May 27, 2017. Trying out new breakfast menu items at 100 Sails Restaurant and Bar. The Punalu’u French toast features traditional, guava, and taro sweet bread. The avo toast is so basic but so tasty, and of course I couldn’t forget my favorite kakuni pork eggs benny.
“you gonna make me some smoked salmon eggs benny?” dan asks, scooting into the dining room table, elbows on the top, face in his hands. “some paula deen shit?”
“look, this isn’t your every day brunch place’s eggs,” arin replies, shouting over his shoulder from the kitchen. “maybe you can get fancy eggs seven days a week in this city, but my kitchen? has a waiting list.”
“oh, chef hanson, i’m honored,” dan replies. he’s still in his pajama pants. arin texted him hours ago, get ur ass outta bed fool im gonna make u some fuckin eggs, and when he didn’t respond, arin showed up at his and barry’s apartment approximately forty-five minutes later with a carton of brown grade AA’s and a shopping bag of who knows what the fuck else. “gonna get my apartment michelin rated.”
“it’s not an arin hanson breakfast until gordon ramsay breaks down the door begging to taste these yolky motherfuckers,” arin agrees. “you are so lucky dude, only you and suzy get to taste these bad boys.”
“yeah, well you’re paying for the door,” dan says. “can i get more coffee?”
arin takes a break from whisking a series of ingredients in a large popcorn bowl to grab the coffee pot where it’s half-full and warming on the burner and bring it over to tip into dan’s empty mug. “you’re welcome,” he says.
dan blearily nurses the coffee. he kind of wishes he was back in bed, but he’s happy for this underneath it all; there’s something about watching arin in his kitchen move fluid and sure, knowing where everything is and belongs, his shoulders tense and flexed as he stirs a bowl of eggs that goes to dan’s gut. the feeling is churning and awful. it’s the realization that dan could have this on a regular basis, if he wanted. the invitation has been on the table for years now from both arin and suzy– a big bed with room for one more, breakfast every morning, arin hanson’s famous eggs, his stubble burn down dan’s neck straight to his dick.
“can’t believe you haven’t had my eggs, man,” arin says, spatula scraping the pan with every other word like punctuation. he means something different.
“yeah,” dan agrees anyway, because he wants. he wants to eat eggs every morning for breakfast, and he wants two mouths breathing morning breath on his face when he wakes up, and so much more. but he also doesn’t want to wake up one morning years later all alone eating cold cereal because he can never eat eggs again. “me either.”
Benny took a deep breath as he stood in front of the door to Corrin’s private quarters. He had been invited to visit Corrin fairly often lately, but he still got nervous. Steeling himself, he knocked at the door with two quick knocks. He heard the sound of a chair scraping the floor and someone hurrying towards the door from inside.
“Hello Benny!” said Corrin brightly, “Please come in. Make yourself at home.” Benny mumbled a “thank you” and seated himself in one of the armchairs Corrin had put in her room for guests.
“I had Jakob fix us some tea,” said Corrin, bringing over a tray. She set it on the table and seated herself in the chair opposite him. She fished her work out of a basket next to her chair and Benny took his out of his satchel. They settled themselves comfortably and began their usual routine. A long silence stretched between them.