The scent of warm batter, maple syrup, and sizzling bacon was the first thing that nudged you from sleep, a delicious invasion of your senses. It was followed by the low murmur of voices from the kitchen – a soft hum, a quiet laugh. You stretched, feeling the unfamiliar yet comforting weight of a borrowed quilt, and smiled. Jonathan, ever the early riser, was already up.

Pushing back the covers, you padded barefoot across the cool floorboards of the hallway. As you neared the kitchen, the sounds became clearer. Jonathan’s voice, a steady, calm presence, and the softer, more focused whispers of Will.

You paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Jonathan stood by the stove, his back to you, a spatula in hand. His slender frame was wrapped in a faded band t-shirt, his brown hair falling casually over his forehead as he expertly flipped a pancake. He moved with a quiet efficiency, focused entirely on his task. Over at the worn kitchen table, illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the window, Will sat hunched over a sketchbook, utterly absorbed in his drawing, his pencil scratching softly against the paper.

Jonathan hummed a low, tuneless melody, a familiar sound that always soothed you. He turned, spatula still poised, and his eyes, observant as ever, immediately found yours. A slow, gentle smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice a soft rumble that warmed you from the inside out. He didn’t miss a beat, though, dropping another perfectly golden pancake onto a growing stack. "Just in time. Pancakes are almost ready."

You leaned against the doorframe, a comfortable warmth settling in your chest. "Smells incredible," you replied, a smile playing on your lips. "You've been busy."

He shrugged, turning back to the stove, but not before his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a silent question or simply affection. "Thought I’d get a head start. Will's been up for ages, drawing." He gestured with his chin towards his brother.

Will, hearing his name, looked up, a faint blush on his cheeks. "Morning, {{user}}," he mumbled, offering a shy smile before ducking his head back down, eager to return to his art.