and now, for my next number, i’d like to return to the classics
Rymin Week Day 7: Domestic
It’s been years since he lived primarily in his van on tour, but Ryan will never not be grateful to always have a kitchen.
Early morning sunlight streams through the soft white curtains as he goes through the motions of breakfast. The curtains were a gift from one sister, the cookware a gift from their old manager before she got promoted. The sleek fridge, which Ryan opens next, was a careful purchase he and Min worked together to carefully pick out, as is the same for most of their furniture. The eggs he pulls out from inside it are from their local farmer’s market, where all the vendors know them by name. Not because they used to be semi-famous rock stars, but because they come by every week toting instruments to serenade the shoppers with.
Ryan coats the pan in nonstick cooking spray and cracks the eggs into it. Salts it. He puts the ingredients away while he’s waiting for it to cook and pours two glasses of water.
Then, all that’s left is the waiting.
Ryan finds one of his guitars leaning against the wall in the next room. Their apartment is chock-full of all kinds of musical instruments they’ve accumulated over the years. After all the fuss Ryan had to go through to get his first guitar as a teenager, it feels both strange and gratifying to see how far he’s come.
One instrument they do not have is a viola. Min has played it on his own, usually on lease from friends, but he won’t play it regularly enough to buy one. Ryan is more than happy with that.
Ryan sits down on top of the counter and plucks a few, soft notes on his chosen guitar. He doesn’t have any particular melody or song in mind; he just lets his fingers play what they wish.
In no time at all, the eggs finish cooking. Ryan regretfully sets down the guitar to flip them and slide them onto plates. Just as he’s turning off the stove, the sound of a door opening down the hall and resounding footsteps reaches his ears.
His husband emerges into the kitchen, hair still messy from bed. Even after all these years, Ryan’s heart flutters at the sight of him.
Min leans down to steal a kiss off the top of Ryan’s head. “Ooh, eggs. Are those for me?”
Ryan swings the plate away, nearly spilling the coveted breakfast. “Of course not. I cook for myself. Never for my handsome husband.”
“Hmm, too bad.” Min grabs a fork and leans in for a bite. “Hey, these are good!”
Ryan laughs and leans against Min’s chest. “Almost as good as your ability to come running as soon as there’s food ready. I swear, Min, it’s superhuman.”
“Only if it’s your food,” Min promises, struggling not to laugh.
Ryan cackles. “Of course. I see how it is”
Min kisses him again and steps away. “I’ll get the table set if you plate the eggs and get some fruit, dear.”
