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Chris woke up with a smile on his face yet again. Somehow, by some miracle, his life turned good. He had a partner he loved, and who loved him back (his whole relationship with Victoria was a joke and the only good thing to come out of it was Allison). They were very far from suffering financially, and the business kept growing. They lived together in a beautiful apartment. Even his daughter made up with the pack and was now happily skipping through the woods alongside them.
He stretched in his bed, already expecting the space next to him to be empty since he could smell the coffee and breakfast being prepared. He got up and made his way to the kitchen, hand scrubbing his face in an effort to wake up at least a little bit.
“Morning, Princess,” he murmured as he lightly kissed the back of Peter’s neck and took his cup of coffee. Peter only hummed in response, completely focused on the pan in front of him. That was unusual, but Chris was too content and not awake enough to notice the shift.
After a few minutes of sipping his coffee and staring out the window, watching the trees outside sway softly and glisten in the sun, he woke up enough to notice a number of worrying signs.
Peter didn’t respond to him. He didn’t snark about poisoning his coffee. Didn’t turn back to kiss him properly. Didn’t swat him with the spatula and mock him for his slow hunter reflexes and old age.
He just stood in the kitchen, completely focused on the pan in front of him.
“Peter?” Chris started with uncertainty in his voice, “what’s wrong?”
It was as if he popped a balloon. Peter’s shoulders sagged and he planted his hands on the counter, still with his back to Chris, bowing his head and deflating completely.
“I’m not over you…” he whispered softly.
“Considering we’re together, I would damn well hope so,” Chris replied with a bit more of a harsh bite than he intended, but he was getting angry now, “what’s going on, Peter?”
Peter raised one hand to cover his eyes, breathing hard.
“Chris, please, just let me say this.”
“You called me Chris,” he responded, mood shifting into shock, “you never call me Chris unless it’s serious. Because you have to be different and use my full name normally and the shortened version only when things are serious.” He was not prepared to deal with this, there was literally nothing to even hint at things between the two of them being in any way bad.
“Please,” Peter whispered, “Please, just… I need to say this. I am not over you. I’m not. You know I love you, even if we never say it to each other, because we don’t have to. But sometimes… sometimes that’s not enough.”
Chris sat still, clutching his cup, his breathing getting more rugged with each word he heard.
“Why does this sound like you’re saying goodbye?” he whispered towards Peter’s back, since the man still hasn’t turned around to face him.
“I don’t… I don’t want to say goodbye; but I don’t know if this is something I can get over.”
“What is it? What is actually wrong, Peter, for God’s sake? Just get on with it!” Chris shouted, back to being angry at the world falling apart around him.
Then Peter turned around, two plates in his hands and a shit eating grin on his face.
“I can’t get over you putting ketchup on scrambled eggs.”
Chris’s brain screeched to a halt. He sat there, staring at Peter with his mouth hanging open until he fully processed the words he just heard and his left eye started twitching.
“Are you-” He started, disbelief clear in his voice, “are you actually serious right now, you absolute goddamned dipshit?!” he was shouting by the end of the sentence, but there was no way he would feel bad for it - Peter deserved it.
Peter just smiled wider, walked over and set the plates down on the table, the one with ketchup on the eggs ending up in front of Chris.
“Come on, dear” Peter started with a smirk after kissing Chris softly on the cheek, “I’m just helping you out! You know a heart attack in the morning wakes you up much more successfully than boring old coffee.”
“Oh, you motherf-”