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Golden sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, casting streaks of yellow and amber across the bedroom. The window had stayed propped ajar overnight and breaths of warm summer air were beginning to float through the room as the occupants began to wake. Barely awake but not quite asleep, Titch stirred slowly beneath his emerald green covers and weighted blanket, only just the right side of suffocating.
The gentle thrumming of Derek’s heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of his chest relaxed Titch like waves on the shore - calming and rhythmic beneath his cheek. One arm was draped over Derek’s waist, fingers curled possessively in the waistband of his plaid joggers, and short legs tangled around Derek’s. Every inch of Titch’s body was pressed into Derek’s side with a quiet closeness that transcended the need for words.
They never began the night curled together, usually they would share a kiss goodnight before rolling over to their separate sides. But over the course of the night, the pair would inevitably gravitate together until Titch’s head would come to rest on Derek’s chest, or shoulder, or curled around his back. In the course of their movements, the sheets had slipped down to Derek’s waist, revealing heavily sun-freckled shoulders and a light dusting of downy chest hair.
Despite the early indicators of morning beginning to seep into Titch’s consciousness, he did not move, he refused to move. Instead, he simply laid there - still and silent in the morning air: watching specks of dust flit and float through the beams of golden light streaming across the bedroom; feeling the soft rise and fall of his beloved’s chest beneath his sleepy head; listening to the sounds of distant birds calling out from the trees.
Shifting slightly, Titch nestled in closer and pressed his forehead gently into the warm skin of his partner’s neck. A sleepy murmur arose from Derek’s lips, something sleep-addled and unintelligible, but nonetheless full of love and affection as he pulled Titch infinitesimally closer by his waist.
Derek breathed slowly but deeper than before and shifted ever so slightly. His eyelashes fluttered and brows creased as a groggy hum escaped from his throat, not entirely forming words but not entirely indiscernible either. Glancing down at Titch, Derek wore the type of soft smile that never occurs in photographs or meetings with strangers, but only when someone wakes up in love.
“Mornin’,” he whispered, voice low and scratchy. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of Titch’s golden hair back from his forehead before trailing his sleep-warm fingers down to his lover’s cheek.
“Morning,” Titch whispered back, pressing a simple kiss against Derek’s bare chest.
“What time’s’it?” Derek mumbled, shutting his eyes and burying his nose in Titch’s strawberry blonde hair, breathing in the scent of roses and pinewood lingering in his curls.
“Too early to leave your arms,” Titch murmured against Derek’s skin, his lips barely moving, warm breath ghosting across his collarbone.
The smell of the outside world drifted in through the open window: the cocktail of flowers from the garden, the pollen from the trees, the warm summer air, the smell of burning: nauseating and sour.
Titch bolted upright in bed, yanking himself from Derek’s tight grasp and throwing the covers off both of them.
“Derek!” He whispered urgently, shaking his sleepy partner by the shoulder. “Derek, wake up, something’s on fire!”
“Huh? What?” Derek grumbled almost indecipherably. He rolled over, trying to curl himself fully over Titch and lull him back into bed.
Sniffing pointedly, trying to ascertain the origin of the increasingly intense burning smell, Titch fully extricated himself from Derek’s tight hold. He threw the covers fully off, leaving Derek to scrabble at the material to pull it further up over his chest and bury himself deeper in his warm little nest. With a deep sigh, Derek burrowed down and shut his eyes, determined to catch a few extra minutes of nap time before the reality of Sunday morning hit him.
But for Titch, he was soundly awake, panic beginning to settle as a pit in his stomach as the acrid smell of burning grew ever stronger.
“The boys,” Titch said suddenly.
Fear coursed through him. If the swirling tendrils of smoky scent had reached his bedroom, it was a certainty that it had reached the boys’ room too. He couldn’t imagine anything worse to disturb the peaceful bubble of his cosy family weekend than the sudden onslaught of distress from the boys as they were awoken by the familiar, triggering smell of a nearby fire.
Just as Titch swung his legs over the edge of the bed, determined to make it to his boys before they woke in fear, a distinctly different sound hit him: gentle giggling. He paused, balanced on the edge of his double bed, and listened carefully. The high-pitched giggling continued, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of small feet trying very hard to be stealthy but not quite succeeding.
