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Akira wakes in the early hours of the morning. The room is calmly quiet, save for the slow, soft sounds of breathing beside him. His face is buried in a mass of hair, which he extracts himself from very carefully, so as not to wake the owner of it. Lifting his head up, he’s greeted with the sight of a naked, soundly sleeping Goro, curled up in his arms, facing away from him. He pushes himself up on one elbow, gazing down at him fondly.
Goro is always beautiful, but he’s ethereal when he sleeps, the smooth planes of his face softened in a peaceful expression, devoid of the anger or anxiety that Akira knows so often plagues him. Akira can barely resist the urge to bend over him and cover his face with kisses. But, contrary to popular belief, the charming Detective Prince is not, actually, a morning person. And if he woke him up this early, he would surely be banished to the couch or worse.
Instead he watches him, the curve of his lashes on his cheek, the part of his lips, the steady movement of his chest as he breathes. A smile stretches over his face--one that he knows would cause Goro to label him as a “sappy idiot,” or something of the sort, if he saw it. He can’t help it, just as he can’t help the warm feeling that fills his chest whenever he sees Goro like this. Whenever he sees Goro at all, really.
It’s hard for him to believe, sometimes, that they ended up here. He knows Goro still suffers from guilt over what happened, as well as trauma from his past. He’d be lying if he said he himself was without his scars, either. But after everything that happened, everything they went through, they’re still here to share these moments together. Akira has always been one to decide his own destiny, but if there is any other power out there responsible for this outcome, he’s eternally grateful to it.
Unwilling to move in any way and risk shattering the delicacy of the moment, he decides to settle back down. With a gentle kiss to Goro’s head, he closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.
The second time he wakes, it looks to be much later, judging by the considerable amount of sunlight pouring in the room, yet Goro is still sleeping. Well, he thinks just a little sheepishly, he probably needs a lot of rest after last night. He’ll probably complain to Akira when he does wake about how Akira wears him out too much. But Akira is confident he can make up for that.
Slowly, he untangles himself from Goro and gets up from the bed. Goro makes a sleepy noise and shifts, but doesn’t appear to wake up. Akira stops to put a shirt and pair of pants on before making his way downstairs.
He comes back up about twenty minutes later, holding a tray with a plate of pancakes and a cup of hot coffee on it. He walks back to the bed, setting the tray down before leaning in and pressing a kiss to Goro’s cheek.
Goro grumbles in response. Akira huffs out a breath of laughter, kissing him again, this time on the lips.
“Good morning,” he says. “I made you breakfast.”
Goro blinks his eyes open blearily. “Hm,” he says, taking another few moments to wake up and register Akira’s words. Once he does, he looks over, spotting the tray. His lips curl into a small smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Akira says. “I was hoping it’d make you smile like that.”
A faint dust of pink spreads across Goro’s cheeks. “You’re so corny,” he says, but his smile only widens. Then he lifts himself up into sitting position, reaching for the tray and setting it on his lap.
Akira can’t argue with that. He sits down beside him on the bed, watching him.
Though initially a slightly sensitive subject, pancakes have become sort of a running joke with them, especially since Akira found out that Goro actually does really like them. He’s certainly digging into them eagerly now.
He waits for Goro to finish the pancakes, as well as the coffee--Akira made sure to make his favorite blend, roasted to perfection--and then he takes the tray away, setting it aside and pressing himself closer to Goro.
“That was delicious,” Goro says contentedly. “Thank you.”
Akira wraps his arms around Goro, nuzzling into his neck. “Anytime.”
Goro hums, stretching. “I’m sore,” he observes, taking stock of his body. “You really did a number on me, you beast.”
“Sorry.” Akira’s arms encircle his waist, his mouth pressing apologetic kisses to the (admittedly bruised) skin of his neck.
“You better not be coming onto me right now.”
Akira laughs, softly, his arms tightening their grip. “Believe it or not, I’m content just like this.”
“Hm.” Goro relaxes into his grip. “Me too. Let’s stay in bed today.”
Akira can’t think of anything he’d rather do more. He guides them both back down onto the bed, still holding Goro by the waist and pulling him close. Their legs tangle together, their faces inches apart.
Goro’s hand finds his cheek, cupping it in his palm. His heart flutters from the touch.
“Akira,” he says, quietly.
“Hm?”
“Thank you,” he says again, his eyes searching Akira’s, and this time the words seem to mean much more.
Akira brings their lips together in a chaste kiss. “Like I said,” he replies, his arms tightening, holding Goro close in a warm embrace. “Anytime.”