Bitty wakes to the smell of coffee, to light filtering through curtains, to a bed empty of everything but a collection of pillows and rumpled sheets, Señor Bun, and himself. He stretches, enjoys the pull in his calves, the muscles of his back, and breathes deep.
He’s no coffee connoisseur, but Bitty would bet Jack’s gotten into the beans they bought the evening before on their grocery run between the train station and the apartment. They’d stood in the aisle together, and Bitty had watched Jack raise the bag and inhale slowly, his eyes fluttering shut. Bitty had tightened his grip on the handle of the cart and bargained with himself. If you don’t touch now, you can kiss Jack in the elevator.
And he had. He’d pulled Jack down by his collar and tasted surprise and pleasure sweet on Jack’s lips.
He sighs, touches his own. Barely notices the soft pad of footsteps outside of the bedroom until Jack is standing in the doorway. His feet and chest are bare. He still has bedhead, tousled by pillows and Bitty’s own hands.
He’s got a cup of coffee in each hand and the sugar tucked awkwardly between his elbow and his side.
“You’re up,” Jack says, voice soft as the light slipping across the end of the bed.
Bitty laughs, shifting onto his back. “Barely,” he says, stretching one arm out across Jack’s side. “You look like you’re ready to join me.”
Jack smiles, and pads toward the bed. Settles after setting his loot on the nightstand. He turns to Bitty, bright-eyed, and kisses him. “Good morning.”
Yes, Bitty thinks, it is.