Behind him, Derek groaned at the noise and finally propped himself up on his elbows, still refusing to open his eyes to the assault of morning light he was sure would ensnare him.
“Wha’s goin’on?” He murmured, groping fruitlessly at the now empty space in the bed beside him.
“I think we’re about to be ambushed,” Titch said with a small smile.
There was a soft thud against the wooden door, followed by the tiniest voice.
“Knock properly, Johnny, that’s not enough to wake them up!” Janae’s little voice was clearly an attempt at a whisper but the excitement which laced his tone meant he was not fully committed to the volume control.
“You do it!” Johnny whispered back, slightly more successfully. “It’s really hard holding- uh oh!”
“Did you spill it?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
A moment of silence.
“Only a little bit.” Johnny’s voice was timid and muffled behind the door but Titch felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest at the sound of his boys trying their best to be sneaky outside. He smiled and looked around at Derek. He was propped up on his elbows, his hair was sticking up at an odd angle, ruffled by sleep, and his chest was bare as the covers slipped back down to his waist. The soft smile which graced his sleepy face suggested he had also cottoned on to the chaos unfolding in the hallway.
Then, a louder knock. More confident. More purposeful.
“Come in,” Titch called.
The door creaked open and there they were. Two very serious little faces appeared from behind the door, peering at Titch and Derek with wide eyes before they pushed the door fully open.
With a confident stride, Janae led the way, carrying a blue and white striped bowl in one hand and a glass of orange juice clutched in the other. Johnny meanwhile shuffled in behind him carrying a tray that looked as if it took every inch of concentration the boy could muster to keep it upright. It wobbled slightly in his unsteady hands and another unnecessarily full glass of orange juice sloshed dangerously on the edge.
“We made you breakfast,” Johnny said softly, like he was uncertain whether he was allowed to. His big blue eyes shifted warily between the two men, cautious and hopeful, before he added: “Because it’s Father’s Day.”
Oh.
Derek finally sat up, blinking in confusion. Titch froze, still perched on the edge of the bed. The silence was thick and fragile for just a moment, like it might crack if someone moved too quickly.
Father’s Day.
Titch hadn’t even clocked the date, why would he? His father had passed away a good few years ago, not that he ever did Father’s Day anyway - no, the man was too practical for the nonsense of such a frivolous day. The boys had been with Titch and Derek for nearly two years now but Father’s Day last year had passed without mention, all silently agreeing seven months into the unexpected formation of their little family was still too soon for such a declaration.
But one year later, the boys stood tentatively at the foot of the bed, their matching navy blue eyes affixed on Titch and Derek. Johnny bit his lip and looked at Titch with that familiar glassy-eyed vulnerability that made his heart ache in the best and worst way possible.
Titch hadn’t even noticed he was crying until Derek reached across and wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his finger. He took Derek’s hand and kissed his fingers sweetly, holding his warm skin to his lips for just a moment as his eyes fluttered shut, blinking away more tears as they threatened to fall.
“Oh,” Janae said slowly. “We didn’t- we didn’t mean to upset you.”
Opening his eyes, Titch was confronted by the sight of Johnny practically vibrating with worry, the tray clutched in his little hands jittering and plates clinking together.
“Here, Johnny.” Derek reached over the footboard and took the tray delicately from the boy’s unsteady hands before he dropped it, resting it carefully on the bed sheets between himself and Titch.
“You haven’t upset me,” Titch whispered, with a teary and breathless laugh.
“Oh! That’s okay then!” Janae placed his glass of juice on the nightstand before clambering up onto the bed: the bowl, which Titch could now see was filled with fruit, still clutched in his hands. He shuffled across the duvet before parking himself on Derek’s lap and pulling the man’s arms around his waist with a contented sigh, more than happy to take Titch’s word that he was fine.
But Johnny stood still, silent, at the foot of the bed watching Titch carefully.
“I- did I mess up?” Johnny asked quietly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. His hands were balled up in the sleeves of his shirt, knuckles white with stress.
“No, not at all!” Titch exclaimed, reaching out to pull the distressed boy in by his tense hands. “You haven’t messed up- these are happy tears, angel! Really happy!”
“Oh.”
