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Sukuna used to hate the morning after. The thing that invariably happened after a drunken night of desire. Waking to a raging hangover in someone else’s bed. Picking through scattered clothes on the floor. Tiptoeing around someone else’s apartment, which always looked so different in the cold light of day. And then, the journey home with early morning commuters. Weary-eyed salarymen, freshly showered and shaved, giving him sideways glances on the train. Not quite the walk of shame — because at least he was getting some satisfaction — but not exactly something to be proud of either.
No, he was not a fan of the morning after. Especially when it came to Megumi.
Friends-with-benefits is what Megumi used to call them. Sukuna would drop by his apartment occasionally, around midnight, and they would drink wine and listen to music until they were both buzzed, because things were easier when they were drunk. Because he was in love with Megumi, but Megumi wanted someone else.
So, he would slip out of Megumi’s bed in the early hours of morning, quietly so as not to wake him. It was better this way, he told himself. And it stayed like that for a long time, until he finally worked up the courage to tell Megumi how he really felt.
It took an agonizing three months for Megumi to respond. Sukuna had nearly given up; then, one night, unexpectedly, Megumi reached out and said that he loved him, too.
Now that they were together, the morning after was different. Now, Sukuna could stay in bed for as long as he wanted. Now, he did not have to sneak off before Megumi awoke to avoid any awkward conversations. Now, Megumi was his and his world had changed.
Well, some things stayed the same. Sukuna still awoke before Megumi, bright and early despite staying up far too late. A sliver of sunlight streamed in through half closed curtains, a hazy golden line glimmering with particles of dust. Sukuna rubbed his eyes and stretched lazily. It was Sunday and he was exactly where he wanted to be. Beside him, Megumi was nestled against his shoulder, a mop of tousled black hair. Sukuna indulged in his warmth for a moment, catching a whiff of his shampoo, fresh and earthy like vetiver. Then, softly, he slipped out of bed. It took a moment to find his old t-shirt and jeans, mingled amongst Megumi’s clothes on the floor.
Once dressed, he shut the bedroom door quietly behind him and made his way to the bathroom. Megumi had given him his own toothbrush, a small gesture which reminded him that things were real between them. He washed up and wandered down the hall. Passing through the living room, he saw two empty wine glasses on the coffee table and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. He smiled as memories of the night before surfaced in his mind. Across from the coffee table was a vintage wooden media console, upon which sat an old record player and Megumi’s growing collection of vinyls. Sukuna flipped through them, stopping at an old Norah Jones album. He had teased Megumi about it once, only to find out later that it had been his mother’s favorite; she played it all the time when Megumi was young, before she left.
Gently, Sukuna took the record out of its sleeve, setting it down on the turntable. The speakers crackled to life as Sukuna headed to the kitchen. It was a rustic space, decorated in an eclectic manner like the rest of Megumi’s apartment. A long wood counter ran along the wall, featuring a burnished gas stove, over which hung an array of pots and pans. Adjacent to this was a stylish white farmhouse sink; a wide window sat above it, where Megumi kept a collection of potted herbs — sage, thyme, rosemary, basil… and a small succulent that Sukuna had gifted him ages ago, still alive and well. Standing in the middle of the kitchen was a central workbench, complete with a handsome walnut countertop. Open shelves lined the walls, on which were stacked handmade ceramic bowls, plates, and mugs, displayed like sculptures in a museum.
Sukuna switched on the electric kettle, then rummaged around for a coffee filter. Megumi had one of those glass pour-over sets which Sukuna had only ever seen in fancy coffee shops; (when they started dating, he made sure to look up a tutorial on how to use them). Taking a canister from the shelf, he measured out enough coffee for two. Then, he swirled hot water over the grinds, waiting as they bubbled and bloomed. When the grinds were ready, he poured water over slowly, waiting patiently as the coffee dripped down into the glass chamber below. A bright, mellow aroma filled the air.
