You're in the kitchen, gathering ingredients to make breakfast.

Pancake mix, eggs, bacon, sausages, fruit are on the menu. Dressed in a hoodie and shorts, you measure the pancake mix in a measuring cup. Adding water, you stir the contents into a batter, when the memory of your wedding night comes back to you.

You and Tom lie on the bed, wrapped in sheets, with the exception of your torsos, and each other. You've already achieved orgasm, but Tom is still inside you, filling you with each thrust. You're spent and yet... yet you cannot get enough of Tom. You nibble at his ear; run your fingers through his hair, tugging it ever so slightly; plant kisses on his collarbone. His light kisses are embedded in your neck as he continues to thrust into you slowly, and you bite your bottom lip.

You find yourself back in the kitchen, slowly stirring air while biting that lip. You release it and get back to stirring batter. The non-stick pan is lightly greased with butter, and once you've stirred the lumps out of the mix, sliced strawberries are mixed in, and the combination is poured into the hot pan.

Each pancake is small enough to fit your palm, and a little over a centimeter thick. The aroma of the strawberries makes your mouth water, taking you back...

Tom is still thrusting, but close to completion. Your hands travel all over his torso; up his back, caressing the nape of his neck, resting on his beautifully sculpted face. You look into those giant blue eyes, eyes full of lust and deep love.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," you whimper, your arousal coming around once more. Your lips reach his, and as he comes, his mouth is in line with yours. He stills, and you feel him pulsing inside you, releasing his seed.

You inhale his breaths, and your left hand automatically reaches up and touches his cheek. Your thumb traces his cheekbone, his jawline, his lips; resting on his elbows, his right hand does the same.

"Love?" he says from behind you, snapping you out of fantasy. "What's all this?"

You answer with, "Making breakfast," the corner of your mouth curling into a grin.

"Oh, that's lovely," Tom replies, his wide smile lighting up his face as always. "Need any help?"

"I've got it covered."

"Wonderful. Well, I'll set the table." Tom bounces over to the cupboards, opening them and pulling out plates, glasses, mugs for tea and/or coffee, and setting up the table. He brought over plates for the bacon, sausages and pancakes, as well as filled two glass cups with orange juice.

You can't help but smile at the effort Tom puts into setting the table, but you feel something is a bit... odd. Something off about this particular day, and you cannot put your finger on it. You decide it's probably just your nerves after experiencing that memory, and you compartmentalize it, sliding the crispy bacon and sausages onto a plate.

The spread is modest, fitting for a loving, married couple. The food is delicious, but you're already full from watching Tom eat healthily. He takes time to taste each bite, audibly complimenting your cooking with moans. Your brain then goes back to the memory...

The memory of him inside you, moaning with each thrust. Every moan slight and gentle. You remember every kiss before and since then: the peck on the lips before he leaves the house, kissing every square inch of your jawline, the prolonged plant on the forehead.

He's filled with so much love, and I'm one of the lucky people he gives that love to.

Breakfast is finished, and you talk about plans for the day. Tom offers to clean up, and before you can protest, he's up and grabbing empty plates from the table as well as the pans and measuring cup, dumping them in the sink. He turns to you, standing in front of the sink.

"Go back to bed, get some rest. You've worked hard enough, making this delicious breakfast." That smile...

"Tom, you're a busy man with things to do today. I can take care of-"

Tom walks up to you and silences you with a kiss, a long, passionate kiss. His hands take hold of your face as he finally pulls away. You look at him, nod, and take one of his hands, kissing it gently on the palm. You the let go and walk out of the kitchen, licking your lips and tasting strawberries...

Once you've gone, he gets to work. Before going back to the bedroom, you peek back into the kitchen to watch Tom work. You can't help but smile as you watch, the sun shining in through the window, illuminating his face.

In a moment, the smile slides off of your face, turning into a slight frown. You notice, in the reflection of the window's glass, Tom's face looking morose, and your heart breaks. He looks out the window, searching, possibly for an answer to a question he was asking himself. As much as you want to go over and comfort him, you feel it best to give him his privacy, and slowly walk back to the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, the picture of Tom being sad doesn't leave your head. You have so many questions of why that expression was ever on his face to begin with. He's usually such a happy person; he was glowing during breakfast. What could be wrong? I wonder if he'll talk to me about it...

Lying down and pulling the covers over you, you wonder and worry about what could be wrong, what could possibly be done to make Tom feel better.

Suddenly, you hear him making his way to the bedroom. You pretend you're asleep, but you don't feel him sitting on the bed and getting under the covers. Instead, you hear him opening the closet, grabbing a few items, and going into the bathroom, starting up the shower.

He hasn't said anything, but within minutes you dose off, worn down by cooking breakfast and your thoughts, certain he'll talk about it once he gets back.

No worries, you think to yourself. It'll all be fine, I'm sure...