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The smell of coffee, as usual, is the first thing that hits him when he wakes up. Still dazed from his dreams, hair mussled and sleep clinging to him like a fuzzy blanket, Peak slowly gets up and lets himself enjoy the peacefulness of the morning. He used to hate mornings: getting up, having to make breakfast (or just skip it, as it often happened), getting ready, getting dressed, start the day. Too many steps, too hurried, too cold. Now it has become his favourite moment of the day, ever since he moved to to the Knock Knock House and met his boys, the family he never thought he was waiting for.
Thanwa is always the first one to get up, steady and reliable Thanwa, with his playful smile and twinkling eyes, making sure the boys get something to eat before going out and fondly watching them leave for their day.
Peak is usually the next one to get up, the intense smell of coffee drawing him into the kitchen like a siren (or is that because Thanwa is humming a song he has never heard but desperately wish to sing along to, a voice adds in his head). His roommate (his favourite roommate, the treacherous voice adds again. Shut up, he replies) is already there, fully dressed and already cooking, the sound of food sizzling in a pan and a delicious aroma filling the house. Peak wishes every morning could be like this, while the sunlight invades the room and kisses Thanwa's hair like a soft caress. Peak needs to reel in the urge to touch it. It looks silky, the voice helpfully supplies. He shakes his head and starts to set the table, earning a nod of acknowledgement and a bright smile from Thanwa. He feels warm, and he can't suppress his own smile in response.
They don't talk a lot first thing in the morning. They exchange some pleasantries, the occasional call for the missing milk (in the fridge, behind the box of minced meat for tonight dinner), and a few comments about their plans for the day, but mostly they just bask in the comfortable silence and in the tinkling of cutlery and in the crackling from the pan. Well, Peak is basking. He is not sure if Thanwa is too. Maybe he is just focusing on making breakfast, and the voice sounds unsure now. Peak silences it once again.
At this point Almond is usually the one to break the spell, skipping down the stairs with the bright energy of the youth and loudly announcing himself. There is a part of Peak that wishes he had more time to float in the liminal space that is the silence around Thanwa, but he can't find it in himself to actually mind. Almond is such a cheerful addition to their morning routine, and Thanwa smiles so wide when he sees him that Peak can't help but beam at the boy, ruffling his hair as he walks next to him to bring the plates.
There is definitely no hope of going back to the quiet now, not with Almond chatting and eating and laughing while they all have breakfast together, and Peak lets himself relax in the comfort and the domesticity of it all. He gets hit, not for the first time since moving in, by the feeling of rightness, of being exactly where he was meant to be. After only a short time of living here, he can't really recall a "before" Knock Knock House anymore, like he had always been here, sharing his life with the boys. Almond makes a silly comment and Thanwa laughs, and Peak stops overthinking about how on Earth he deserved to get so lucky to steal a glance at the sight. He laughs too. Latte's alarm clock starts blaring and they laugh even harder at Almond's annoyed face as he gets up and goes upstairs to wake up his perpetually late roommate. As much as he likes to complain, Peak doesn't miss the hint of fondness that seeps through whenever Almond talks about Latte, and he shares a knowing smile with Thanwa. He likes it, the intimacy they are building, and it scares him just as much. There is a whole big problem waiting for him outside the door, but in the morning he is still inside the safe bubble of Knock Knock House, and the world is still far away from their kitchen, so he forces himself to not dwell on it. There will be time tonight, before falling asleep, to worry about the increasingly loud voice whispering in his head, to replay the way Thanwa leaned over him and invited him to try a new restaurant together, like it was a secret between them, or to reminisce about the taste of his lips (Peak knows it was Thanwa's lips that day. He knows it and it has been a constant thought at the back of his mind, a background noise he has not been able to tune out ever since that day). For now though, Latte has joined them for breakfast, and he is bickeringwith Almond, and Thanwa is pouring him another cup of coffee, so Peak shuts his mind off and lets himself be happy.
The whole meal is over before he realizes it. Latte and Almond are running off to school, still bickering about who made the other one run late (it was probably Latte), and Peak reluctantly gets up too while Thanwa cleans up the table, and gets ready for work. The morning is already over and he feels a pang of regret every day, while waving at Thanwa and leaving the house, but there is always tomorrow morning to look forward to. He distantly realizes that Thanwa's soft smile is the last thing he sees everyday before going out, and it makes his heart sing. With a last wave of his hand, he leaves the house and he already can't wait to be back home.
Peak had never been very good at expressing his own emotions, and if someone were to ask him how mornings at Knock Knock House made him feel, he would trip over his own words and mumble something unintelligible. Talking was not his strongest skill, and he was painfully aware of it, but he was not completely oblivious, despite his own attempts to ignore the voice in his head.
In the privacy of his own mind, where no one could spy, in a secret corner away even from the voice itself, Peak knew exactly what he felt. He could recognize the warm feeling in his chest, if not from experience than from instinct, and he knew he felt a contentment he had never felt before, a sense of familiarity and domesticity he had unconsciously longed for during his whole life. It did not make things any easier, but he could pretend, at least for a moment, that this was how his life was supposed to be. At least for one more morning, one more breakfast, one more lingering gaze.