When the coffee was ready, Sukuna poured himself a cup, sipping as he stared absently out the window. Megumi’s apartment was located in the residential neighborhood of Kichijoji, in the suburbs of Tokyo; the streets below were still quiet at this early hour. A few taxis drove by, winding down after their night shift, mingling with early morning delivery trucks. Sunrise, sunrise, looks like morning in your eyes… Norah Jones’s honey voice floated in from the living room. A door opened, rousing Sukuna from his reverie. He heard footsteps padding softly down the hall.
Megumi appeared at the kitchen entry, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He smiled when he saw Sukuna.
“Morning,” he said, in a hoarse voice.
“Morning,” Sukuna replied tenderly. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Sukuna took another mug from the shelf and poured a cup for Megumi, who took a seat across from him.
“Just what I needed,” he said, blowing lightly on the hot coffee. “This is perfect,” he added, after taking a sip.
“Thanks,” Sukuna said, feeling pleased. “Do you want breakfast?”
Megumi nodded.
From the refrigerator, Sukuna pulled out some eggs and butter, as well as a pack of button mushrooms. There were some cherry tomatoes on the counter, and half of a loaf of country bread. He set a pan on the stove and drizzled in a bit of olive oil. As the pan heated, he washed and dried the vegetables, leaving them whole; when the oil was hot, he added theses in, hearing a satisfying sizzle. Meanwhile, he cut two slices of bread and popped them into the toaster. Into another pan, he cracked four eggs and added a generous knob of butter. Then, he switched on the gas. He had once seen a video of a famous chef making eggs like this, starting with a cold pan, and it had become his favorite way to make eggs ever since. As the eggs heated over a low flame, he whisked them lightly, lifting the pan off of the stove from time to time to prevent the eggs from overcooking. He could feel Megumi’s eyes on him as he worked.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he said jokingly.
“You’re funny,” Megumi retorted dryly.
When the eggs began to come together, Sukuna added a dash of cream, whisking again until the eggs were pale golden and soft and fluffy. The toaster chimed, and Megumi stood, coming around the workbench to Sukuna’s side. He set out two plates and placed a slice of toast on each. Sukuna added the seared mushrooms and tomatoes to the plate, and spooned the eggs out over the toast, finishing with a dash of ground pepper and salt, and a sprinkle of fragrant chives from Megumi’s windowsill garden.
They sat next to each other at the counter as they ate leisurely. Sukuna dug in, he was hungry after the night that they had. Meanwhile, Megumi ate slowly, pausing in between bites for sips of coffee.
“Your scrambled eggs are amazing,” he said, lifting a forkful to his mouth.
“I’m glad you like it,” Sukuna replied, “because it’s the only thing I can cook.”
Megumi chuckled softly. They ate in a comfortable silence, as the music played in the background.
“I haven’t heard this record in awhile,” Megumi said suddenly. His eyes were shining like sea glass.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Sukuna asked uncertainly.
Megumi shook his head. “No, I love it,” he said. After a pause, he asked, “Didn’t you say her music was cheesy, though?”
“Nothing wrong with being cheesy,” Sukuna said. “Besides, if you like it, I like it.”
Megumi snorted. “Now that’s cheesy.”
They both laughed.
After breakfast, Megumi stood up, reaching for the empty plates.
“Sit, I’ll do it,” Sukuna said.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Just enjoy your coffee,” Sukuna replied with a smile.
He brought the dishes to the sink, followed by the cookware, rinsing everything carefully. The sun shone brightly through the window; the streets below had begun to fill up with morning dog walkers and joggers, as taxis sped past on the road; here and there, Sukuna spotted affectionate couples walking arm-in-arm, heading to their Sunday morning brunches.
Then, he felt warm arms wrap around him, and soft lips pressed lightly against the back of his neck.
“You’re the best,” Megumi murmured in his ear.
Sukuna smiled. He loved the morning after.