honey."
"Hey! Rude," Mike frowned and looked at Will. He slowly got up, walked to him and hugged him from the back.
Will took the last pancake from the pan and grabbed Mike's arms. They didn't want to move at all, standing like that was something intimate. Mike pecked Will on his cheek.
"I'm so tired, Will," Mike said.
"Want to watch something after I finish?" Will asked, turning off the stove. Mike hummed in approval.
"Don't wake me up if I fall asleep, alright?"
"You know I won't do that. Could you give me the syrup? It's in one of the drawers."
Mike let go of Will and bent down to get the syrup. Will opened the drawers above the stove and took out two plates.
"Are we out of whipped cream?" Mike asked while still looking for the syrup.
"I can't remember. I think we are."
"A bummer," Mike put a bottle of syrup on the table. "Here it is."
Mike went back to the table and sat down. Will brought two plates with pancakes glazed with vanilla syrup.
"Bón Appetit," Will said.
"I love your cooking," Mike smiled while biting the pancake. "Feels like home."
"Aw, shut it."
And when Will also tried the pancake, he couldn't deny that Mike was right. It was Joyce's recipe, after all.