Sunday Mornings

     “That smells delicious, Dad!”

     “Damn, Iwai, that smells good!”

     Iwai turned around, as much as he could while holding a pan to the burner. There stood a pair of drooling mouths: on one side, Kaoru, who had miraculously decided to look up from his book and towards the kitchen. On the other, Jingyi, who had stopped setting up the table in favor of starring longingly at the breakfast-to-be.

     A smile grew on Iwai’s lips, “You boys hungry?”

     “Starving,” Jingyi spoke first. The doctor finished placing the last plate, then melted onto his chair. “What are you making?”

     “Fried eggs,” Kaoru answered in Iwai’s stead. “And is there–?”

     “Bread, yeah,” Iwai nodded, pointing with his chin at a spot on the counter. “Can you grab, that, actually?”

     “Got it,” Jingyi stood up, waving a hand for Kaoru to remain seated.

     “Thank you, Doc!” Kaoru chirped up.

     Mornings like these were Iwai’s favorites.

     The first time Jingyi had spent the night had been almost an accident, both of them were too consumed in each other’s presence to realize they had fallen asleep on Iwai’s bed. They woke up in the morning, and through a bit of panic that died down after realizing they hadn’t slept through any work schedules, they went downstairs for breakfast. Iwai had felt almost embarrassed, at the way that Kaoru and Jingyi looked at each other, now forced to eat at the same table. Jingyi’s body looked so stiff, so unbelievably awkward, that Iwai almost kicked him out the door. For Kaoru’s sake.

     But Kaoru hadn’t seemed to mind.

     The kid was one introverted soul, usually keeping to himself even in the morning. But that day, Kaoru had started a conversation Jingyi had been surprisingly good at following. Turns out that the doctor had seen many of the shows that Kaoru had heard about, and by the time Iwai was done making breakfast, the pair was chatting as if they always started their breakfast that way. Iwai was ecstatic to see his kid so relaxed for once in a while. And though Jingyi didn’t verbalize it, he looked happy to be accepted.

     And so, it started to become more of a habit, for Jingyi to spend the night. It was still sporadic, Iwai still being able to count the number of times he’d stayed using his fingers, but that routine was growing on him. On the three of them, actually.

     For Kaoru, breakfast was a space where he was safe to speak his mind. Jingyi helped make it so, with fun anecdotes and crazy stories to keep the conversation rolling. And afraid of breaking that environment, Iwai would cook for the three of them, happy to be the designated chef when his patrons were such important guests: his kid, and his partner.

     Was this what having a family felt like?

     “This tastes delicious,” was what Iwai thought Jingyi said. It was hard to understand people’s words when they were stuffing their faces first thing in the morning.

     “It really does,” Kaoru sighed. His words were clear and understandable.

     “Remember to chew,” Iwai groaned, fighting the pull of a smile on the edge of his lips.

     Jingyi’s only response was to elbow the man, rolling his eyes. Kaoru giggled in the corner. Iwai reached for the daily newspaper as a defense tactic– the news was pretty boring, but they were a great way to tune troublemakers out.

     And then something happened.

     Through the corner of his eye, Iwai saw Kaoru and Jingyi making eye contact as if trying to convey something without Iwai noticing. The kid opened his mouth to try and say something, then kept it to himself. Jingyi mouthed, “Say it,” and Kaoru just shrugged, clearly sheepish about it.

     Should… Iwai say something? As much progress as he had been doing recently, through parenting books and long talks with his kid, prodding into what was left unsaid was always a line that was too blurry for Iwai to recognize. Was something bothering Kaoru? Would Iwai be helping, or imposing by asking about it? Was there someone’s ass he had to kill? He would do it. He would kill whoever–

     Luckily, Jingyi cleared his throat, chewing his latest bite before breaking that silence:

     “Hey kid,” He said, clearly trying to prompt a conversation, “How does French toast sound for tomorrow morning?”

     Iwai hummed, taking a sip of his coffee, “You want me to make French toast?” He had never made it before, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t try to do so.

     “Not everything is about you,” Jingyi said, dramatically. The little joke seemed to relax Kaoru’s shoulders, which both adults noted with relief. Jingyi continued, “I was telling Kaoru about it the other day. Simple enough recipe to make, and he wanted to give it a try.”

     “I do,” he said finally. “Do you like French toast, Dad?”

     Iwai couldn’t recall if he’d ever had it before. “Sure do,” he said anyways, “You wanna try your hand at it?”

     “I’ve been wanting to, for a while,” Kaoru admitted. “Jingyi’s gonna help me.”

     “Get this,” Jingyi leaned closer to Iwai, in a facade of a secret, “We wanna cook for you every once in a while.”

     “You don’t need–”

     “Is that okay?” Kaoru asked, and he was genuinely concerned.

     All protests died in Iwai’s throat. Instead, he shrugged as he pushed Jinyi away, and just declared, “Better make it good.”

     “You betcha!” Kaoru chirped, and before long, he had gotten into a whole conversation with Jingyi about all of the other recipes they could try creating.

     Jingyi was good for Kaoru. Kaoru was good for Jingyi. And hell, they were both good for Iwai. Mornings like these really were Iwai’s favorites.