#brau

Lance isn’t much of a connoisseur of fragrances, but it reminds him of springtime and that one perfume his mom used to wear on Sundays.

Against his better judgment, he begins to untangle himself from the mess of limbs that are Max and Liam when they sleep, knowing that no matter how much he wiggles or shifts, their snores will continue. Max is too deep a sleeper to care, and Liam is too much of a bed hog to do anything but open one eye, look at him, then roll over and bury himself into Max’s chest like two pieces of the same puzzle.

Lance leaves them like that as he pads out of the lodge’s master bedroom. The floor is chilled under his bare feet, so he makes a detour to the laundry room to rifle around for socks, eventually coming up with a pair of fluffy, grip-bottomed bed socks decorated with cowboys. Liam had bought them for him after learning just how cold Montreal actually got.

The fire from the night before has simmered down to embers in the hearth, so he throws in a few logs and a fire starter, giving it a poke to make sure the flames catch before heading to the kitchen.

He’s halfway through frying up three stacks of chocolate chip pancakes when Liam shuffles into the kitchen. He bumbles up to Lance’s side, knocking his head against his shoulder in a silent request; one that Lance satisfies with a kiss to his hair.

“There’s coffee on the side,” Lance murmurs. His voice soft as not to startle Liam’s sleep softened ears. 

Liam makes a soft, pleased hum in response, his version of gratitude, before grabbing the two still-steaming mugs from the counter and shuffling back out of the room.

The house is quiet save for the radio and the soft sound of Lance humming as he finishes breakfast, adding two fried eggs to his plate, eggs and bacon to Max’s plate and strawberries to Liam’s.

“An authentic Lance breakfast. I’ve missed these,” Max says, his lisped candor making Lance roll his eyes.

Lance turns on his heel to find Max, now dressed comfortably for the day, and Liam, still rumpled from sleep in his pajamas, scrolling through his phone at the kitchen island.

“One of us has to know how to cook, or we’d be living off cruskets and Pop-Tarts.” 

“A perfectly balanced meal, if you ask me,” Liam retorts, barely looking up until Lance pushes a plate under his nose. He cuts the side of one of the pancakes with his fork and holds it out. Liam opens his mouth obediently, accepting the bite.

He hums, chewing, eyes fluttering closed for a moment in delight.

“I think I love you.”

A pin could drop in the pause that follows. Max looks hard at the side of Lance’s face as though waiting for a reaction as Liam flushed, a pretty pink across his freckles. 

It’s not their first admission, but it’s the most casual they’ve ever been about throwing around love without some grand gesture to accompany it. The words send Lance’s heart rate spiking, but he just smiles, teeth showing, lines creasing his cheeks.

“It’s a good thing I love you too, then, huh?”