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Martin woke up to sun streaming through the windows. He yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and stretched. Jon shifted in his sleep beside him, and Martin practically melted from how adorable he was. A smile on his face, Martin brushed his lips lightly, gently against Jon’s cheek, carefully so as not to wake the other man.
He got out of bed and headed toward the kitchen, figuring he might as well get started on breakfast so it would be ready for Jon when he awoke.
He filled the tea kettle and placed it on the burner, then pulled the eggs out of the fridge. He cracked four eggs into a bowl and began whisking them with a fork, mixing the yolks and whites until the contents of the bowl were a fairly constant shade of sunny yellow. His fingers were covered in egg, but he figured he could wash his hands after he was done. After all, he wasn’t planning on licking them or anything like that.
As he picked up the bowl, intending to pour the eggs into the pan sitting patiently next to the kettle on the stove, he heard the soft shifting of a bedspread from the other room. Subtle but unmistakable.
“Martin?” Jon called, voice still thick and cracking with the thirst that comes with sleep.
“In here, love,” Martin responded, smiling. Jon was always so adorable when he woke up, stumbling and sleepy and oh so cuddly. He heard more rustling, and then the padding of small bare feet making their way down the hall.
“Good morning, my love,” Martin greeted as Jon walked into the kitchen and joined Martin at the stove, resting his head on the larger man’s shoulder and nuzzling into Martin’s pajama shirt.
“Mmmf.” Jon’s reply was muffled by the fabric of Martin’s shirt, and Martin chuckled and affectionately ruffled Jon’s hair.
“You’re especially adorable in the mornings, you know that?”
Jon responded by nuzzling deeper into Martin’s shirt. Martin felt Jon’s hand brush his, then again, and again, insistently.
“You wanna hold my hand?” Martin queried, and Jon nodded. “My fingers are all eggy, love, is that okay with you?”
Jon nodded again, and Martin took Jon’s small hand in his own, eggy fingers and all. Jon’s hand was warm and soft, even with all his scars, and Martin wished they could stay in this moment forever.
But then the kettle shrieked, and Jon’s hand tore away from his as Jon clapped both hands to his ears, face scrunching with pain. He began to shake his head slowly back and forth, and he sank to the floor, curling into a ball on the kitchen tile.
Martin lunged for the knob to the burner, quickly turning off the stove. He snatched the kettle off the still-hot burner and placed it on the opposite side of the stove, before dropping to the floor beside Jon, still curled up and shaking.
“Oh, honey, love, it’s okay, it’s alright,” Martin soothed quietly. Jon grabbed him suddenly and hugged him tight, relaxing slowly as he held Martin.
Eventually, Jon calmed enough to let go. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Just…loud.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, love,” Martin responded. “Nothing at all.”
Jon smiled. “I love you.”
Martin’s heart swelled in his chest. It didn’t matter how many times he’d heard it, he still had the same reaction every time. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky, but he was happy and he was with Jon and that was all that mattered. “I love you too. Now, what do you say we have some breakfast? I’m starving.”