4338.205 · July 24, 2018 AD
Broken Yolks and Broken Promises
The smell of bacon should mean safety. It should mean ritual, rhythm, the quiet language of a decade shared. But this morning, the kitchen becomes contested ground. Luke has invited Paul—and paid for it, again, despite the promise. Jamie's silence cuts deeper than any argument. The eggs split in the pan, golden yolks running into ruin. And yet, before the door clicks shut, there is a kiss. Fleeting. Tender. Unresolved.
Morning light streams through the window, catching Jamie's silhouette in gold as bacon crisps and eggs sizzle. For a moment, Luke allows himself the comfort of ritual—the familiar scent, the easy grace of the man he's loved for ten years. But comfort is fragile, and this morning it shatters with a single confession: Paul is coming. Today. On a flight Luke has already paid for.
The silence that follows is louder than any accusation. Jamie's movements harden, gentleness replaced by the rough slap of bacon onto toast. You don't get any. The words land like a verdict. Luke turns to the stove, cracking an egg that splits on impact, yolk bleeding into formless ruin. Even breakfast has turned against him.
And yet.
Before Jamie leaves, he crosses the kitchen. The brush of lips against Luke's cheek is brief, almost incongruous against the tension still thick in the air. Then he is gone, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoes through the empty house.
Luke stands alone, spatula in hand, caught between the weight of a promise broken and the fragile hope that ten years of love might still be enough to hold them together.
