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Skeppy yawns, scratching his stomach under the loose fabric of the shirt he fell asleep in last night—he honestly can’t remember whether it originally belonged to Bad or himself—and stumbles into the kitchen, drawn out of the bedroom by the sound of Bad singing a silly tune and the smell of bacon frying.
“Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs, I’m making bacon and eggs.” Bad bops his head to an off-tempo beat, and Skeppy giggles, wrapping an arm around his waist from behind.
“Morning Bad,” he says, his voice still scratchy with sleep.
“Aww, morning, dear.” Bad turns his head back and plants a kiss on Skeppy’s cheek. Skeppy scrunches his nose up, pretending not to like it, but Bad just giggles and goes back to tending the food frying in the pan.
“What’s got you up so early?” Skeppy asks, wrapping both arms around Bad now, and leaning his head into space between Bad’s shoulder blades.
“It’s our three-month anniversary!” Bad announces. “Did you not remember, Skeppy?”
Skeppy laughs. The one month anniversary was obvious—they ate a slice of wedding cake they saved in the freezer—and the two month anniversary he just passed off as Bad being sentimental, but three? Three was a pattern.
“Are you gonna do this every month? Forever?”
“Well—maybe not forever. But it’s still special, isn’t it?”
“Mn. It is.” Skeppy nods, letting his hands fall towards Bad’s hips. “Very special.”
Bad giggles and shakes his head, clicking off the gas and moving the pan off the heat.
“I didn’t do anything too special. Just wanna have breakfast with you.” He turns around, unwrapping Skeppy’s arms from his waist, and cups his chin in his hand, scratching his stubble. “Oh my goodness, Skep, your bedhead.”
“What?” Skeppy reaches up to try and pat it down, but it must not work, because Bad just laughs harder.
“Don’t worry about it. Just go get us some plates, okay?” Bad gives him another kiss on the cheek, and Skeppy does as he bids. He always does; he’s nothing if not a sucker for his husband.
Husband. That still feels new, even three months in. Probably because it’s been over a decade in the making, ever since they first whispered heated feelings over a discord call. Meeting Bad took time, and so did dating him. Moving in took longer, but falling in love? That took no time at all. Skeppy knew he was going to marry this man the first second he laid eyes on him. Still, he moved at Bad’s pace. They were married in a small chapel, a beautiful winter wedding on the seven year anniversary of their first meeting in-person.
Everyone important was there. Their families, their closest friends. Just a few years prior, Bad had officiated Ant and Velvet’s wedding, and the couple sat together in the audience, watching as Dream officiated Bad and Skeppy’s. Sapnap had joked that, following simple logic, Dream should be the next to get married, but that might be a ways out, yet. Apparently George was a hard sell on that front.
The reception was a blast, of course. He may have gotten a little too drunk, though, and their first night together as a married couple mostly consisted of Bad carrying Skeppy around until he hit the mattress and blacked out until noon the next day. So maybe that’s why these quiet moments in the kitchen together meant so much to Bad. It’s just them, celebrating each little anniversary of their marriage. Remembering the promises they made to each other with each smile and glance and sweet kiss exchanged.
Skeppy puts the plates down on the counter, and Bad pulls back a napkin, revealing a bowl of hot biscuits he made before Skeppy was even awake. They’re just the kind from the can, nothing too fancy, but Bad carefully breaks two open and layers them with a fried egg, a bit of shredded cheese, and two strips of bacon. He presses the tops back onto the sandwiches, squishing everything into place, and then hands one to Skeppy.
“To three months of us,” he says.
“Thanks, Bad.” Skeppy leans forward, kisses him softly on the lips, and then picks up his biscuit and takes a bite.
“Oh my god…” He leans his head back, almost moaning it’s so good. Just the right amount of savory and salty, fluffy and crunchy. The perfect way to start an indulgent morning.
“You’re exaggerating,” Bad says, and Skeppy shakes his head.
“No, babe. You’re just, like, the best cook in the world.”
“Aww, stop.” Bad giggles, and Skeppy bumps shoulders with him, smiling through another big bite.
It’s then that he felt something fuzzy curl up against his leg, and a little trilled meow directs their attention to the cat standing between them.
“Someone smells the bacon,” Bad jokes, putting his sandwich down to scratch her head. The fluffy tabby tries to lick his fingers, and he laughs, booping her on the nose. Adopting a cat together—the first pet that really, truly belonged to both of them—was how Skeppy knew it was time. He woke up one morning, saw her curled up next to Bad, the man sleeping with his mouth open and a black silk mask over his eyes, brown hair strewn over the pillow, and that was it. He picked up his phone and started looking for engagement rings there and then.
“Did you feed her?” Skeppy asks, and Bad nods as he picks his sandwich back up.
“Oh yeah. She just loves to pretend we starve her.”
Skeppy giggles so hard he almost snorts, even though he’s heard that joke a million times before. It never gets old, when it comes to Bad.
Bad starts humming another tune, swaying his shoulders from side to side, and finishes his sandwich with one last big, finger-licking bite. Skeppy stacks their empty plates in the sink, but Bad bops over to him, swaying his arms to the beat, and takes Skeppy by the hands.
“What?” Skeppy askes, smiling so wide, his cheeks hurt.
“Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs, nothing so good as bacon and eggs,” Bad riffs on the little song he’d made up earlier, dancing loosely with Skeppy. Skeppy laughs, shaking his head, then suddenly gets an idea.
“Hey—wait here.”
He has to run back to the bedroom to get his phone, but he walks back slower, scrolling through his music app until he finds the right song.
“Here. Now we can dance.”
He puts the phone down on the counter and watches as Bad’s face lights up when he recognizes the notes. It was their first dance, a song Bad specifically requested because apparently it had been his mom’s first dance, too, and his grandma’s before that. It was old—obviously—and a little cheesy, but Skeppy was too soft to the way it made Bad’s heart melt to have ever said no to it.
“Oh my goodness. I love you so much.” Bad wraps his arms around him, and Skeppy gently guides his hands into the positions of a proper dance, Bad’s on his hip and his on Bad’s shoulder. Bad looks like he’s on the verge of tears, but he sniffles, the sound exaggerated to make Skeppy laugh, and leads him through a simple four-step, the basic dance that filled most of their routine for the wedding.
The man’s voice on the track warbles at the peak of the bridge, and Skeppy watches Bad close his eyes and mouth the words. He adores how Bad feels so deeply, how he loves so cautiously, and yet, so completely. How lucky Skeppy is, to be with him now and forever: to have and to hold, until death do they part.
And when it comes to Bad? Those marriage vows aren’t just empty words. They’re promises he means to keep. His heart is sworn to Skeppy’s, and Skeppy’s to his.
Bad lays his head on Skeppy’s shoulder as the song winds down, and after one more sniffle to collect himself, lifts his gaze to meet Skeppy’s.
“I love you so much,” he croaks. “I’m so glad we got married.”
“I should hope so,” Skeppy jokes, but inside, he was near tears, too. Bad smiles a crooked, adoring smile, and Skeppy takes his lips in a tender kiss, holding him there until they have to part to breathe.
“I love you, too,” he says. Bad opens his mouth, probably about to spew more romantic lines, when their cat hops up onto the counter and makes a demanding mrow noise.
“And we love you, too, Muffin,” Bad says, petting her needy little head. Skeppy giggles, still holding Bad’s side, and sighs contently.
Yeah. This is about what he imagined when he first held Bad in the doorway of his old apartment. Maybe not the cat, but life is funny like that sometimes. And sometimes—just sometimes—it gives you exactly what you want.