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Jeremy awoke to the smell of a fry up. Smiling, he put on a shirt and made his way to the kitchen. James was pushing a bowl toward Fusker, who had jumped onto the counter.
“Fresh dollop of Whiskas. Sometimes I think you’re spoiled.”
“I’d rather have the bacon and eggs, myself,” Jeremy said, sitting down.
“I think you’re spoiled as well.”
“I have someone taking care of me.”
James finally turned around and smiled, putting a proper plate of breakfast in front of him. “Morning.”
“Morning, May. You seem cheerful.”
“I guess I am a bit. We did have a great night.” James went back to his frying pan and whistled.
“That tune…I’ve heard it before?”
“It’s the theme song to Man Lab .”
“You wrote it, didn’t you? Your talents never cease to amaze.”
“Stop patronizing me and eat your breakfast.”
“Yes, dear,” Jeremy chuckled, tucking right in to the meal. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “James?”
“Yes?”
“When did we get so terribly domestic?”
“Is it really so terrible?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I do. Of course, I do. I just don’t understand it.”
“It’s simple, really. We’re blokes.”
“Blokes aren’t typically domestic, no matter what your man show says.”
“Ah, but we’re easy beings. Particular to us, we have the same schedule and interests, both being middle-aged motoring journalists and TV presenters. We’re both rubbish at sport, we drink and smoke too much, and we snore at night…”
“I don’t snore.”
“Anyway—all that’s made it easier to fit with each other. We’re different shapes, but cut of the same pattern. Like LEGO bricks, Meccano, train tracks…”
“Wait, you’re comparing our relationships to…toys?”
“Don’t you get it? I love my toys…I love you as well, you big daft cock.” James poked at Jeremy with the spatula.
“I love you too, you pedantic arse.” He sighed. “We are a bit like old toys. Complete rubbish, but somehow still loveable.”