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Fingertips whispered across bare skin, branding unspoken words of love across your cheekbones. A breeze floated through open panelled windows, pulling the music of dawn in and stringing it through your home. He gazed at you, basking in the morning sun, blissfully unaware of the new day it brought as you continued to sleep. His eyes, soft and calculating, counted your eyelashes. They traveled to the bridge of your nose, found a niche in your forehead. He explored every bit of you – was lost in you – became entangled in your hair.
Then he retreated, eyeing the clock on your nightstand, willing the seconds to stop ticking away.
His feet found cold, hard flooring as he crawled from your bed. He tiptoed to the kitchen, yawning but awake, careful not to drag you from your slumber prematurely. His fingertips worked at his wedding band, turning it round and round as he busied himself with breakfast preparations. Mechanical whirring filled the air, mingling with the crackling of food on the stove as coffee brewed in its machine. Ignis reached for the spice cabinet, a contented smile playing across his lips.
He had a lot of routines, but this one – cooking breakfast with you in mind as you lay peacefully in the bedroom – was his favorite.
With a practiced hand, he plated the sizzling meal and filled your mugs with liquid energy. This was when he returned to you, breakfast in hand and a grin on his cheeks.
“Y/N,” he whispered, “Love, it’s time to wake up.”
“Hm?” you hummed, turning to him with your eyes still closed. Your hand reached for him, grasping at air as you searched for his touch. A chuckle ran from his lips.
“I’ve prepared breakfast,” he insisted, “We shouldn’t let it get cold.”
Your eyes opened with a sigh, fixing themselves to him. It had been weeks since your marriage and longer since you began seeing each other, but a look from you still stopped the blood from moving through his veins. His palms were sweating beneath your plate, and his ears held a rosy tint.
“You’re right,” you admitted, a smile gracing your features as you began to sit upright, “As always.”
“Of course I am.”
He passed the plate and mug to you, watching closely as you took your first bite and laughing when your lips twisted in satisfaction.
“Come on,” you called to him, patting the place beside you on the bed. He hadn’t realized he was still standing, watching you, “Eat with me.”
Your voice pushed him onto the bed, sinking his weight into the mattress as he clutched to his meal. Your shoulders were touching, bodies leaning toward each other as you enjoyed your food. His posture relaxed in the presence of your warmth as he focused on the nearness of you.
His eyes found the clock, once again, and he cursed the minutes for getting away from him.
“It’s wonderful, as usual,” you spoke, breaking the silence as your fork clinked against the bottom of your plate, “Thank you, Ignis.”
“It’s my pleasure, darling,” he replied. Sunlight leaked onto your bedsheets. The morning breeze slipped between you, chilling your necks, bringing you closer.
“This is my favorite day,” you spoke softly. Your head was lowering to his shoulder, empty plate forgotten in your lap. Your breaths buried themselves into his collarbone, pumping life into his lungs. Inhale, exhale, inhale.
“You said that yesterday.” His hand found your shoulder and crept to the hair by your neck, taking strands between his fingertips.
“I really thought yesterday was the one,” he could feel your smile on his skin, “But today is better.”
There were sunspots in your eyes, dripping daylight into his pores as you leaned into him. Your hair was wrapped around his fingers. Your hand was clutching to his own. Empty plates rested in your laps as you settled with each other.
Light particles drifted in the air as he turned his head, tilting it slightly to watch you. They rested on you, breaking when they came into contact with your skin like they were being absorbed into your being. You were ethereal, blinding him with your beauty, dragging the tension from his body when he became rigid. In these moments, when you were close and he was watching, time seemed to stand still. He was alone in a room with the person he loved. His hand was in your hair. Your fingertips clung to his. He was calm.
He was happy.
“I believe,” he began. His hand squeezed yours, thumb tracing circles on the back of your palm, “Today is my favorite, as well.”