picking up personhood @pickinguppersonhood - Tumblr Blog

natural as another leg around you in the bedframe

i did post this on ao3 but took it down because. since, therefore.

part 1 of my "the only heaven i'll be sent to" series, where i write my hozier/nb!oc fluffy one-shots :)

rating: G

tags: fluff, intimacy, soft, non-binary oc, brief rant about societal standards

blurb: short morning breakfast initial ficlet (>1.5k words lmao), post non-sexual adult sleepover

word count: 1,562

it’s a distant clattering sound that first rouses him. he stirs, blinking groggily until the click-click-click-click of his induction coming to life drags him fully from sleep. it takes a second for him to put the pieces together. but once he does, he’s stumbling out of bed, barely remembering to run his fingers through his hair as he lumbers downstairs.

“morning!” he hears them chirp as he enters the kitchen and stops dead. they’re standing at the counter with their back to him, efficiently plating up something. pancakes, by the smell of it. he stares mutely as they turn to face him, wearing an apron, his frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other.

“i hope you don’t mind. i would’ve asked, but since you were dead to the world when i woke up i thought i’d help myself.”

it takes him a second to find his voice, let alone come up with something clever.

“you… you always spoil people like this when you sleep over?”

his voice is rough from sleep, his words not fully enunciated. he catches their eyes sparkling as they turn back to the pan.

“oh, you know, only the ones who haven’t done anything to deserve it. something i really need to work on.”

that makes him snort as he approaches.

as soon as he’s within reach, he slides his arms around them, making them start before they relax into his embrace. something in his chest does a soft little flip when they lean their head on his shoulder, back snug against his chest.

“good morning,” they murmur, looking back and up at him, head pushing into his shoulder like a headbutting cat. he kisses their temple, smiling softly, before he very effectively forces them to turn back around by resting his chin on the crown of their head. tightening his grip, he starts swaying lightly, side to side, and smiles soft and warm at their huff of laughter. when he starts humming deliberately to really drive the point home, they attempt to nudge him away with an elbow to his ribs.

“the pancakes are almost done.”

he resists, squeezing them tighter, humming just a tiny bit louder, and can practically hear the fond roll of their eyes before they try again.

“there’s coffee on the stove. go and pour yourself some.”

this time a pointed poke to his arm accompanies their words. he grunts and shuffles over to his cabinets to retrieve a mug, benevolently ignoring their muttered “i’m rubbing off on you”.

the first sip is restorative. he can feel the placebo of the taste waking him up before the caffeine even has a chance to hit his system. the satisfied sigh he lets out earns him an affectionate scoff.

“you are really not a morning person, are you?”

he only hums in response as they emerge from the kitchen, balancing two full plates and a glass of juice in their arms. taking a plate, he mutters a soft “thanks” as they both take a seat. he hopes the word comes across as fond as he feels, watching them eagerly douse their pancakes with honey—christ, they even managed to find that, rifling around his cabinets—before tucking in.

as he eats he can slowly feel himself coming back to life. the fresh pancakes and coffee settle pleasantly in his stomach. they’re good, the pancakes, a homely, subtle kind of sweetness to them that pairs well with his bitter coffee. he wonders if they used honey in the batter.

when he looks up, they’re watching him intently, a mischievous gleam in their eye.

“what?” he asks, swallowing his mouthful, holding eye contact and trying to ignore the flush that’s surely rising on his face.

they hum. then they take a sip of juice, exaggeratedly slowly, clearly amused and intent on playing it up. he catches himself smiling at their cocky expression before shaking it away.

“’s just interesting.”

“what is?”

they simply hum again, eyes still fixed on him, as he reflexively sips his coffee. not in a way that makes him feel cornered, or at fault. the warmth in their eyes leaves no room for that. he finally averts his gaze as he puts a name to it, cheeks flaming. he’s self-conscious. he can barely handle their scrutiny when he’s operating at full capacity, and he’s only been awake for thirty minutes. how is he meant to deal with this?

