A/N: you are in luck guys, this is something I made for class and posted it here. I guess you can consider it canon, though it doesn't really add anything to the plot lol. On the timeline, maybe a little after Honeymoon.

Also, I realize I use tea a lot in this book. Ig tea is a symbol now lol

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Lloyd looked to his side, where his husband was sleeping. The man sighed and rubbed his head. His throat ached as he coughed, his thin body moving up and down with each one. He cleared his throat and stood up. He went to the closet, searching through clothes.

“Literally nothing.” He went past the thousands of black shirts and pants he owned and went straight to the other’s side of clothes, taking a baggy red hoodie and his black pajama pants with him to the kitchen.

He switched on the lights, and the clicking of paws began. Apple, Benjamin, and Blueberry came rushing in for breakfast. He fed them, then walked over to his little gray radio on the window seal. He flipped around until Queen was on. He then opened the cabinet above the oven, standing on his toes to reach. He could do something with the tea bags, pair that up with some eggs and rice.

He coughed into his fist as he turned on the stove. “God,” he patted his chest once it was over, his violet eyes watery. “This cough is the worst, man.”

He heard the shower running from upstairs. He smiled, he was awake. He got out his cigarette carton and lit one up, watching as the smoke curled around itself. He went to turn on the pot full of rice when the other came dancing in, still with a tower on his shoulders and in boxers.

“’Funny how love is coming home in time for tea~” He danced, making sure to bump into him with his full hips. “Funny, funny, funny, oh~”

“Alright, alright, François.” Lloyd had his hands on his waist. “Go get dressed, I'm making breakfast for us.”

He turned to face him, his blue eyes reflecting the light from the sun and making them look like crystals as he threw his robe on the couch. “Well, I would, but somebody keeps stealing my clothes.” He ruffled the shorter's white hair before going to the living room. “I'm surprised you're making breakfast, I usually do it.”

He got out four eggs. “Well, you were tired last night, and I want you to relax.”

Francois picked up a cover of The Great Gatsby and put it on his lap, curling his pink lips into a smile. “Aw, you’re the best, dear.” He looked at his face when he turned for a split second to smile back. “Lloyd, you look terribly pale. Did you take your pills yet?”

“Only the anti-depressant and valproate, I have time before the others.” He put his cigarette out, cracked the eggs in the pan, and rubbed his throbbing neck.

“If you say so, just please take them soon.”

He coughed, trying to be as quiet as possible so the other wouldn’t get worried. He gets worked up over hot air. He turned off the rice and eggs, and that’s when he realized he completely forgot about the tea. He didn’t even hear the whistle of the boiling pot, the other smirking behind his book as Lloyd shuffled to turn it off and get out the cups.

“Sugar or honey, Franny?”

“Honey, honey!” He laughed hysterically for a few seconds. The guy thinks he should have his own talk show at times.

He was hoping he would say sugar. The honey was low, and he wanted it for himself. He plated the food. The smell of eggs turned his stomach so horribly that he had to put down, coughing into the back of his hand. François, not wanting to be too much of a bother, simply raised his eyebrow and continued to read.

The other groaned and tried again. He had to look away and close his eyes, cringing as he finished up with François’ plate. He looked at his eggs and almost threw up again. He didn't understand himself. He loves eggs.

He started coughing again. It was heavy in his chest, starching his throat when it came up. Before he knew it, two freckled hands were holding onto his shoulders, rubbing them until he was done coughing.

“Sit down, dear boy.” He led him to the couch, having Blueberry sit next to him.

The shorter watched him as he put the remaining eggs on the second plate. He put his head down. One thing, just one thing he wanted to do for François. One thing, and he couldn't do it. He was too lucky to get such an understanding partner.

“Here.” He looked up and saw his pills and cup in front of him. The redhead sat next to him.

He took it, sighing. “Thanks.” He was surprised to taste honey in his tea. It felt so lovely going down his raw throat with his medicine. He watched him shuff food down his throat. “Is it good?”

He nodded before speaking. “Yeah, real good. You should cook more often.”

He sighed, petting his dog. “I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

“I don't know, I just feel bad that I can't really do anything without being a problem.” He sat back. “I didn't mean to be sick.”

He put his arm on his shoulders. “You're not a problem. You just got sick, that's all.” He kissed his cheek. “Besides, everything tasted great, love.”

He smiled at him, his overbite swallowing his bow-lip. “Thank you, Fran. I love you.”

They kissed, still tasting tea on each other's breath. “I love you too."