John was sitting on a stool in front of a breakfast bar, his profile to Zack. He had one bare foot on the creamy tile while the other was placed on the stool’s footrest. His elbows were perched on the black granite counter, and his hands were folded under his chin. There was a newspaper spread out in front of him.

Zack approached, feeling strangely shy. This place was even nicer than he’d thought last night. He was never going to be able to take John to his place. It didn’t pale in comparison so much as turn stark white and run for the hills.

When he approached, John turned and looked directly at him. The second their eyes met, Zack’s buzzing thoughts quieted. He couldn’t explain it, but looking at John made all the noise in his brain just stop.

“Hey,” John said, reaching out for his hand.

Zack laced their fingers together. John tugged him closer and kissed him.

“You smell like my shampoo,” John murmured against his lips.

“Problem?” Zack replied, turning to nuzzle into his neck.

“On the contrary, I think it’s hot. Like I marked my territory or something.” He ran a hand through Zack’s damp hair, watching as the dark strands fell over his eyes. After a second, he pulled back. “Still want to make breakfast?”

“Definitely.” Zack scanned the kitchen. John seemed to have a monochrome theme going on. Everything was black, white, metal, and/or glass. That included the large, stainless-steel fridge on the right. “What all have you got, food-wise?”

“The refrigerator should be well stocked,” John replied. “The maid goes grocery shopping for me once a week. I don’t usually eat much for breakfast, though, so I assume the cook hasn’t used up all the eggs.”

Zack cackled. “I’m not even going to comment.” He walked around the bar and began rifling through cabinets and drawers.

“What?” John asked. He looked charmingly perplexed. Even a little embarrassed. Zack’s nervousness lost its edge.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just find it funny how you say things like ‘the maid’ and ‘the cook’ like they’re perfectly normal.”

John shrugged. “Well, to me, they are.” He grimaced. “That didn’t help, did it?”

Zack set a large frying pan on the stove and placed a spatula next to it. Everything was clean to the point of looking unused. “Not really, no.” He turned back to John and saw that he was staring down at his hands. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

John glanced up at him. “You must think I’m such a spoiled rich boy.”

“Wait, what?” Zack asked, making a T shape with his hands. “Time out. I don’t think that at all.”