“i’ve just never seen you like this.”

his eyebrows raise, prompting them to elaborate.

“you’re usually so…” they trail off, narrowing their eyes at him and leaning back in their chair, and he feels himself flush even harder.

“...thoughtful.”

he can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes him. “you make me breakfast in my own home after you spend the night, and you’re calling me thoughtful?”

“well, that’s why this is the exception,” they shoot back, folding their arms over their baggy shirt. “you always put everyone else around you first. it’s like it’s built into your dna—i don’t think i’ve ever had a moment with you when you weren’t looking out for me. even last night…”

they look away as they shrug one shoulder up, something grateful and warm in their eyes that turns the gesture bashful instead of coy. his heart clenches with hope at the sight. they clear their throat before meeting his gaze again, their lips twitching into a mischievous grin.

“i always had you down as the breakfast-maker, but i guess your horrible sleep schedule cancels out your status as a gentleman.”

he huffs, throwing his hands up with a grin he tries valiantly to hide.

“i do usually make breakfast, let it be known—”

“you’ve barely said a dozen words this whole half hour!”

he opens his mouth to argue.

“you just grunt and sigh and trudge around looking for coffee. or cuddles.”

he closes his mouth after that, because they’re right.

in more ways than they know.

as they snicker at his silence and bite off another forkful of honey-soaked pancake, he wonders, not for the first time, if they know how easy this feels. how much his feelings of self-worth were previously staked on comparing himself to heteronormative societal standards and pleasing his partners in strictly straight relationships. there was a time when he prided himself on being the breakfast-maker, the one to hold open doors, the one to be attuned to his partner in bed. but while he still believes in being attentive and thoughtful in a relationship, it’s been a while since he’s identified as straight, even longer since he’s felt fettered to the rules of what makes a “good man” in the eyes of society at large. some of them they directly pointed out (“so i’m supposed to just sit there and wait for you to cross the car and open my door?”), some they’ve unpicked unknowingly, tugging on threads that had begun to fray in previous relationships but had never been examined this closely. he wonders if they know how easy it could’ve been for him to never reach this kind of introspection. how grateful he is that their relationship has begun changing his view of himself so deeply.

“you’re staring,” they point out, and he shakes himself for the second time this morning. the smug twinkle in their eyes pulls a grin out of him before he can help himself.

“you’re stunning,” he replies easily, and then sees them tense, just for a moment, before slowly relaxing as they lean forward.

he watches their smirk morph into something more solemn and follows suit, resting his forearms on the table, because he adores their earnest side just as much as their flippant one. their gaze dips, and he can tell they’re sounding out the words in their mind before saying them out loud. he treasures the care that radiates from them.

“thank you. for last night.” they say, voice low. “you don’t know how much that meant to me.”

“no need to thank me.” he lays his hand on the table, palm up, and they immediately grip it in theirs. his heart leaps at the ease of the gesture.

“there’s no rush,” he repeats, slowly, so they can hear the sincerity behind his words, see it behind his eyes. “we’ll take it at your pace.”

a small nod, and he squeezes. their gaze flicks down to their joined hands before they intertwine their fingers, softly brushing their thumb over the back of his hand. he inhales silently. then he dares to jest.

“i can’t have you revoking my gentleman status just yet.”

a smile spreads across their features, small and raw and hopeful. he thinks it might be the most breathtaking one he’s ever seen. the tender mood doesn’t evaporate, just like he’d hoped—instead their eyes return to his and they both take a second to just breathe, to stare like lovesick fools as they take in the full scope of what they’ve found in the other.

he dares to make a wish in that moment. in this room that has never felt more like home, smelling of coffee and pancakes and honey. he imagines a shutter going off in his mind’s eye as he squeezes their fingers, capturing this moment forever. so that even after he has to stand up and unravel their fingers, the light in their eyes remains.

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