Sunday.

8 AM.

Len has been cheering for this very special day to finally arrive, and now here it was. The only day off this week—and there was really nothing he had to worry about. Oliver knew about his appointment at the studio that evening, but until then, the day was finally all theirs. After they had been bearing one exhausting week after another, it was like a dream come-true.

Len turned around and threw the blanket off his overheated body. Oliver wouldn't let himself get shaken off as easily and tightened the embrace around him. Quite the contrary, he now squeezed soft giggles out of his partner and made him suffer through another heatwave. Len didn't mind that. Oliver's warmth was the only one he could tolerate.

He looked down, then on his phone, shuddered at how much time has passed and kissed Oliver's hair inbetween soft wake-up calls. There was shifting and rustling but no one would stand up yet. Len merely managed to free himself out of the embrace through loud whining and stared at the dozing face from a safe distance. Soft cheeks, puffy eyes with dark circles, another small scratch Oliver landed from moving too much in his sleep and—oh so lovely—warm and red lips. Len leaned forward and pecked them a few times. A smile formed as a response, but the drowsy body was not capable of more yet.

Oliver hid his face back in the pillow and yawned loudly. Len reached out and ran his hand across the back a few more times until he grew tired of it and yawned as well. He wasn't even tired anymore but a slow morning only promised tired eyes. Before they would waste a perfect day dozing on and off, Len sat up and shook Oliver's torso.

"It's your turn," Oliver mumbled and pulled the blanket over his back. Len whined but Oliver merely grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, then what do you want?"

Oliver turned to the side, with a small smile on his face, and he hummed an unknown melody while rubbing his eyes half-open. Len melted on the spot and leaned down to kiss the cherished face all over.

"How about—" A kiss on the lips, nose, glabella, "pancakes?"

The next kiss fell and Len's lips recoiled only reluctantly. His head tilted to the side, but then he nodded.

"Sure."

Oliver's eyes fluttered open at the sudden weight in Len's voice but he couldn't read the indifferent expression on his face. He searched a little longer until Len turned away.

"You also like pancakes, don't you?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," Len muttered under his breath as he kicked his legs out of the twisted blankets and stumbled on his feet. He turned back to the bed and smiled. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

Oliver stared for a while but then managed to stem his torso up the mattress and sit up. Len still didn't leave yet, and the more he found him baffled and stiff the more Oliver knew what was really going on. He didn't bother to hide his mocking grin and let out a few snickers. Len rose an eyebrow.

"You don't know how to make pancakes. That's it, right?"

"Wha—of course I know how to make those! That's so easy!" Len protested louder than he wanted and lifted up his chin—hurt in pride and courage—until his eyes met with the weak gleam of sunlight fighting through the slit in the upper curtains. He picked up his pace and hurried to open the curtains and let in fresh air before heading for the kitchen. Oliver's eyes followed him, accompanied by another amused grin.

"Really?" He leaned back and then dropped down on the sheets. "Well, then you don't mind me sleeping in a few more minutes while you set everything up, right?"

Len turned around on the doorstep, scanned the defiant expression in his partner's face for a while and pouted. Oliver knew too well how to tease him, and he didn't like it right in the morning.

"Right. Go back to sleep." 

Len walked back to the bed and kissed Oliver one last time; the same gesture plastered his own face. 

"I'll wake you up with the most delicious pancakes you'll ever get to eat."

Oliver's grin turned into a bright smile and he nodded, threw a pillow in the air that landed on his face and then returned back to sleeping as if nothing has just happened. Len didn't hesitate to take his chance to escape out of the bedroom right into the kitchen. There he slumped down on one of their dining chairs and sighed.

Pancakes.

The most delicious ones.

No way.

"Why did I even agree to this?" He sighed to himself and rubbed his face. The second the request had shot into the air his heart had sunk down to his knees. Oliver was wrong to say he didn't know how to make pancakes—he certainly did, given that this was everyone's childhood go-to—but how to make edible ones never failed to remain a mystery to him. 

Len couldn't admit that. This was supposed to be a calm and unproductive day full of lazy kisses and warm hugs. There was no space for 'I knew it's and 'I told you's—something Oliver could barely hold back whenever it came to Len's cooking skills. Len's pride couldn't give him another victory, which meant that he had to pull himself out of the chair and start getting to work.

The brief spurt of determination lasted long enough for Len to set up all the necessary ingredients, but faded as soon as his focus was nowhere near the recipe on his phone and he ended up adding tablespoons of baking powder instead of teaspoons. He sighed heavily.

"What does that even mean? Baking powder, what do you do?" 

Len looked at the white powder in the bowl, mixed in with all the raw ingredients. He shrugged defeated and hoped for the best. Things were going exactly how they were not supposed to go. His mood was reaching the basement at this point.

Flour, eggs, baking powder, salt and sugar, milk and butter—all there. Len checked through the list one more time, and he groaned from the throbbing pain in his forehead. Keeping the tumbling complaints to himself threw him into a dilemma of giving up or pulling through. This was not the way it was supposed to work at all, but too much time has passed to start all over again, and he wouldn't know how to get rid of everything without Oliver noticing anyway.

