Chapter Text
Makoto’s favorite time of the day would be when the whole cityscape would resemble the hinterlands of his hometown. Second by second, the young sun would animate the overcast clouds of dusk, then slowly the sky would turn blue. While the buildings seemingly remained as jagged black frontiers in the horizon, the sun would grow brighter and brighter until the sky was trembling with the subtle light of daybreak.
It was when the morning would be refreshingly cold despite the dedication of summer, though not precisely too bone-chilling for Makoto to curl up and rub his feet together for heat. The air had the right amount of chill to peacefully wake him up and the right amount of warmth to arouse him.
It was when his bed wasn't just simply warm. In his favorite hour of the morning—even though he wasn't a morning person himself—Makoto would always be careful to stay on his side of the mattress, especially since he didn't want to wake the person beside him. And he liked it that he couldn't stop himself from smiling.
His favorite time of the day would be when the usual inscrutable face of Haruka would remain so guileless and vulnerable—exposed and quiet while the sunrays seeping from the curtains would slowly crawl to his fair skin. Makoto could say it was a scene he very much preferred than the skyline of the city. It was also that time of the day when Makoto would smile, because he knew his bedmate was awake, but still feigned sleep, because he probably loved the fact that Makoto would spend so much time making sure every strand of his dark hair was in place and out of the way. His closed eyelids would twitch ever so often, and ever so slightly it could pass as almost unnoticeable. But not to Makoto, whose face was just an inch’s space away.
It was that time of the day when he could breathe in what the other would breathe out. Haruka’s scent wafted with the morning air and Makoto tilted his head a little to the left so his lips would brush against Haruka’s forehead. And he breathed him in like he would breathe in air, like a necessity, to live and go through the day. He would smile against the cold skin, and the one pretending to be asleep would shift in surprise, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows creasing.
“Mmmmm.” Makoto heard a drawling sound beside him. He huffed out a soft laugh while Haruka let himself get pulled closer. Makoto didn’t hold him too tight. Because he knew it would be harder for him to let go. Haruka stirred slightly, easing into the warm bed and warm body next to him. He murmured confusedly, heavy eyes struggling to open, “…What time is it?”
It was Makoto’s favorite time of the day no doubt. “It’s seven o’clock.”
Through his nose, Haruka drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. Then there was sunlight in his eyes—mesmerizing blue, and after a while it was gone again. Makoto had to catch his breath. His lips touched the closed eyelids once more. He liked that he could kiss him just because he could. “Still sleepy?”
Haruka replied with a groan and a small nod of the head, eyes closed shut.
Both of them had morning classes, but Haruka seemed to always forget that. “We’re going to be late,” Makoto whispered.
“Five more minutes.” His voice was so soft and burdened with sleep Makoto had to give in. Haruka let out an appreciative moan and burrowed himself closer to the person beside him.
The corners of Makoto’s lips curled into smile. He chuckled. He had to wait for five minutes to finally decide and wake up completely. But Haruka didn’t budge. So he scooted closer until his lips brushed Haruka’s ears. “If you don’t wake up I’ll end up cooking breakfast.”
Haruka opened his eyes—completely, this time. He blinked a few times before looking up to the man next to him. And Makoto looked back just as endearingly, while Haruka’s eyes sparkled despite his heavy lids and early morning gaze.
“Don’t ever cook breakfast," Haruka murmured as if he was pleading.
“I can cook mackerel," Makoto argued as he untangled himself from both the covers and Haruka.
Haruka flopped onto his side when he was given more space. “You don't cook, you murder mackerel.”
Makoto just laughed and apologized. Cooking wasn’t really his forte and Haruka knew that all too well. He decided to get up first and sat on the edge of the bed, but not before planting a light kiss on the other’s cheek. “I’ll make coffee, then.”
“That’s the only thing you can make.”
“I can't argue with that,” he said. Makoto could cook, but it was usually a matter of luck instead of skill. “Want anything else with coffee?”
“I’d like a 183cm backstroke swimmer back in bed.”
Makoto had to pause and blinked at Haruka. “Haven’t you had enough of that?” He joked. Makoto heard the rustling of the sheets as Haruka covered himself completely with the cream white blanket. He tried not to laugh. It must be the drowsiness talking. There was no way Haruka could say that consciously. And Haruka himself must’ve realized that as well.
With that Makoto stood up, stretched a little and left the room, unaware Haruka dozed off again.
There are many parts in Makoto’s favorite time of the day. He’d make either coffee, tea, or juice—whichever Haruka preferred for that particular day. But he didn’t need to say a word. If Haruka was evidently too sleepy, it was automatic for Makoto to make coffee. If he woke up without hassle, he would prepare tea. If Haruka woke up with a smile on his face, he would whip up some juice.
After that, Haruka would often get up idly, complete with bed hair and a series of lengthy yawns, wearing either his shirt which was too large for his smaller frame or his boxer shorts which was slipping slightly off his hips. It was the time when Makoto realized he liked the sleep-strewn, helpless Haruka who wore oversized clothes better. It was a sight only he could only witness in the wee hours of the morning.
That was why seven o’clock was Makoto’s favorite time of the day.
Because it was the time of the day when he loved Haruka the most.