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Five months. It had been five months since Jayce pennied away his savings after graduation, and Viktor had taken out a loan so they could buy their first place together. And yet the apartment still felt new in the simple ways that mattered. Not in the sense of unpacked boxes or bare walls—they had taken care of those quickly—but in the way their lives had begun to overlap without friction.
Shelves they had spent hours agonizing over building were filled with a blend of Viktor’s meticulously organized books and potted fauna, and Jayce’s crystals and rock collection he had built since he was a young child. A closet that was scarcely big enough to fit Jayce’s shoulders unless he angled himself sideways was gradually filled with clothing that had once had their own dressers back at the dorms.
Even simple gestures of day to day living became entwined. Such as whose alarm rang first each morning, who stole the blankets, and how close was close enough when they slept. It was the soft, newly domestic stage of things. One where every mundane detail carried an undercurrent of awe, as if either of them might stop and think, ’We live here together.’ and feel it all over again.
Jayce was the first to change this rhythm of theirs.
Not with anything strange or worrisome, but rather he began waking a good hour or so before the city stirred, and well before Viktor ever did. He had never been an early riser unless forced by obligation, but when his mind had been made up, he was driven by something warmer than obligation.
Affection, mostly. A restless, almost nervous excitement too. He wanted Viktor to wake to something made with intention, not just a credit card and quick call. He wanted to do this, even if he never said so out loud.
The light in the kitchen stayed low as he moved through it half awake and shirtless, his hair sticking up in uncooperative directions. He relied on instinct more than thought, as his hands found pans, knives, and spices without conscious effort. As he did so, he hummed a soft, half remembered tune under his breath, only coming to a pause once in a few to listen for sounds from the bedroom. Every time, he told himself he wasn’t checking the clock, wasn’t counting minutes, wasn’t hoping to finish just in time.
Viktor noticed immediately.
The first morning, he had assumed it was a coincidence. That Jayce had decided their sad excuse for cereal wasn’t satisfactory that morning, or that they weren’t going to order out from their favorite local cafe. The second, a lucky alignment and a stroke to a curious mind.
But by the third, it was undeniable. Jayce had been purposely waking early for the purpose of making these meals, and each one was always hot, ready, and arranged with care he didn’t typically show in his own dishes.
At first, Viktor chose not to comment, and simply responded with the same gratitude he brought to everything else. Though inwardly, it affected him far more than he let on. There was something profoundly disarming about the routine where Jayce gave without asking, and loved without spectacle. Viktor carried that knowledge with him throughout the day as a steady warmth beneath his ribs.
But after a few days, he began waking earlier as well.
Not to interrupt, never that. It was simply to watch. A few moments from where he leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, then he made his way down the hall. He stayed just out of sight, lingering in doorways or shadows, all the while making certain Jayce wouldn’t hear him.
Watching felt like trespassing on something private, but Viktor couldn’t make himself stop.
Jayce cooked with an easy confidence. With every move he made, his shoulders flexed, entirely at home in the space they now shared. There was an intimacy to it that Viktor hadn’t anticipated, having seen him unguarded and unobserved, shaping their mornings with the same hands that built wonders.
Soon, watching became a ritual of its own. Something grounding. Something quietly thrilling. Viktor would stand there longer than necessary, memorizing small details he didn’t know he’d been missing despite their years in university together.
Jayce never noticed.. He thought Viktor was still asleep and warm beneath his covers, snoring away yet another late night they had shared. Sometimes he smiled to himself as he plated the food, adjusting the seasoning with care so each dish was just the way Viktor liked them.
And on one day in particular, Viktor finally decided to break this silence.
The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through the air, bringing with it the undeniable rumble to Viktor’s stomach. At the table lay a generous stack of french toast, and Jayce had been in the process of setting up various bowls and plates of toppings. From blueberries, raspberries, whipped cream, and powdered sugar.
The other day, as they had laid in one another’s arms, Viktor had mentioned that he had missed the taste of his grandmother’s french toast. That although those at the cafe were delicious, they did not quite reach the same, because they were missing that one ingredient.
Cream cheese.
And as he breathed in deeply, cream cheese was exactly what he found paired alongside the others.
His heart clenched at that realization. Not only had Jayce once again decided to surprise him with another home cooked meal, he remembered what it was that Viktor had wanted, and had gone out of his way to figure out what it was that all the others had been lacking.
Jayce startled when Viktor stepped fully into the kitchen to wrap his arms around Jayce’s midsection, causing a spoon to clatter upon the wooden surface below. He attempted to turn, but it was a fruitless action when Viktor took a step further by pressing his face into Jayce’s back.
