Morning sunlight spilled through the open window, warm and gold, catching the edge of the wooden kitchen table.
Billy moved around the kitchen barefoot, sleeves rolled up, flipping a stubborn pancake that refused to cooperate.
From behind him came a low, sleepy voice.
"You're burning it again."
Billy glanced over his shoulder. "You're burning it again," he mimicked, then stuck his tongue out. "Why don't you make it, Mr. Pancake Perfectionist?"
Artur stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his bare chest, hair still messy from sleep. He grinned. "Because I'm not the one who insisted I had it under control."
Billy turned back to the pan, muttering, "Well, I mostly do…"
Artur stepped forward and slipped his arms around Billy's waist from behind. "Mm, smells like charcoal and pride."
Billy laughed, swatting at him with the spatula. "Let me focus before you end up eating shame for breakfast."
