Chapter Text
Horatio stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living space of Bush's apartment. It had never really cooled down last night, but the windows were all still thrown wide to catch the last of the morning air. It was early still, but he had awoken alone to the smell of bacon and had come out to investigate.
Bush stood at the stove, frying something - bacon from the smell of it - humming softly to himself. There was a timer ticking on the narrow counter next to the stove next to a basket with a towel tucked into it. The heat was already radiating from the kitchen. Horatio remember that Bush had once told him he rarely cooked in the morning in his little apartment during the spring and summer as he just couldn't stand how hot it got and stayed all day. Horatio had very earnestly questioned how he had managed the Texas heat if he couldn't handle a New England attic apartment. Bush had laughed as if they were sharing a joke and not answered him.
There was a shout from down in the street below, then a bang of a car door, and the roar of an old engine in need of work starting up. Horatio flushed, remembering that neither one of them had been particularly quiet the night before, and he felt the shame of Everyone Knows burn straight through him.
He had been glad to wake alone. This wasn't going to work and he took Bush's absence as a sign that he understood that as well. It wasn't the bacon that drew him out to the kitchen, it was a desire to have the conversation and be done with it. Horatio had even put on his jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Jeans because he hadn't even thought far enough ahead to bring sleep pants. Bush wore sleep pants and a soft-looking shirt as he hummed and swayed to the music in his own head at the stove.
Horatio stood there quietly, arrested at the sight. It wasn't just the lean but wiry body. Or the music that fell from Bush's lips that Horatio couldn't understand but just simply sounded happy. Or even the thought that he was making bacon, or as Horatio sniffed the air, biscuits and eggs too, for them. It was the smile that unexpectedly tugged at his lips as he took it all in.
He had gotten out of bed, scrubbed his face, found his clothes, all with a mounting sense of dread and horror that he had slept with a colleague. It was stupid and ill advised and a terrible idea and he absolutely shouldn't have ever done it and none of that was any different right here right now as he stood in the kitchen that would soon be too hot and simply took in the sight of Bush standing there at the stove in pants with little arrows on them. But he couldn't name the feeling that had arrested him, that had made him lean against the warm worn wood of the door frame and simply watch - that started low in his belly and climbed up his chest. He smiled while he looked at Bush and as he stood there he realized he didn't want to stop smiling while looking at Bush.
Bush turned around and spotted him and smiled back - warm and bright and so easy.
Horatio would make this difficult soon enough, he knew because he always did that. But right now Bush stood there holding a greasy fork wearing pjamas and making Horatio breakfast and Horatio thought he'd do anything for this moment to last.
"Morning," Bush greeted. "Eggs, bacon, and biscuits." He gestured to the stove behind him just as the bell dinged.
Horatio just smiled.
Bush nodded to the table and Horatio looked to the battered piece of furniture - small with two chairs, tucked against the wall of the kitchen, that was set with plates, orange juice, and coffee.
This. This was for him. This was for him for no other reason than Bush had wanted to and Horatio didn't know what to do with the gift he had been handed. He looked back at Bush who had cocked his head and was simply watching.
"I-" Horatio started, looking at the table, then back at Bush, then back at the table again.
He continued staring at the table, at the black coffee sitting there steaming, and the sugar bowl next to the cup that must have been for him and he didn't know what to say. Bush moved into his field of vision, carrying plates with bacon and eggs on them. And then he stepped out, and then back with biscuits.
"Horatio?" he finally said, softly. Horatio's eyes snapped to his. Had he detected uncertainty in Bush's voice? No. Please not that. This was perfect and he didn't know what to do with it, but Bush must never feel as if it was wrong. He stepped forward. Then forward again and right into Bush's arms and he kissed him. Then kissed him again and kissing seemed to be working because Bush's arms went around him and he softened and tipped his head and Horatio said thank you, and please, and yes, and all the words he didn't know how to form in the kiss and Bush seemed to understand.
It felt like a first kiss and with a start, Horatio realized it was. The night before had been sex. This morning it was kisses for breakfast before coffee and in a slightly too-warm attic apartment kitchen that smelled like what Horatio thought a farmhouse kitchen might smell like. He pulled back and smiled. Then he nodded and turned to the place Bush had set at his table for Horatio and reached for his coffee.
"Thank you," he finally said, looking up at Bush as Bush seated himself across from him.
"It is my pleasure," Bush responded and Horatio knew he meant every word.