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Shiro’s ascent into the realm of consciousness is a gradual process. It feels like a dream at first—waking up to the calming, rhythmic sound of temperate waves crashing against the shore and watching light gradually pour through his window as the sun rises above the horizon and into the sky through blurry eyes. Letting his day begin at its own pace, without assistance from some kind of alarm is almost surreal, as if he’s still dreaming, and it’s only a matter of time before a less than comforting sound starts blaring and pulls him out of his tranquil state.
Time slowly ticks by, yet the warning bells he awaits never come. The nearby ocean carries on with its soothing lullaby, nearly easing him back to sleep, however, Shiro wills himself to maintain his slow progression into a fully awakened state. His limbs are stiff with sleep, but nevertheless Shiro manages to reach over for the other side of the bed, where his fingertips brush against soft, freshly-laundered sheets.
Still warm, Shiro notes to himself. His mind doesn't get the chance to wander very far before he’s alerted to the soft pitter-patter of footsteps shuffling down the hall, coming closer and closer until they come to an abrupt halt just outside the door. His vision starts to clear, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the doorknob turning counterclockwise before the door opens, revealing Lance, his one and only. Perhaps Shiro’s only imagining it, but he swears there’s a certain glimmer dancing within the depths of Lance’s bright blue eyes when his gaze falls upon him.
“Morning, beautiful,” Lance's angelic voice brings a smile to Shiro’s lips as Lance treks across the room and over to him, carrying a small folding tray that, if he has to guess from the delicious scent currently invading his senses, must contain breakfast.
“Hey, sweet one.” Shiro’s body acts on its own accord, pushing himself into an upright position while Lance moves with grace, setting the tray over Shiro’s lap before sliding into bed without disturbing a single dish.
“Brought you breakfast,” Lance chirps, his grin more radiant than the Caribbean sun shining right outside their door.
“In bed?” Shiro asks as if Lance doesn't do this for him every single morning. “You don't have to keep doing this.”
“I want to,” is Lance's simple reply, which only makes Shiro smile more.
“Any thoughts on what you might want to do today?” Lance carries on, scooting closer to Shiro and curling up next to him, landing a quick kiss to his shoulder before adding: “unless of course, you want to stay under the covers all day, because that's always a valid option.” The grin Lance punctuates his suggestion with earns him a snicker from Shiro.
“Stepping out on the beach might be nice,” Shiro muses, glancing towards the set of double doors in their bedroom that allow them the privilege of stepping directly onto the sand. “Maybe a little catnap in the sun too.” A lingering sense of grogginess that clings to Shiro’s senses inspires that particular addition, but sometimes, he thinks the only thing better than snuggling up with Lance in bed is lying out on the beach under the shade of an umbrella, his toes curling in over soft grains of sand while he soaks in the sun’s warmth—all while holding Lance.
When a comfortable silence settles between them, Shiro's gaze wanders over to the tray Lance brought him. His mind hardly registers the specifics, it doesn’t matter when Lance delivers only the best. This time, however, it's not the food that garners Shiro's attention, but rather, the blue hibiscus that sits idle in a small vase on the side.
Shiro's lips morph into a gentle smile as his gaze lingers on the flower, noticing that Lance must have picked it for decor earlier this morning, judging by the droplets of morning dew that still cling to the fragile petals. Lance has an eye for putting together elegant displays, sometimes simple in nature like the platter sitting before him now, but this time around, Shiro thinks Lance might have overlooked the flower’s true purpose. Shiro is only too happy to show him. Ever so carefully, Shiro reaches out for the delicate blossom, sliding his hand under the petals and lifting it out of the water. All it takes is the quick swipe of the stem against a napkin before he raises the hibiscus to Lance, manipulating the stalk just a bit so he can easily tuck it behind Lance’s right ear, keeping the flower in place. His gaze softens as a stray curl of Lance’s hair falls atop one of the petals—proving his theory correct, that only Lance’s supreme beauty could make something appear more exquisite than it is.
“Hey!”
Shiro can tell Lance wants to give off the impression he’s been insulted with Shiro disrupting the set he’s made, but the jovial sparkle in his gorgeous eyes doesn’t quite match the mock-offense in his voice.
“It's prettier this way,” Shiro punctuates his response with a shrug, as if it’s the only logical answer—like the flower belongs with Lance.
“'Kashi.” Lance brings his hands to his face just as the softest shade of pink begins to tint his sun-kissed cheeks, clearly trying to hide his bashfulness.
“Lance,” Shiro replies, bringing his hands up to cover Lance’s, only to gently pull them away so he can get a good look at how much he’s flustered Lance.
“Eat up, amor.” Lance nods towards the tray on Shiro's lap, clearly hinting he should redirect his attention to the food he's made especially for him, and not the infinitely more satisfying sight of his blushing boyfriend. “The pancakes are getting cold.”
“They’ll be fine.” As if to prove his point, Shiro picks up the pair of chopsticks Lance sets out with each meal (the addition of something so personal never fails to send his heart aflutter—he doesn't even have to ask, yet somehow Lance knows that small touch from his homeland is exactly what he needs) and cuts off a piece of pancake already covered in a thin layer of butter and topped with fresh blueberries. The sweet flavor washes over Shiro's taste buds the second his food hits his tongue, eliciting a soft, yet satisfied hum of approval from his throat.
“Hot or cold, everything you make tastes great, worthy of a five-star restaurant,” Shiro declares immediately after swallowing, flashing Lance an uncharacteristically cheeky grin, mostly because he knows he's right.
“Oh c’mon.” Lance tries to wave his comment off, but the blush still covering his cheeks proves he isn't as unaffected as he'd like Shiro to believe. “Who taught you to be so flattering?”
“It isn't flattery if it's true,” Shiro quips, feeling rather proud of himself as he watches Lance mouth open, only to seal his lips shut a second later, and Shiro knows he’s earned himself one of those rare instances in which he’s rendered Lance speechless.
In lieu of a comeback, Lance only smiles, his eyes shine with adoration as he leans in towards Shiro, stealing away what little space remains between them and pressing his lips against Shiro’s. As cliché as it seems, Shiro swears up and down that Lance’s lips are even sweeter than the blueberry pancakes he serves, and the kiss itself is equally as saccharine. As they kiss, Shiro feels Lance’s lips form into a smile against his, the sensation nearly melts his heart right then and there.
Shiro lives for that smile, as simple as it is, he yearns to see Lance happy—his ray of sunshine that pierces through the clouds on the darkest of days and illuminates his world all over again. Regardless of how he and Lance end up spending their day, in Shiro's mind, it's already perfect. He has Lance after all, and every day he awakens to Lance’s gorgeous grin accompanied by the loving gaze knows is meant for him, and him alone.