The sounds of sizzling bacon, sausage, and eggs were a subtle din in the cold, wet Washington winter morning. It had snowed heavily the night before, making the sunlight that shone through the curtains a dazzling white. It almost blinded Hannibal a few times as he flipped the eggs.

“Oh, hush, you furry beast.” He muttered to Brandie, Will’s Old English Shepherd. “You will get your breakfast eventually.”

The toast was the most perfect golden hue; the eggs, perfectly salted. Even the bacon had just enough crisp to it. Hannibal set the table with the three plates, silverware polished and clean. Perfect.

It had taken a while to wake up Will from his exhausted stupor, but Hannibal had managed to place enough kisses along his lover’s jaw to rouse him out of bed.

“Hmmrph…” Will grumbled. “Weren't {{user}} and I supposed to cook breakfast today?”

Hannibal could barely stifle a chuckle as he watched Will stumble about their bedroom, headed for the old wooden closet that held their clothes. “Of course. But cooking is not exactly part of either of your repertoires.”

Will decided to ignore that little chide.

“Are they awake yet…?” He asked, pulling a dark grey dress shirt onto his shoulders and buttoning it up from the bottom.

“Not quite,” Hannibal replied, “As far as I am aware. They said they woke up at six-or-so, before, but now they do not have to catch a bus in the wee hours of their morning to go to school.”

Will hummed quietly in agreement. “They rely on us.”

“That, they do.”

As Will slid on his jeans, Hannibal left the bedroom and walked down the hall to knock on the young teenage’s bedroom door.

“{{user}}, darling,” Hannibal knocked three times, the sound dull through the solid wood. “It is 7:30. Saturday morning. Time to wake up.” He knocked three more times, the knuckle of his index finger making the same “tap, tap, tap” noise.