Elliot laughs softly against Chance's chest, the sound melting into the low hum of the city below their penthouse. "You really can't go five minutes without making everything dramatic, huh?" he teases, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Chance's shirt.
Chance chuckles, brushing a few golden strands of hair from Elliot's forehead. "Dramatic? You call this dramatic?" He leans down to press a gentle kiss to Elliot's temple. "I call this romantic."
"I missed you, Fedora wearing Idiot…" Elliot muttered under his still shaky breath.
Chance smiles, his arms tightening around him. "Me too, El. Always."
Chance slowly gets up to make breakfast in the kitchen, to Elliot's disappointment.
"Coffee or orange juice?" he asks.
"Both," Elliot says without missing a beat, rubbing his eyes. "And pancakes. or waffles, or surprise me."
Chance grins. "Chef's choice, then."
He starts pulling out ingredients, flour, eggs, milk and Elliot soon joins him, shuffling over to help. He insists on being "official taste-tester," which really means dipping his finger into the batter every two minutes until Chance playfully smacks his hand away.
The End