The blinds are drawn tightly, and though the first few rays of sun manage to squeeze through, it is not what wakes Callie up. Instead, it is the soft sound of something sizzling on the stove, the startings of breakfast, she assumes, since the smell of whatever is hitting the pan hasn't yet reached her nose. She glances around the room, finding everyone asleep and still in their sleeping bags except Brandon, who also, it appears, picked up the mug of milk she didn't drink.

She feels slightly bad for a moment, but she knows Brandon's smart, and probably knew what he was doing when he gave her that milk, and if not that, then he still understands. Gingerly, she slips out of her blanket, eyes on Jude the whole time. She would really like it if it could be just the two of them alone again for a while, even if just for a few minutes. The thought ignites something in her cheeks and she tries to stop the strings pulling at the corners of her lips, but when she makes it to the doorway, she has to smile again. "So, are you Beethoven or Gordon Ramsay? You can't be both."

He's just about to flip the first set of pancakes over when he looks over his shoulder at her, fighting back a goofy grin. "Pancake preference?"

She pads over to the fridge and pries an unopened basket of blueberries from an overflowing produce drawer, flashing them at him as she makes her way over to the sink to rinse them. "Easiest way to get Jude to eat his fruit."

He's slightly amused, and genuinely incredulous. "Who doesn't like fruit?"

"I mean, he'll eat it, but it's not without a cringe or two." She tosses a blueberry in her mouth as she comes to stand next to him, feeling it pop between her back teeth, its sweet juices coating her tongue, and when she looks up at him and finds him watching her with such raw infatuation, her face burns, but not from the heat of the griddle.

He soaks up her reaction and feeds off of it, grabbing a handful of the blue fruit and sprinkling them over the fresh set of flapjacks. "You must have a bunch of tricks when it comes to Jude."

She's staring at the long muscles in his forearms, watching them twitch as he carefully flips over the pancakes. Her mouth is watering but she has yet to catch a waft of the pancakes. Still slightly mesmerized, she mumbles, "Thank you, Brandon. For always being just what I need."

He's taking in her gratitude as he scrapes off the confections and pours four more. He wants to freeze in this moment, make it forever the morning, forever just him & Callie, because when it just them, he can temporarily release the worry he holds for his mother, as Lena so often urges him to do. He sets down the spatula and looks down at her, catching those chocolate eyes dilate as they focus on him. He's mostly talking to himself as he mutters, but Callie still catches him in the almost silent kitchen. "God, why do you have to be spoken for?"

But this reminder is, for the most part, pointless, as he still finds himself brushing her hair off one shoulder, exposing still-marked skin from where she slept on the uneven floor. Her eyes are childishly innocent, her lips are pulling part slowly, and he can actually see as they peel away from each other, he's that close. His thumb is slipping under the skinny strap of her tank top and something is radiating from her sternum at his touch, and then he's sliding it off her shoulder, his hands so light on her back that she leans into him slightly, wanting to feel him more.

"I don't...I mean I'm not..." his fingers are grazing the sensitive skin of collarbone, and she can feel it in every vertebrae, rendering her speechless. He presses his lips to the spot where her neck and ear connect, and her lids are heavy again, ready for sweet sleep. "I'm not spoken for. Please,"

She spins and grips both sides of his unbuttoned shirt, in hopes to steady herself. The corner of his lip is curving, but for the most part, he remains serious as he asks, "Wyatt?"

"Just friends," she whispers, and the second the words leave her mouth, his is on hers, and he's pushing her backwards to pin her to the counter. He tastes like coffee, and he feels like coffee, strong but comforting as he wraps her in his arms, determined not to let go this time. She tastes like blueberries, but sweeter, and while they're not his favorite fruit, he knows he could live off the taste of her lips alone.

She swears some of his caffeine has already made it to her bloodstream, jolting her awake in a matter of seconds, and she's pulling him by his shirt into her, longing for more, when she smells something foul. He does, too, because they both pull away at the same time, sniffing the air warily. Callie starts, "What's burning?" but before they can ponder, they've already figured it out.

Brandon's expression is a mixture of pure annoyance and regret as he turns to the already blackened pancakes, billowing smoke and triggering the kitchen alarms. "Shit."

A/N: So a lot of you guys reviewed and said you wanted some sort of continuation, so I added on this short little two-shot to tide us all over. Thanks again to all my reviewers and especially my anonymous reviewers, I would love to be able to respond to you personally, but alas, I cannot. It's bittersweet knowing tonight is the finale of The Fosters, and though it will be returning in January, I'm not sure I will be able to last! So right now I've got a few ideas swirling around my head, definitely some more one-shots I'll be posting (feel free to check out my other oneshots on my page, too), and I'm even thinking of a Fosters: Season Two story, where I will continue the show from the finale (though it will obviously not be what actually happens when the show returns) and updating a new chapter every monday until the show returns. Let me know what you guys think of this chapter and of my ideas, I'd love some sweet motivation! xoxo