With the pan heated and the batter beat to soft flakes, Len's crises turned into quiet whines. His pride was stronger than common sense, but he really didn't want to do this all alone anymore. He turned on his morning playlist in hopes of cheering himself up, but he barely noticed the subtle distraction and instead fought with the batter to get into the right shape as soon as he spooned it into the pan.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The first set was ready and sizzling quietly. However, medium heat and barely any change the first thirty seconds quickly bored him and he looked around the kitchen before deciding to clean up the first few dirty bowls and spoons. Distraction and hope was all he needed until the first few minutes would pass by and turning over the pancakes would reveal how much of a failure they have become. Len shuddered when thinking of Oliver's distinctive laughter whenever his attempts at replicating new recipes turned into a big disappointment. Not even a cascade of kisses would hush him down, and Len didn't know what other playful strategy to use.

He kept thinking and thinking, humming the melody in the background and then drying the last piece of cutlery before his thoughts travelled back to the frizzling pan to his left and he hurried over to see the results. Another heavy sigh escaped his lips as he found them almost burnt but still raw on the inside. What was he supposed to do? More heat? Less heat? Give up?

He wanted to do nothing of that. Leaving everything as it is and returning back to bed was the only option he wanted to consider but couldn't. Instead, he merely flipped them and then retrieved back to the chair where he could sulk all to himself for a moment. The easiest things were always the hardest to pull off. He cursed himself that he didn't try to do something more complex to impress Oliver rather than to give him another reason to question why he even let Len into the kitchen.

Minutes passed and Len lost his patience as he saw his attempt lying loosely in the pan. Bad looked different, but this was nowhere near satisfying. He wondered for a second how good it would feel to throw them out the window full-force, but he brushed it off. He took a bite of his own pancake and faltered; Oliver was definitely going to laugh at him.

Before he could complain any further, a tug on his shirt startled him half to death and the pan dropped down on the stove. Len wanted to turn around to what had just happened, but Oliver's head against his neck blocked it. He froze and Oliver lunged forward to peek over Len's shoulder.

"Ready? How are they?"

"Awesome. Just like I told you."

Oliver chuckled at the stern voice and nuzzled his cold nose against Len's shoulder. Len still didn't move and merely stared down the abomination of a pancake in front of him. There was another tug on his shirt and Oliver got on his tiptoes to get to reach for the warm and sweet pastry in front of him.

"Gimme a taste."

Len pushed away the arm creeping up his shoulder and turned his head to the side. Oliver did a few little impatient jumps, pecking Len's jaw over and over, and Len pressed his lips together to not fall for it. He hummed reluctantly.

"Better not as long as I'm still in your punch range," he said and received a nudge to the side as response. He laughed and Oliver joined in as he kept tickling Len's waist until he crouched down. Despite barely seeing what was going on around him, Len still managed to keep Oliver away from the pancakes. Even louder laughter lit up in their small quarrel.

"C'mon. It can't be that bad." Oliver snorted out between breaths and awkwardly climbed over Len's shoulder, leaned forward all over the stove and ripped off a piece of the already bitten-off pancake. He barely managed to stuff it into his mouth as his feet swept off the floor and his eyes suddenly faced the laminate. His scream turned into laughter once he realized Len had picked him up and carried him to the other side of the kitchen.

"No use! I got it!" Oliver yelled inbetween chews and laughed even harder until he got slumped down on one of the chairs. Len leaned his hands against the backrest on both sides of Oliver's face and stared at him munching on the last bits mindlessly. Their eyes did not let go of each other, but it was anything but awkward.

After a while, Len gulped and huffed lightly as he noticed Oliver about to speak up.

"Can we make a deal to at least push the mocking to tomorrow? I'd really appreciate that."

"Why? They're not bad." Oliver cocked his head to the side and rose an eyebrow. He leaned forward, trying to stand up again, but Len didn't budge. His face softened at the confused frown on his partner, and he tilted his own head to the side.

"Are you kidding? You can't be serious."

Oliver's frown deepened. 

"I am. Why would you say that?"

"You never like what I make. Well, at least the new stuff," Len whined and slouched forward to hug his counterpart. Oliver faltered at the sudden mood change but returned the hug faintly.

"Really? I mean, yeah, sometimes it just really sucks, but always?" Oliver pushed against Len's shoulders to get to see his face, but the hug only tightened. He leaned back in and wrapped both his arms and legs around him. Listening to the calm breathing brushing against his neck eased the excitement from just a moment ago, and suddenly he felt sleepy again.

"Don't worry. I'm always happy when you're cooking for me, even if it sucks." Oliver chuckled at the last part, but Len stayed quiet. He rubbed against Len's back a few more times and whined out his name.

"Then how about you tone down your teasing?" Len's muffled voice echoed in his ear. Oliver inhaled as the weight went off his chest again once Len straightened up. He did the same and then rubbed the puffed-up cheeks in front of him between his hands with a grin.

"You're asking for a lot, you know." Len gasped and then pouted—clearly exaggerated—but it stung in Oliver's chest, nevertheless. He sighed and nodded. "Okay, okay. I'll try. Talk to me whenever it gets too much. And now let's eat before it gets cold."

Oliver pushed past Len, and he let him this time. Their motions fell into habit as they went for their breakfast to start off an awaited day full of care and love. Just as Len turned his back to put on the water kettle, Oliver tackled him with an embrace. Crumbs from pieces of the pancake dropped on the floor, but he ignored the following complaints and plopped another piece of the sweet pastry into his mouth. He giggled and did the same to Len, turning the mediocre meal into a delicacy through kisses and compliments.