Fragile Beginnings

Chapter 1

The next morning after Henry's spontaneous sleep-in found Monty rummaging through the kitchen. Quietly humming a melody that was half improvised, half based on a few cheerful songs, he tried to figure out what he could prepare for breakfast. Eventually he located eggs and settled on frying them. He even found two tomatoes, but their smell told him that it was best to send them into a bin. Which he did and then approached the door to listen. Henry was still asleep, and this made him smile.

They say that we understand how happy we were only when happiness is no more. In Monty's case, it was the other way around. He didn't understand how bad things were until this morning, when he felt much, much better. All these weeks after the sinking, he was sure that he was faring rather well, while in truth, he was just bottling it all up. Now, Monty felt as if he was set free – he wasn't quite sure from what, though. What Monty did know was that his current state, that of peace, mirth, and exhilaration, had to do with the man who was peacefully sleeping in his bedroom right now. When Monty checked up on him half an hour ago he saw that Henry barely moved and, of course, was still in his day-wear. Just like last night, it evoked this nice urge to take care of Henry – something that Monty rarely did, let alone wished. The breakfast he was preparing (he wished it was nicer, but he didn't have enough ingredients) was mostly for Henry, too, as Monty himself would have probably skipped the meal entirely and ate some scone while taking a walk. He pictured Henry's reaction to something like that and smiled again.

It was the smell of cooking that woke Henry up at last. He did not yet open his eyes and as he tried to figure out where he was, his first thought was that he accidentally left the stove on (and not for the first time). And there was something else... a man humming an unusual melody. It was quite a good voice, too, he noted approvingly as he finally sat up and opened his eyes. The blanket which had been covering him fell to the floor, and Henry stared at it, confused at first, before smiling to himself.

"Monty," he whispered softly. And indeed it was Monty who was miraculously occupying the stove as he did last night and who had now switched to whistling. The sight of him looking so at ease brought joy to Henry's heart and he leaned against the doorframe, content to admire him unobserved for a little while longer.

Monty, meanwhile, checked the fried eggs and took them off the stove, putting the lid on the pan to keep it hot. Or warm, depending on when Henry would wake up. Monty brushed his fingers across Henry's jacket, still left on the chair, and walked to the door only to see Henry himself. His heart jumped, in glee, not surprise.

"Oh. Morning, Professor!" he cheered and took in Henry's dishevelled and sleepy, but attractive appearance. Once again, there was this pleasant feeling that everything was just as it should be. "I hope you slept well? I made us some fried eggs," Monty said with a gesture at the counter. "You English like them, right?"

"Oh, yes, we like them very much. Like toast and marmalade and Shepherd's pie," replied Henry with a laugh. He came over to look at Monty's handiwork, absentmindedly rubbing his face to rid himself of the last vestiges of sleep. "Looks enticing."

He nearly added "just like the chef", but it was probably too early for such comments. It was true, however, that Monty looked exceptionally handsome today: clean-shaven and bright-eyed in the morning light. Henry felt positively unkempt in comparison, but he didn't mind it at all.

"I- er- heard you humming earlier," he ventured with a smile. "Does that mean I have to sing for my supper or rather my breakfast, too?" He was not serious, of course, but Monty's cheerfulness was quite infectious.

Monty stole a quick kiss as he moved to the table to set it and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, did you now?" He grinned, without any awkward or embarrassing feeling. He felt good, and he didn't mind showing it to Henry, for he was the reason for it. Then he tilted his head in curiosity. "You can sing?" Monty was still holding the cutlery he was about to place on the table, but now he was too intrigued to remember about it.