Johnny melted into Titch’s side, hugging him tightly and burying his face into the man’s shoulder, unable or unwilling to show his face until he had processed what was happening. More than used to the boy’s slightly delayed emotional processing, Titch was happy to gather Johnny up into his arms and let him sit quietly as he re-regulated.
“Well, this all looks lovely!” Derek said, taking the attention off Johnny for a moment as the boy allowed himself to be manoeuvered onto the bed until he was sat cross legged beside Titch with his head resting on the man’s shoulder.
“We wanted to do something nice for you, but with no money, we couldn’t get you a present so breakfast will have to do,” Janae explained with a shrug.
“Have to do?” Derek exclaimed. “This is fantastic, Janae. You’ve put in so much effort, love - it’s much better than any present you could’ve bought!”
Squeezing the young boy closely in his lap, Derek surveyed the breakfast. The small bowl Janae had proudly placed before him contained a colourful mix of slightly uneven slices of strawberries and banana scattered with blueberries for decoration. Atop the tray Johnny had been tentatively carrying sat a plate of… marginally overdone… sourdough toast which had quite obviously been hacked at with a knife to remove the most charred bits. The slices had been slathered in an enthusiastic amount of strawberry jam, possibly to make the breakfast sweeter or to camouflage the unevenly browned toast. A glass of orange juice sat treacherously on the edge of the tray, filled almost entirely to the top. The small pool of juice gathering around the base suggested a certain amount of spillage had occurred in the journey from the kitchen.
“There’s a bit of juice on the carpet in the hall, from where it sloshed over,” Johnny confessed quietly, having clocked what Derek was looking at.
“Johnny also cut himself while chopping up the fruit, but don’t worry, it was only a little nick and we put Germolene and a plaster on it straight away,” Janae explained, pointing at Johnny with an apologetic smile.
Titch examined Johnny’s left hand carefully where a plaster decorated with sharks was wrapped tightly around his thumb. He squeezed Johnny around his waist and kissed the plaster gently with a small laugh.
“There was a bit of blood on the strawberries but we washed them so they should be fine,” Johnny added.
“I thought we weren’t going to tell them that bit!” Janae said, sending Titch and Derek collapsing into giggles around them.
“Well, it’s the best breakfast I’ve ever seen!” Derek said honestly. “Even if it is slightly burned… and spilled… and blood-covered!”
Janae quickly picked a strawberry from the bowl and popped it straight into his mouth with a grin.
“See, they taste perfectly fine!” He exclaimed.
“Wasn’t this meant to be for us?” Titch chuckled. “And here you are eating it before we get any!”
“I’ve already had to stop him eating blueberries by the handful downstairs,” Johnny said with a shy smile.
Derek laughed and began to tuck into the feast, passing a slice of toast to Titch and accidentally smearing strawberry jam across both of their fingers. Janae also helped himself to the toast, munching contently as he settled back into Derek’s lap. Watching quietly from Titch’s side, Johnny eyed the toast but kept his hands tightly balled into his shirt chewing on the threads of his sleeves nervously.
“Here.” Titch held his slice of toast down for Johnny who happily took a small bite before going back to his sleeve. With a little smile, Titch rubbed the boy’s back and took another bite himself.
The toast was definitely burnt. It tasted bitter and sharp and scratched at Titch’s throat as he swallowed. The strawberry jam was piled on thick and badly spread across the bread, making the sugary sweetness overwhelming and cloying in his mouth.
Titch had never eaten such a wonderful breakfast.
It didn’t matter about the taste. Or the texture. Or the hastily washed bloodied strawberries. Or the orange juice slowly congealing on the hallway carpet. It wasn’t about that, it was about the intention.
The boys had recognised the date as being important, set their alarms early, and carried out their plan. Titch could imagine every clumsy step the boys had taken downstairs: Johnny carefully selecting fruit to be precisely sliced, Janae stood on a step-stool clumsily pouring juice into glasses, the pair of them hovering over the toaster as blackened bread popped out and startled them.
It tasted… less than ideal… but it tasted of effort, of care and appreciation. It was perfect in the way only his two little boys could possibly manage.
As Titch was chewing his toast thoughtfully, he felt Johnny’s voice rumble through his chest.
