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Robert wakes up to a loud clang and yelling.
"Fucking - ey, bitch! The fuck's up with your fucking stove?"
Robert hauls himself out of bed and towards the kitchen with his eyes closed ninety percent of the way. Beef pads behind him, not much better off; Robert scoops him up without much thought and shuffles them both together. Chad is stood in the kitchen in loose, casual clothes, looking like an angry sun given form. He's gripping a pan and practically steaming.
Robert forgets immediately what he'd said. "Huh?"
Chad groans. "Fucking - you're useless. You know that?" He turns back to the stove, grumbling something about breakfast and stoves and unappreciative bitches (probably Robert).
Robert slides onto a barstool, blinking heavily. Beef steps out of his arms onto the countertop, shakes once, then slumps there in a sleepy pile of dog. Robert props his cheek on his hand and hums along with Chad's complaints. Whatever it is, it's probably fine. Chad can handle it. Robert drifts.
"Are you even fucking listening to me?"
"Mm," Robert manages. His mouth is thick with sleep. "No."
"Your fucking," Chad hisses, clicking something rapidly - "stove -" more clicking - "won't fucking turn on. Tell me how it works."
Robert opens his eyes. Chad is looking at him, gorgeous and scowling. Robert smiles automatically. "Dunno."
"Oh, what the fuck," comes the immediate response. "Seriously, Robert? Forgot to pay your bills, bitch? Shit's not fucking working, how am I supposed to make breakfast?"
Beef wags, vaguely perking up at the mention of breakfast. All it achieves is drawing Chad's glare to him instead.
"Your tiny cow is on the counter," Chad tells him, still locked in a one-sided staredown with the innocent Beef. "Get him down."
"Mmmm." Robert gazes over, eyes heavily lidded. "You're beautiful."
Fire blooms across Chad's shoulders and arms alongside the lobster-red shade of his face. "Shut the fuck up," Chad hisses. He's maybe two seconds from gesturing with some kind of kitchen implement, but he turns back to angrily jiggling the stove dials. But despite his hanger, Chad has still, at some point, set a mug of coffee nearby.
Robert slides off his barstool and abandons it. Chad is a wall of hot muscle when Robert tucks his arms around him; he's still definitely pissy about a ruined breakfast, but his temperature ticks down immediately to normie-safe levels. It's far too quick for it to be a conscious thought. Robert tucks his face against the junction between neck and shoulder, where it's comfier and warmer than his actual pillow back in bed.
Chad says something. It's a nice, lilting rumble against Robert's front; Robert mumbles agreements when he finishes, mostly just to get him to keep going. His eyes shut again. Chad's voice starts again, though, so that's the important thing.
He doesn't know how long they stand there for, but he wakes up a little when Chad sets a hand over Robert's and squeezes gently. "Sofa," he hears through the haze.
"M'kay."
Chad plucks Beef off of the countertop as they walk past. Robert makes a pleased noise entirely without meaning to when the direction of sofa coalesces into a tangible plan at last - Beef gets placed next to Chad, where he can lean against his thigh, and Robert gets to curl up on top of him. Chad produces his phone and scowls at it as if Robert can't see the flush all over his face, or the content, if resigned, slope of his shoulders.
Robert tucks in close, humming happily as Chad brings a hand up to cup the back of his skull. It's so warm. Way better than a bed. He mumbles, "How was your breakfast?"
Chad sighs heavily at that for some reason. "Whatever," he grumbles. "I'll just order something."
Beef's tail hits the sofa in a lazy pwap, pwap, pwap. Robert lets the wonky metronome of it carry him somewhere else. Chad presses a kiss to his hair and lingers there for a moment, breath heating Robert's hair.
"Fucking idiots," he breathes out, unheard, heart eyes unseen.