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It's amazing how something as insignificant as light streaming through a grimy window can change something so utterly.
He's turned away when Erlich steps unnoticed into the kitchen--thin, beaky nose in profile, staring off at nothing, eyes red-ringed and sleep-bleary. He's practically swimming in a too-big Stanford sweatshirt, the sleeves of which have mostly slipped over his hands.
Steam is rising from a "Flirty At Thirty" mug, clutched loosely in thin fingers.
He looks like a religious painting, almost, the delicate lines of his face softened by morning light, his tangled curls a honey-golden halo.
It's strangely and strikingly beautiful, even as he stands among a backdrop of dirty dishes and empty food containers.
When he sighs, just barely, lips parted, Erlich's chest feels suddenly and impossibly tight.
Slowly, slowly, it gets to be too much, and soon Erlich can't bear to look at him any longer without interrupting. He clears his throat, quietly. It startles Richard just a little, a tremor going through his narrow shoulders as he turns to see who else could possibly be up at this hour.
Richard lets out a tiny laugh when he recognizes Erlich. "Morning," he says, setting down his mug. "I tried to make coffee, but it kinda sucks."
His hair is still back-lit from the window, face pale and soft and illuminated as a sheepish smile finds its way onto his face.
My god, is he beautiful.
Without speaking, Erlich closes the space between them and slowly, reverently, takes his face in his hands and kisses him.
As he melts against Erlich like warm maple syrup, Richard's fingers tangle themselves in Erlich's robe, mouth opening to him, humming soft and low under his breath. He tastes like burnt coffee and morning breath and god, does Erlich love him.
When Erlich finally breaks off the kiss, Richard lets out a dizzy little laugh, lashes fluttering like a Disney princess.
"What was that for?" he asks, still a little breathless.
"No reason," Erlich says a little curtly, unwilling to really process the swell in his chest and the tightness in his throat. Instead, he reaches past Richard and grabs the mug, taking a sip of it. It's gritty and burnt and Erlich almost gags. "Ugh! What the literal fuck did you do to this coffee?"
Richard lets out a huff of indignation and crosses his arms. "I followed the directions!"
Erlich laughs and shakes his head and brushes past him, dumping the mug's contents down the sink. "Well, thank god you have me, then."
Rolling his eyes, Richard's lips press together against a smile. He wriggles a bit, like he does when he agrees with something but doesn't want to admit it. "Whatever," he says a bit snappishly, despite being unable to suppress the smile any longer. "I'm still a better coder than anybody else in this house."
Erlich snorts. "Whatever keeps you warm at night." As he walks past Richard to dump the rest of the carafe into the sink, he drags a hand through Richard's curls, pushing his bangs into his smug little face.
"Ugh, thanks," he replies, trying to shake his bangs out of his face. "I am, though!" Without hesitation, he launches into a ramble that Erlich only half-listens to as he waits for the coffee to brew, all the while fussing with his tangled hair, pulling faces and griping about Gilfoyle and Dinesh.
A cloud passes over the house, and just like that, the lingering hints of the delicate, sun-drenched creature from before is gone, replaced by a high-strung, bird-faced weirdo who can't make a cup of coffee to save his life.
It's a little sad, but it's all right.
Erlich prefers him like this, anyway.