They lay in Troye's small bed, pressed close to each other, sharing small kisses and private words; lingering touches and soft laughs. They're so in love, it's impossible, they did it though, god have they done it.
"Thank you," Troye murmurs. He's watching his fingers that are softly tracing Jacob's collarbones, "I wouldn't be here without you."
Jacob bites his lip, watching Troye's lips, "Do anything for you, Troye," he murmurs, "'It's a bit terrifying."
Troye swallows, "I really love you."
"Good," Jacob whispers, moving his head forward just enough to rub his lips against Troye's, "because I really love you too."
**
Jacob inhales, the fresh and homely smell of Troye surrounding him. He feels shuffling, then a pair of warm lips against his forehead. He frowns, and forces his eyes to blink open.
"Go back to bed, love" he hears. He closes his eyes and rubs the sleep from them. He lets out a small groan.
"Shh, its okay," Troye murmurs to him, brushing his fringe away from his face, "I'm gonna go make everyone breakfast."
Jacob licks his chapped lips, and opens his eyes to see his boy, sleep ruffled and so, so cute. "Can I help?" he asks, voice rough.
"You can sleep, love. It's okay," Troye reassures. He's pulling up his sweatpants to cover his bum, tying the drawstring.
"No, no," Jacob mumbles, clearing his throat, "I wanna help," he yawns, "if that's okay."
Troye grins, "Of course it is."
**
Troye rummages through the kitchen like mapped out memory on the back of his hand. He pulls out flour and milk and baking soda, some more powders and oil. He grabs a bowl and a whisk, and Jacob simply watches dumbly as he mixes all the right amounts of things into the bowl.
"Wanna whisk it for me, babe?"
Jacob hums out a reply, taking the handle of the whisk and taking over for his boyfriend, stirring the mixture as Troye pulls out a pan and plates and silverware. When Troye turns back to him, he snorts.
"What?" Jacob asks in defence.
"You're awful," Troye laughs, "How do you not know how to whisk properly?"
"Whisk properly?" Jacob says in offence, smiling nonetheless, "I think I'm whisking quite proper, yeah?"
"Absolutely not," Troye shakes his head, "everything's wrong, here, give it to me."
Jacob's mouth drops, and he pulls the bowl tight to him, "No, I wanna whisk it."
"At least let me help you then," Troye mutters, "for the sake of the pancakes."
Jacob glares, huffing out a heavy breath, "Fine. Show me how to do it, Gordon Ramsay."
Troye snorts, again, shaking his head as he simply wraps his arms around Jacob and presses his chest to his back. He wraps his hand around Jacob's, the other taking hold of the other side of the bowl.
"First of all," he murmurs against Jacob's neck, "you whisk it, not stir it."
Jacob rolls his eyes, leaning back against Troye's chest. He tilts his head back, turning it to place soft kisses to Troye's jaw.
"You're not even watching," Troye laughs, turning his head to meet Jacob's eyes.
Jacob just smiles, pressing his lips to Troye's. His smile grows when Troye's hand stops moving, and he chooses to focus on kissing him instead.
