Coffee was just coffee, Taemin told himself. He poured it slowly, a ribbon of dark liquid settling into a porcelain cup, the scent going straight to his head. He put the pot back on the coffee maker, leaning against the counter and taking a gulp before going to heat up a pan.

The sound of butter sizzled at the bottom, foaming and melting and hugging at the nonstick material. Taemin looked up at Minho, who looked back and gave a smile. The older man reached over and a hand down Taemin’s hair before cupping the side of his face, pulling him closer and giving his coffee-stained lips a kiss.

“Morning,” Minho murmured, kissing Taemin’s nose and then his forehead next. It was warm between them, their minds still swirling in what had happened last night. But last night was last night, and this morning was this morning, and Minho was making pancakes. Taemin’s kisses found their trail along his lover’s collarbone, one hand rubbing Minho’s arm as the other refused to let go of his coffee.

He felt a coldness, an absence, when Minho pulled away to go back to cooking, ladling batter into the pan and watching over it with a few sleepy yawns. Taemin didn’t mind the absence. He’d waited a lot longer for Minho before, he could take the minutes it would take for the pancakes to finish cooking. He watched the man’s back for a moment before going to peel and grate some potatoes.

“Hash browns? Going all out, are we?” Minho teased sleepily, reaching over and running a hand down Taemin’s smooth back as the younger stood over the sink, leaving short patches of potato skin along the metal surface. Taemin shrugged and leaned over, giving Minho’s shoulder a soft bite.

“I figured you’d appreciate it,” he murmured, putting down the peeler to offer Minho his coffee mug. The older man took a long swig of the bitter liquid, his other hand flipping the pancake effortlessly as Taemin peeled the second potato. He handed the mug back to the younger, who took his own gulp before putting it against the counter. He started grating the potatoes into a glass bowl, stopping every so often to stretch out his hand.

“Want to switch?” Minho asked tenderly. Taemin looked up and smiled, nodding gratefully as he stepped in front of the stove and began ladling batter into the pan, pausing for just a moment at a particularly loud sigh from Minho before he kept pouring in a long, smooth string of sweet-smelling liquid into browning butter.

“I can move out,” Minho suggested. Taemin sighed as he looked out the window to avoid his lover’s eyes, to avoid his lover’s question, to avoid his lover’s pain. He’d expected fire, anger, broken glass on their nice linoleum tiles. Instead, he got Minho’s soothing voice, Minho’s hand on his and a glass of wine between them. The only indication of Minho’s anger was the cigarette between his lips.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. We were just working late, and we got a few drinks, and it just happened,” Taemin said softly. He hadn’t expected this to be so calm, and he hadn’t wanted it to be so calm. He’d rather Minho shout, he’d rather Minho’s hands break what few dishes they owned instead of caress Taemin so tenderly. But the older man was tender, like the strums of a guitar in a hurricane.

“I know you didn’t,” that deep voice murmured tenderly. There he went, forgiving Taemin again. The guilty party looked back into Minho’s eyes and saw that deep sadness that refused to spill over. He sighed and raised Minho’s hand to his lips, pressing them to those hardened knuckles.

“I don’t want you to move out,” he whispered as that hand rotated to cup Taemin’s chin, a callused thumb pressing against Taemin’s cheekbone as if searching for an ache to soothe. Minho lifted the wine glass and offered it to the younger, who took a drink that he didn’t quite need. He could smell the acrid cigarette smoke filling the dining room, and his hand pushed up the stuck window. He was glad that the wood refused to give, digging into his fingers and giving him any amount of punishment.

 “Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Minho suggested, putting out the cigarette. Taemin nodded and finished off the wine. Minho’s nicotine lips met Taemin’s alcoholic ones before they headed off to bed, Minho’s hand still not leaving Taemin’s.

“Add more salt, baby. You never add enough,” Taemin cautioned as he saw how reservedly Minho seasoned the potatoes. The older man smiled and nodded, adding another dash for his lover before cracking in a few flecks of black pepper as well. Taemin got another pan and dropped another dollop of butter in it, letting it melt to create a place for the potatoes to sit in. Minho dropped in spoonful after spoonful of the mixture and let it brown off in the gentle heat.

“Set the table,” he suggested to Taemin. The younger man got out the plates, some of them chipped on the bottom, and an extra mug for Minho’s coffee. He poured them each a small bowl of cornflakes as well, drizzling milk over them from a nearly-empty carton.

“I’ll go grocery shopping today,” Taemin suggested, remembering that they were almost out of milk too. He heard Minho come up behind him, and his shoulders stiffened for a moment, but only a moment. He turned and pressed a kiss to the older man’s lips as Minho set the pot of coffee on the table. He felt the older man kiss back, and the absence from earlier was filled to completion.

“I’ll come with you,” Minho offered softly when the kiss broke, lifting his hand to rest against the side of Taemin’s neck. Taemin nodded quietly, understanding, and leaned their foreheads together again, his hand hanging against Minho’s elbow, knowing that silence wasn’t the answer they needed, but the answer they needed right now.

Taemin pulled away after a moment and went to stack the pancakes up on a plate, one golden portion on top of the next. He cleared his throat for Minho’s attention before pretending to walk unsteadily for them, making faces as he playfully threatened to drop them all over the floor. Minho laughed at the sight, and Taemin’s heart was soothed as the older man went to finish off the hash browns. He could hear the butter spitting and hissing.

Taemin set down a pitcher of maple syrup as he heard Minho turning off the gas burner. He could hear hash browns rustling on a paper towel to drain off the oil before clattering softly into a bowl. He could hear Minho’s pauses. He could hear the older man’s soft, long sigh. He didn’t want to turn around.

Minho finally started moving again, bringing the bowl of hash browns over and kissing the back of Taemin’s head as he did. His hand rested on the small of Taemin’s back, as if it belonged there, as if it was pleading to belong there. Taemin leaned into the touch before pulling away to get the ketchup from the refrigerator.

“I’ll make a grocery list later,” he suggested as he closed the fridge before sitting to eat. Minho smiled and nodded, sitting as well and poking his fork through a pancake. He dragged it from the top of the stack onto his plate and drowned it in maple syrup, making Taemin laugh at the ludicrous amount. “Babe, I need some too,” he reminded.

“Mm, I know,” Minho teased softly, his head tilted slightly and a smile playing on his plush lips. Taemin rolled his eyes with mock exasperation before looking back at Minho’s face for a reaction. He breathed a silent breath of relief when the man laughed, and he felt Minho’s finger and thumb give Taemin’s cheek a light pinch before his palm soothed it with a . Taemin chased a few hash browns onto his plate with the edge of his fork before drizzling a healthy amount of ketchup on them.

He liked the sound of Minho eating, of Minho’s knife cutting a wedge from the pancake before his spoon clinked in the bowl to gather cereal and milk. He liked the sight of Minho’s lips pressing to the rim of his coffee mug. He liked being here with Minho, being able to see Minho this morning. Last night was last night, and this morning was this morning, and Minho was sitting across from him eating breakfast.

“Happy anniversary,” Taemin said softly, taking a drink of his own coffee. Coffee was just coffee.

~

A/N—It’s 3 in the morning, you guys.