It was Thanksgiving morning, and Jervis Tetch was up early, bustling around the kitchen in a paisley apron with a grin on his face. He was determined to make this holiday special—especially since it was the first Thanksgiving he and his husband, Jonathan Crane, would spend together at home.
Jonathan, on the other hand, was still in bed, trying to squeeze in every last minute of sleep before braving the day's chaos. He hadn't grown up with many traditions, and the idea of a holiday dedicated to food and family gatherings wasn't his usual scene. But for Jervis, he'd make an exception. And, if he was honest, he was curious to see what his usually reserved husband had in mind.
Jervis hummed a tune as he prepared his famous stuffing, tossing herbs and breadcrumbs into a big mixing bowl. The smell of rosemary, sage, and thyme filled the air, mingling with the pumpkin pie he'd baked the night before. "Nothing like the scent of herbs to start the day," he murmured to himself, glancing at the clock. It was almost time to wake Jonathan.
Upstairs, Jonathan finally rolled out of bed and stretched, his gaze landing on a plaid shirt Jervis had left out for him. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. Jervis was probably fretting over every detail, as he did with every holiday or event. Jonathan tugged on the shirt, inhaling the faint scent of cologne that clung to it, and headed downstairs.
When he entered the kitchen, Jervis turned around, his eyes lighting up. "Jonathan! There you are! Just in time to help with the cranberry sauce."
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. "Do you know how many sugars it takes to make cranberry sauce even remotely tolerable?"
Jervis chuckled. "With you around, I'm sure we'll find the perfect balance." He handed Jonathan a spoon and gestured to the bowl on the counter. Jonathan took the spoon, eyeing the mixture with mild suspicion but giving it a stir anyway.
The two of them worked side by side in the kitchen, Jervis darting around with excitement, while Jonathan took a more measured approach, focusing on his contributions as if they were a chemistry experiment. And, in a way, it was. For Jonathan, this holiday was unfamiliar, a mix of tradition and whimsy that felt like walking through one of Jervis's tea parties in Wonderland.
As they prepared the turkey, stuffing, and sides, Jervis occasionally reached up on tiptoe to kiss Jonathan's cheek, who would grumble good-naturedly but didn't pull away. He might not have chosen to spend the morning like this, but he enjoyed the way Jervis lit up every time a new dish was completed or the table was set just right.
By mid-afternoon, the table was laden with food, and the kitchen was filled with the warm, comforting smells of their feast. Jervis surveyed the spread with satisfaction. "It's perfect," he declared. "Absolutely perfect."
Jonathan looked at his husband, the love and happiness in his expression, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel the same. This was home. A home with a little chaos, some questionable culinary choices, and a lot of love.
They sat down at the table, and Jervis lifted his glass, grinning at Jonathan. "Happy Thanksgiving, love. Here's to the first of many."
Jonathan, raising his glass, met Jervis's gaze. "Happy Thanksgiving, Jervis. I couldn't ask for anything better."
And as they dug into their feast, laughing and talking, Jonathan realized that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this holiday after all.