“We also- we uh- made you… something,” Johnny murmured, hiding his face in Titch’s shirt.
“You made us something?” Derek asked through a mouthful. “You really didn’t have to, my loves, your breakfast is already perfect!”
Janae’s face flushed pink under the praise and he reached into the kangaroo pocket of his large purple hoodie, pulling out a square of baby blue sugar paper - slightly creased at the corners with the distinct creases of paper that had been erased one too many times. He thrust it into Derek’s hands before looking away shyly, attempting to cover his embarrassment by grabbing a handful of fruit to pick at while Titch and Derek stared silently at the card.
The front of the card featured a drawing of a heart, slightly too anatomically correct to be considered appropriate for a Father’s Day card, but the irregular scrawl of bubble letters above the drawing more than made up for it: Our Dads.
“Oh boys, this is beautiful!” Derek whispered. “Did you make this?”
“Yeah, I’m better at bubble writing so I did that, Janae did the drawing,” Johnny said quietly. “I did tell him maybe a normal heart shape might be better but he-”
“I knew you’d prefer it if it was anatomically correct,” Janae explained, pointing to the different parts of the drawing. “See, here’s the aorta and that’s the vena cava, and the valves: the tricuspid and the mi-”
“It’s lovely, Janae, thank you!” Derek interjected, pressing a kiss into his boy’s hairline.
“Look inside.” Johnny barely raised his head from Titch’s chest as he spoke but was sure to bury his face into the man’s shirt once he’d said it.
Derek opened the card slowly with Titch peering at it over his shoulder, two pairs of eyes settling on two very different types of handwriting lay intertwined on the page. The majority of the writing was in a neat and mathematical hand, interspersed with notes in the other, shakier hand. Derek cleared his throat and began to read aloud:
“Out in the fields where sunrise starts the day,
Two hands grow aubergines with care and pride.
You plant the seeds and guide them on their way,
With hearts so full with all they can provide.
“Through rows of green, beneath the golden sky,
You teach us how to plant and rake and sow.
We learn from you to reach, to stretch, to try,
To grow from what we went through long ago.
“Though seasons change and storms rage through our farm,
Two boys once lost, now safe within your sight.
No warmer home than sleeping in your arms,
No sweeter dawn than waking in your light.
“So here’s our thanks, for all that you have done:
We’re both so glad to call ourselves your son.”
Having reached the end of the poem, Derek’s voice had gone thick and quiet. He was blinking hard and fast but Titch had long since given up his facade of holding it together, as a sob escaped from his throat muffled in the hand he held clamped over his mouth.
In the thick silence of the bedroom, Titch and Derek read back through the poem again and again, taking in the swirl of every letter and flick of every comma. The neat print of Janae’s writing was occasionally interrupted by Johnny’s stilted hand with notes such as ‘I wrote this bit!’ and ‘I thought of this rhyme!’.
“Did you two write this?” Titch asked quietly.
“Yeah, it’s a sonnet! Like Shakespeare!” Janae said proudly. “It’s written in iambic pentameter with a typical three quatrain and couplet structure, I even managed to get the volta in the third quatrain - which is just like what Shakespeare did! It took hours, didn’t it, Johnny?”
Still buried in Titch’s side, Johnny nodded and looked up at Titch and Derek who were still sat entranced by the little card.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispered, watching as tears tracked down the faces of both Titch and Derek. “Are you mad at us?”
“Oh, love!” Derek stroked through Johnny’s fluffy blonde hair with a wet smile. “Why would we be mad at you?”
“Because we burnt the toast and made a mess?” Johnny said it more as a question than a statement, which broke Titch’s heart completely: the boy assumed they were angry, he didn’t even know why they would be, but assumed that they were.
“No, no, no, pumpkin, we’re not mad. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.” Titch hugged Johnny close to him while shooting a heartbroken look towards Derek who was holding Janae equally as tight, although the younger boy was back to happily munching on his toast seemingly without a care in the world.
“But you’re crying?” Johnny said. “People cry when they’re sad?”
Leaning down to look Johnny in the eye, Derek spoke softly but firmly.
“Sometimes people cry when they’re happy, love, really, seriously happy,” he said with a teary smile. “Sometimes you just get so happy that it all has to spill out in some way, and the human body is weird and picks for happiness to spill out from your eyes!”
