Work Text:
Click.
It was just another day.
The sun was rising over the horizon, casting a soft glow over everything in the home you shared with him. Under the sheets, your legs were tangled with his as your arms reached for him, finding their ways around his waist and tugging him closer in an attempt to steal his warmth. He was leaning back, camera in hand, lining up the perfect shot of your resting face.
He smelled of lemons and cinnamon, intoxicating you with every breath you drew. The lilac in your fabric softener drifted from the covers, mixing itself with your husband’s natural scent. A tired hum escaped your lips as you leaned into him, hinting that you were nearly awake.
No, he thought, his chin coming to rest over the top of your head, He wasn’t ready yet.
Gently, he buried his face in your hair, murmuring words of comfort to your sleeping figure in an attempt to lull you back to sleep. If he was lucky, you would smile, bury your head in his chest, and allow him another hour of bliss with you in his arms. If he wasn’t, your day would begin, him brewing coffee while you worked at pancakes, and he would start yet another beautiful day with the person he loved.
You could say that it was a win-win scenario.
He held the camera away from you, aiming to capture the intimate moment for future’s sake. With the push of a button, he had taken his shot.
Click.
He had taken the same photograph every day for the past month, ever since you began your domestic life together. Most days, it turned out kind of like this. Your peaceful, sleeping face buried into the crook of his neck while he grinned lazily at the camera was his favorite moment to capture, and he took each and every morning as an opportunity to see it again. The light was always dim. The surrounding area was always quiet.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The sun began to peek around your curtains, settling its rays across your resting face before he had a chance to block them. Your nose scrunched as you clenched your eyes tightly shut, letting out a tired groan.
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose as he prepared to pull away from you. It was still too early, too soon for him to leave that bed. Five more minutes, he would always think, Five more minutes, and I would have been ready to go.
He knew, however, that “five more minutes” would quickly turn to ten, then twenty, then a lifetime of minutes spent sharing the bed with you. He smiled to himself as he threw one leg over the side of the mattress you shared, then the other.
“I’ll go make some coffee,” he told you, lovingly brushing your hair from your eyes, “Just take it easy, honey.”
“Mhmm,” you hummed, raising a hand to rub the sleep from your eyes, “I’m up. I’m awake.”
“I know, I know,” he responded lightly, forcing himself to stand, “You’re always awake.”
It wasn’t long before you were following him down the hall, getting to work at the stove while he manned the coffee maker. Morning chatter filled the air as you went about your tasks.
“Sleep well?” He would say, reaching around you for the mix.
“Always,” you would smile, “What about you?”
“Of course.”
While you were waiting to flip the pancakes and he was waiting for the coffee to brew, you would find yourself resting in his arms, his back pressed against the counter as he held you. He would let his mind wander during these moments, carrying him through thoughts that made his head spin and heart race.
You were married.
The word sounded foreign to him as he rolled it over in his mind, even though you had been living your lives together for nearly a month now. He still couldn’t believe that you had agreed to spend a lifetime with him. Out of all the people in the world, you chose him. You loved him.
He glanced to his ring finger, letting his eyes trail over the wedding band that covered his skin. He’d thrown his gloves out weeks ago, high on the acceptance that you gave him.
“Prom,” you laughed, wiggling in his arms, “The pancakes.”
He sniffed, taking in the scent of burning batter before letting you go. Coffee fumes were filling the air, shrouding the two of you in a homey, familiar smell. Prompto’s lips stretched into a grin as he reached for your matching mugs, pouring the hot liquid into each of them. After pouring sugar and creamer generously into his own cup, he set to work on yours, knowing exactly how you wanted your drink.
As soon as he set your mugs down, you turned to him with plates piled high with half-burnt pancakes. A laugh escaped his lips as you set a plate down in his place at the table, his eyes focused on the crooked, grinning face you had scrawled onto his food.
“I love it,” he giggled as he reached for you, wrapping you up in a playful embrace, “What a meal!”
“You say that every morning,” you laughed, filling your home with joy. The pancakes would be cold soon, but neither of you cared.
“And I mean it, every time,” he replied, pressing sloppy kisses to your cheeks as he raised his camera, “Say ‘cheese!’”
Click.
He captured you mid-laugh, eyes shining in delight as you leaned into your husband. Prompto’s lips were turned into the largest smile he could manage, his own eyes crinkling shut as he forced another kiss to your cheek.
The two of you crowded around his camera, his arm draped over your shoulder as you admired his handiwork. The lighting was weird, and the messy kitchen was ever present in the background, but you loved it.
“It’s us,” you had said, reaching to grab hold of the hand he had placed over your shoulder. He nodded, humming in agreement as you laced your fingers with his. It was a messy photograph, and by no means did he use the best technique when he took it, but it was you. Together, you were messy. You were loud. You were everything but perfect.
He smiled, gazing lovingly at the photograph before pressing “save”.
But damn, you were happy.