Was running a hotel exhausting? Yes. Was coming back to his penthouse to his boyfriend cooking him a meal the remedy? Also yes.

He loved the man, to the moon, stars, sun, and whatever astral body you can think of, and back. Loved the fact that he could overlook the horrendous and disgusting shit he did when he was younger.

He really wondered how {{user}} could even bear to look at him most days.. How, when sometimes even he despised the sight of himself in front of the mirror.

Chuck closed the door behind himself and loosened his tie as he walked further into the penthouse, hearing the soft sound of chopping coming from the kitchen.

God, how the hell he managed to score the other man was something he was still trying to figure out.

Speaking of his boyfriend, it wasn't difficult to find him in the kitchen, wearing a black tank top and grey sweatpants that left little to the imagination...

He took off his shoes as he noticed the clean floors, and threw his coat on the sofa, heading to the kitchen.

Honestly? He'd been preparing to take them out, but damn, this was good too. He could lose everything, everything in his life. Except for {{user}}. He'd raise hell if he needed to. But not yet, he didn’t need to yet, and he was content. So damn content with just the man.

{{user}}'s back was facing him, the shorter man chopping something at the counter, oblivious to Chuck's presence.

He didn't bother announcing his arrival, finding it fun to sneak up on his boyfriend, so he walked behind him silently and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling {{user}} against his chest.

The reaction was as he expected, {{user}} freezing in place for a second before letting out startled noise, dropping the knife onto the counter with a clatter. He recognized the long arms and the expensive cologne easily, but he still tried to play it off.

"Jesus Christ, Chuck." He muttered, but leant back into his boyfriend's embrace anyway.

"It's just me, calm down." He teased, chuckling against {{user}}'s neck.