Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Emancipation ❯ Morning ( Chapter 4 )

Emancipation

Thanatos-Aire

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IV. Morning.

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When I wake up, Trowa is gone.

I roll over, planning on catching the time from the bedside alarm-clock, but find myself not alone in the huge bed.

Duo lies on his stomach with his face turned to me, mouth open to allow his soft, short snores release. Limbs akimbo and braid sprawled across the mattress, I cannot help but smile. He looks so relaxed, content as he dozes with a goofy grin. His dreams must have been pleasant last night for him to be so at ease.

I cannot remember the last time he slept like this, so open, honest, exposed. Even when his face is not marred by a knitted brow or lips twisted into a growl, Duo sleeps curled up and hunched in, taking up very little space. He likes to hold his braid, arms crossed over his chest as if in protection or comfort. He rarely sleeps like this, and I am glad he is doing so now.

It means he feels safe, he's not haunted.

It means Shinigami has left his ravaged soul to heal.

I lean over and kiss his forehead softly. He snuffles, nose twitching, and mutters something about butterflies. I smile again, watching him for a few more moments. Then I roll the other way, crossing the expanse of the mattress to Trowa's side, and get out of bed. My boxers are on the floor, but they are dirty from the late-night activity I barely feel, so I scoop them into the clothes hamper and find a pair of sweat-pants instead.

I can hear Trowa moving about in the kitchen from the hall, a pot clanging on the stove and the fridge door's sucking noise as it opens and closes. This is another part of that ritual we no longer have to follow: Duo and I sleep in while Trowa makes us breakfast. He's probably already started the soup and I wonder if he'll be dressed from going out to buy a bottle of wine.

By the time I reach the kitchen, he's not there anymore. His novel still sits on the island, though shoved off to the side to make room for the cutting board awaiting the boiling chicken. A stew pot and saucepan sit on the stove, the electric coils beneath them red with heat, and there's two plates with orange juice on the small table. There's also something in the oven, but before I can check it, Trowa appears in the door to the stairs leading to the basement, on the other side of the table from me.

He pauses there, obviously not expecting to see me. But Trowa smiles and comes up to drop his load of jarred vegetables on the counter and then wraps me up in a hug. “Morning,” he says, voice a bit thick from not using it since last night.

I embrace him back, taking in the deep aroma of vanilla musk and spiced orange that is his unique scent. He's wearing the clothes he had on last night, the black turtleneck and blue-jeans, but with a worn pair of black sneakers I think are Duo's. He's even washed his hair this morning, so it's soft and shining and fluffy.

He lets me kiss him on the mouth with my morning breath before letting go to turn back to his canned vegetables.

Today feels like it's going to be a nice, relaxed one.

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to be continued