The morning light had settled comfortably across Hriva's apartment, painting lazy golden streaks across the wooden floor. The air still carried the softness of sleep, quiet and undisturbed, save for the faint hum of the city just beyond the windows.
Hriva yawned as she shuffled into the kitchen, feet bare against the cool tiles, arms hugging herself while her hair hung loosely down her back. She hadn't bothered to change yet, still wrapped in Jake's oversized T-shirt that draped over her like a second skin. It smelled like him. Warm and clean and a little bit like the night they had just shared.
Jake was already there, leaning into the fridge with a confused look on his face.
"Why do you have five different types of mustard and no milk?" he asked without turning.
Hriva blinked at him, eyes still adjusting to the light.
"I… don't know. I panic-buy condiments sometimes."
Jake turned, holding up a nearly empty bottle of syrup. "And you expect pancakes with this?"
"Hey," she said, lifting a hand. "You're the one who offered."
He chuckled, placing the bottle on the counter and rummaging again. "We'll improvise. I make miracles in the kitchen."
"Like flipping them onto the ceiling?" she teased.
Jake smirked and gave her a look. "One time. It happened one time."
She walked over and leaned her arms on the counter, watching him as he gathered flour, eggs, and whatever else they had available. His movements were relaxed but deliberate, like he had done this before. There was something oddly attractive about the way he focused. The crease in his brow. The way he bit his lower lip when he measured. She caught herself staring.
Jake glanced up and caught her.
"What?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly.
He stepped closer and dipped his finger into the flour, then touched it gently to her nose.
Hriva blinked. "Did you just…"
"You had something on your face," he said seriously, but the grin that followed ruined any chance at innocence.
She retaliated with a flick of water from the nearby sink, and soon they were half-laughing, half-cooking, navigating the tiny kitchen in a slow dance of soft brushes and stolen glances. It wasn't just about pancakes anymore. It was about them. About the way she passed him the bowl with a shy smile. About the way he stood behind her when she stirred, close enough to feel but not crowding.
"Can I ask you something?" Jake said quietly while watching the pan heat up.
"Of course."
He waited a beat, watching her as she reached for a plate.
"Do you ever get scared?" he asked. "Of this. Of us."
Hriva froze for half a second. Not because the question shocked her, but because she wasn't expecting it in that moment. Morning pancakes weren't supposed to come with deep emotional inquiries.
She looked over her shoulder. "Sometimes."
Jake stepped closer. "Me too."
They stood in that stillness again. Not heavy, just honest.
"I'm scared of ruining something good," she said softly. "Scared of… letting my guard down and then losing it."
Jake took the plate from her and set it down, gently placing his hands on either side of her waist.
"You won't lose me by being real."
His voice was low. Certain.
Hriva turned to face him fully. His eyes searched hers with patience, like he was offering something without demanding anything in return. She nodded once, slowly. That was all she could manage.
"I'm still figuring things out," she whispered.
"So am I," he replied. "Let's figure them out together."
Her breath caught in her chest, but it wasn't from nerves. It was from the softness in his words. The kind that nestled into the cracks of her ribs and made a home there.
The moment stretched, unbroken, until the smell of something starting to burn made them both jump.
"Oh god, the pancake!" Jake lunged for the pan, flipping the now browned side with a curse under his breath.
Hriva laughed so hard she had to lean on the counter.
"You're supposed to be a miracle worker," she teased through her giggles.
"I never said I was perfect," he grumbled, pretending to pout. "Just passionate."
She smiled, reaching over to grab his hand as he slid the semi-rescued pancake onto a plate.
"I'll take passionate over perfect any day."
Jake looked at her, and the small smile that tugged at his lips said he heard more than just the words. It said he saw her. Truly saw her.
They made the rest of the pancakes slowly, messing up some, saving others, piling them onto a plate with more laughter than actual technique.
By the time they sat down to eat, they were both flushed and a little breathless from the shared joy of it.
Jake drizzled what little syrup they had left over her pancake and handed her a fork.
"So," he said, taking a bite. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Anything."
Hriva thought for a second, chewing slowly, then looked at him with a sly smile.
"I once walked out of a yoga class because the instructor said something that sounded like he was flirting with my chakras."
Jake nearly choked on his pancake.
"That's the best thing I've ever heard."
She shrugged. "It was uncomfortable."
"I bet your chakras were never the same again."
They laughed again, loud and free, as the morning sunlight warmed the space around them.
It wasn't just a lazy morning anymore. It was something deeper. Something quietly beautiful.
And neither of them wanted it to end.