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The radio hums serenely against the countertop. It was a habit he'd picked up from Guren on accident; the sound of gentle jazz in the morning was incredibly soothing and Mika had never minded it in the first place, so Yuu thought: why not? And so he stood at the stove cracking eggs to the bob of Louis Armstrong and waiting for Mika to get out of the shower so they could eat breakfast together.
"Good morning," says a smooth voice from behind. Yuu gets a tingle down his spine, and he turns to see Mika in sweats and a pale t-shirt, his towel draped unceremoniously around his shoulders. "I thought I'd smelled eggs. Should I make bacon?" he asks, opening the fridge to locate where in the world they had shoved the bacon strips. They really should organize it someday, Mika thinks silently.
"Hm, maybe later." Yuu blinks and turns up the volume on the radio a bit. "Set the table, though. And maybe make some toast."
There's a gentle sigh. Slender arms wrap around Yuu from behind. "But the cabinet's so far. Maybe I'll just wait for you to be done first," Mika mumbles into his hair.
Yuu flushes red. Mika's done this so many times already, but he still can't get rid of that rising blush that always comes with physical contact. "I'd be done sooner if you'd get off me," he retorts, nudging him gently away. "They're almost done anyways."
There's a silence. Mika stays where he is, breathing softly against Yuu's neck and almost nuzzling into his dark hair, and Yuu can hardly breathe himself because he can feel those blue eyes looking at him, taking in every detail of what parts of his face he can see. He feels Mika's hands move from his waist, and he watches silently as Mika's thinner, more slender fingers wrap themselves around his and gently guide them away from the pan.
I love the looks of you,
the lure of you,
the sweet of you,
the pure of you ...
Yuu can't really remember turning around, but suddenly he's face to face with his lover and his arms are entwined somewhere around Mika's midsection and he completely loses focus because Mika's giving him that look again - the one of complete and utter adoration, and the one that he used to convince Yuu that he really meant it when he said I love you.
"Dance with me," Mika says softly.
Yuu wants to laugh because he sounds like a little kid asking for someone to play make-believe with them, and he does, but only a little. He smiles and leans into his lover anyways, lays an ear against his shoulder, and almost subconsciously they start a gentle sway to the soft tones of Ella Fitzgerald.
I'd love to gain complete control of you
And handle even the heart and soul of you
So love at least a small percent of me too,
for I love all of you ...
Mika hums along, impossibly quiet. But Yuu hears it in the light rumble in his throat, and the warmth in his chest spreads like honey all the way down to his toes.
Yuu forgets about the stove and the counters and the microwave that has to be smacked once or twice to actually work once in awhile. He forgets the mail on the table from last week and he forgets about the disorganized refrigerator and the bit of cracked linoleum by the sink where he'd accidentally dropped a giant bowl three months ago, because the only thing he sees is Mikaela. Because the only thing that matters is Mikaela.
So love at least a small percent of me too
for I love all of you
The song ends, and the gentle sway slows to a stop. Yuu can't get himself to release, and Mika makes no movement to let go either; they stand, basking in each other's presence and drinking in the fact that they're still here, together, living.
A single moment of tender stillness lingers in the quiet morning air.
And then a thick, acrid smell suddenly fills the rapidly blackening air. A harsh beeping that sounds suspiciously like the fire alarm cuts through the serene silence, and the moment shatters; Yuu stumbles away, eyes watering and cursing loudly as Mika clamps his towel around his nose and turns off the stove as quickly as he's able. He flaps the towel a few times to clear the black fog.
"It's the eggs," he announces. "We've burnt the eggs."
"Well, shit," Yuu grumbles. He takes the pan from the stove, choking on the smoke, and drops it in the sink; sighing, he flips the faucet on as high as it can go, coughing loudly. Hurriedly, he flings open the kitchen window. "This is going to be a pain in the ass to clean."
Mika crawls onto the counter to get to the screaming smoke alarm. The lack of insistent beeping sends relief through his veins like a sedative. He returns to Yuu and stands at the sink, looking over the smoky kitchen and red-hot stove and the inedible mess in the pan.
"Cereal?" he queries.
"Cereal," Yuu agrees.