Johnny looked between Derek and Titch, his face still confused.
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said.
Titch let out a soft laugh, wiping his eyes quickly with the corner of the duvet.
“I know, it doesn’t,” Titch chuckled. “But listen, you have nothing to worry about. You, both of you, have done something amazing! You woke up early, you made us breakfast all by yourselves, you made us this beautiful card. And that means so much to us, that’s why we’re crying.”
“It surprised us, love,” Derek said, squeezing Johnny’s knee affectionately. “We didn’t expect our beautiful sons to do something so thoughtful and caring.”
“We’re really proud of you both,” Titch murmured. He kissed Johnny’s forehead gently before glancing up at Janae, ready to do the same to him but found his gaze met by a young boy who appeared to have lost a fight in a strawberry jam factory. Jam was spread not only around his lips but smeared across his cheeks and dabbed on his nose as well.
Despite the tear streaks still drying on his cheeks, Titch couldn’t help but laugh. He nodded pointedly to Janae and watched as Derek followed his gaze as Janae licked the final remnants of his toast slice off his fingers, hardly acknowledging the presence of the others around him.
“Look at you, love!” Derek exclaimed. He pulled a tissue from the box on his bedside table and began to dab at Janae’s jam-covered face, grinning as Janae tried to scramble out of his grasp.
Once the jam had been successfully removed from Janae’s freckled face, Derek delicately set the wobbly tray down on the floor, being careful not to spill the half-remaining glass of orange juice.
“Okay,” he announced, once the tray was dealt with. He lifted the duvet and patted the mattress beside him: “everybody in.”
Johnny clambered over Titch into the centre and giggled - a proper, true, unguarded giggle - as he settled between his dads, pushing Titch closer to the edge of the small double bed. Janae also made a move for the centre but was significantly less controlled, practically launching himself up the bed and managing to land with his elbow digging precisely into Derek’s ribs.
“Oof- okay! Careful, love!” Derek chuckled, wrapping around the three of them in one stretch of his long, gangling arms.
“So…” Johnny said curiously, “you do like it? The breakfast and the card and… yeah…”
Titch propped himself up to look at the boy, eyebrows lifted like he couldn’t quite believe the question.
“Like it? We love it, pumpkin! This is… the most perfect morning of my life!”
“Agreed,” Derek said, running a gentle hand through Janae’s velvety hair. “The card is beautiful: the accurate drawing, the flawless bubble writing, the wonderful teamwork of that poem. It’s perfect! You put so much thought and care into it.”
Johnny and Janae practically glowed under the praise.
The nervous expression which had graced Johnny’s face since the moment he tiptoed into the room had faded and was replaced instead with a tentative smile. His shoulders dropped and relaxed against Titch as he allowed himself to be loved.
Beside him, Janae was beaming. Grinning unabashedly in a way he usually tried to hide. He was so used to receiving praise for his intellect, that the influx of compliments for being caring and thoughtful, he simply wasn’t used to. He leaned into Derek’s side, wiggling with untapped energy.
“The card has to go on the fridge, doesn’t it Derek?” Titch said firmly.
“Front and centre!” Derek agreed.
“It’s a good job I already photocopied it then!” Janae said, looking up at them with pride. “And laminated. I’ve done two copies for you!”
“Two copies?” Derek chuckled.
“One for the fridge and one for the pin board in your office,” Janae said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re welcome!”
Titch laughed at the boy, kissing the tip of his nose before shuffling back down into the bed, grinning so widely it was beginning to form an ache in his jaw.
Those boys! His boys. His wonderful little family all curled up in the bed. A bed that two years ago had felt too large and too empty and too cold but now was crowded by the warm presence of his entire world.
Outside the ajar window, the sweet Sunday morning had begun to unfold into a bright and blazing summer’s day. The rows of shiny green aubergine plants stretched out in perfect lines for as far as the eye could see and bees flitted between the wildflowers growing in the beautifully manicured farmhouse garden.
The barn doors stood patiently, waiting to be opened as the work day began. The chickens sat patiently in their coops waiting to be fed. The soil waited to be tilled. The plants waited to be watered. The world waited to turn.
And wait they would have to, for nothing was more important than this.