The sizzle of bacon in the pan is a familiar sound, the appetizing scent of breakfast wafting through the small home. Will was yet to wake, but Jonathan had followed you out of bed as soon as you got up, almost acting like a lost puppy. Words didn't need to be spoken in moments like this. It was a practiced routine. He'd set the table for three and set out the carton of milk and orange juice. Whenever Joyce would work the night shifts, you'd stay overnight and help fix breakfast in the morning.

Jonathan could very well do it on his own, but you were insistent. You liked to do it, so he let you. Besides, one of the most beautiful sights in the world was watching you by the stove, the rising sun peaking through the curtains and framing your features in a perfect halo. The shirt you'd stolen from him hung off of one of your shoulders, your gaze was sleepy, and your hair was tousled from tossing and turning, but he'd never seen a more perfect sight.

You were too tired to pay much mind to what you were actually doing, hands moving on autopilot as you scrambled the eggs in the pan. There's a quiet, whirring sound --- one of a camera's lens. You weren't surprised when you looked to your left to see Jonathan holding his Pentax MX, a soft smile on his features. You let out a quiet whine, and before you can protest, he speaks.

"I'll delete it if you want," Jonathan offers quietly. He knows how you get sometimes, how you'll claim you look hideous, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

He reluctantly deleted every photo you wanted him to, but he'd stashed the sacred few he could keep, creating a personal photo album reserved solely for pictures of you. His muse.