“D-Did,” he cleared his throat, an endearing sight. “Did I wake you?”
“I’ve been awake.” Viktor murmured, his lips upturning into a soft smile as he visibly felt Jayce’s body warm with embarrassment beneath him.
Jayce released a small, breathy laugh. “You…uh…I thought you were still asleep,” he gestured vaguely towards the table, and the general direction of the oven where the grill still held the remains of the toast. “I was just… making breakfast. It’s nothing.”
Viktor hummed, unpersuaded as his arms tightened just a little. “Nothing,” he echoed, taking amusement in the way Jayce felt as if all of this deserved explanation. “Every morning. Always hot. Always something I liked or would.”
“I mean, it’s easy. Habit, really. I wake up early anyway.”
“Mm, and the cream cheese? Was that also by habit? I don’t believe you’ve had french toast with that.”
Jayce stilled, clearly taken offguard. “I–You noticed that already?”
“I mentioned it once,” Viktor murmured, tone light but eyes intent. “That I missed it, and yet here it is.”
Jayce laughed, more flustered this time given how his hands, when they covered Viktor’s, held a slight tremble to them. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds…I just remembered, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”
“Jayce.” he said his name gently, but it stopped him all the same. “You’ve been doing this every morning for a week, and you want to hold onto that excuse?”
As Viktor guided Jayce to face him, he could see how he was already reaching for another deflection, but Viktor closed the distance before he could finish.
The shift was immediate. With a tap of his cane against Jayce’s heel, and a press of the palm against his chest, Viktor guided him between the various plates with deliberate ease. Creating a halo of delicacy around him that he would enjoy thoroughly after he showed the extent of his gratitude.
Viktor’s touch was unhurried and deliberate in its actions, as if he were savoring the reaction as if he were savoring the reaction as much as the cause. His fingers traced and pressed, grounding Jayce even as they coaxed him apart, and when Viktor leaned in once more, the contact of his lips stole whatever second attempt at protest Jayce may have had.
“Viktor—” he tried, but the name dissolved into breath as Viktor continued, intent and unmistakably appreciative.
And with that, any resistance Jayce had mustered melted away His hands clutched at Viktor’s shoulders, the knuckles whitening, as his composure unraveled with each quiet, skillful movement. Occasionally some laughter slipped out of him, breathless and disbelieving, but they were chased by softer, broken sounds he made no effort to swallow back and matched with a buck of his hips.
By the time Viktor finally eased back with lips slick, Jayce was flushed and unsteady, and certain plates had a little tumble. Surrounding him now with scatterings of berries that Viktor couldn’t help but to lift one, and press it to Jayce’s lips.
Said lips parted almost on instinct, taking the berry as easily as they had Viktor’s tongue and fingers just moments before, and when they circled around them once again, Viktor was tempted to spread his legs further and give him more than just a few fleeting touches.
Later. Definitely later.
“Thank you.”
“Hm?” Jayce’s voice was still somewhat dazed as his eyes flicked towards him, and Viktor couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“For breakfast,” Viktor clarified softly, as his thumb brushed beneath Jayce’s lower lip, wiping away the last trace of berry juice. “For remembering. For… this.”
Jayce blinked at him, still catching up to the moment, to the warmth in Viktor’s eyes that had nothing teasing left in it now. He huffed out a quiet laugh, sheepish in the way he always got when he was seen too clearly.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice low and earnest. “I just wanted you to be happy when you woke up.”
Viktor’s expression shifted at that, something fond settling there. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Jayce’s, careful of the cane, of the table, and of the small wreckage around them. The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar and something sweeter still.
“I am,” Viktor murmured. “Every morning.”
They stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in, until Jayce finally glanced around at the state of the kitchen and laughed properly this time.
“So,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the cold toast, the scattered berries, the abandoned plates. “Breakfast?”
Viktor followed his gaze, then smiled. “I believe,” he said, “that routine has already been thoroughly disrupted.”
Jayce groaned. “We absolutely ruined it.”
“Yes,” Viktor agreed, entirely unapologetic. He took Jayce’s hand, squeezing once, grounding and sure. “And I suspect we will do so again.”
Jayce’s grin softened into something warmer. “Worth it,” he said without hesitation.
Later, they ate together, laughing, bumping into each other, stealing kisses between bites. The food had grown cold, but it hardly mattered. What lingered was the understanding between them, unspoken but solid.
Five months in, the apartment still felt new.
Not because of what they owned, or what they built, but because of mornings like this. Where love showed itself quietly, persistently, and without needing to be named at all.