Work Text:
Guts only gets to his phone after he showers and dresses, shoving his gym clothes and equipment into his bag. He hardly ever has any notifications, partly because he uses his phone sparingly for calls and texts, and partly because its old and cracked and half functional. He’s way past overdue for an upgrade, but that’s near the bottom of his list of priorities.
Speaking of. He taps the notification banner.
Casca: guts.
Casca: i need more tampons.
He checks the timestamp, confirming that she texted him no more than ten minutes ago. Good, at least he hasn’t left her hanging very long. He cracks his stiff neck and types out a reply.
What kind?
Its grocery day anyways, the list folded and tucked in the pocket of his jeans. Gathering his things, he makes his way out of the gym, waving to Pippin as he goes. The larger man nods at him from his seat at the reception desk. Cold December air nips at him the second he swings the door open, and Guts is grateful that Casca reminded him to pack his jacket.
Another buzz from his phone.
Casca: super plus. thanks babe
A grin tugs at his lips, the pet name putting a bubbling giddiness in his belly. It feels good, that easy affection. Such a simple thing, but it keeps him warm on his errand.
Guts grabs her some chocolate once he’s checked everything off the list and stacked in the shopping cart, a bag of creme truffles. They’re too sweet for him to eat and really enjoy (a bit expensive for his taste, too), but he imagines they’ll taste just fine on Casca’s lips.
-
Unlocking the apartment door with his arms full is a bit of a challenge, but he makes it through alright. The sight of Casca sitting cross-legged on the sofa greets him upon opening the door. One of his shirts pools around her, the long sleeves rolled back several times to keep her hands free. She’s tapping on her laptop, chiseling away at a term paper and knocking back a large mug of coffee.
He brings the grocery bags into their kitchenette, setting them atop the counter and fishing out the tampons and chocolates. He carries them to her, toeing off his boots as he goes. Casca types out one last sentence while the thought is fresh. Once satisfied, she looks up at Guts.
He offers up the items. “Hope these are the right ones. I also got you a treat.”
She stands, stretching and taking the box of tampons, popping it open. “They are.”
She leans up on her toes to dollop a kiss on his chin before she heads to the bathroom.
Sparing a moment to watch her go, Guts sighs lightly and slumps onto the sofa, his muscles still twitching from his workout. Grabbing the remote, he switches the TV on, flipping through channels until he finds something that catches his eye, an old sci-fi flick tinged in neon lights. He rests his chin in his palm.
Casca returns from the hall, bare feet rustling on the carpet as she moves through to the kitchen. Guts hears her start up a kettle of tea.
“There’s leftover stir-fry,” she calls. “Want some?”
Grunting with a good stretch, Guts’s affirmative fades into a yawn, lost under the hum of the microwave. He sits like that for a moment, white noise in his ears as the tension of work and training seeps out of him. The sounds of home are far away, at the back of his mind until Casca crosses his vision, balancing his dinner and two mugs of tea on an old tray.
He sits up as she passes it to him, lifting away her tea, coming to sit and lean against the opposite arm of the couch, letting him have his space as he eats. She rests her laptop on her knees, cracking open the box of chocolates, popping one in her mouth as she resumes her work. It melts on her tongue, sweet and rich, drawing from her a pleased hum.
Eyes still on the TV screen, Guts asks, “Good?”
“Mm. Very.”
Satisfied, he nods, mentally patting himself on the back.
They eat in comfortable silence for a time, Guts only speaking once he’d finished his food. Gathering up their used dishes, he stands and takes them to the kitchen sink. Slowly, a bit lethargic in the warmth, the rinses them and returns to the living room.
He’s struck, then, standing at the threshold. Bathed in blue light from the TV, the laptop screen reflecting white in her eyes, Casca looks beautiful.
Of course, she always looks beautiful, but here, eyebrows cinched a bit in concentration, bangs falling in her eyes as her head tilts, gears turning in her mind as she hammers out her thesis… His chest puffs with pride and affection in equal measure.
Gently, he approaches, sitting and twisting to lay down, slotting his head into her lap. Easy as he goes, she lifts her arms, making room for him to get comfortable. He turns, pressing his nose to her belly. He nuzzles her, a large and calloused hand lifting the fabric of her shirt so he can lay his palm on the firm plane of her stomach, her ribs.
Her skin is warm and smooth, and he can feel her heartbeat, sure as the sun rises. He caresses her, once, twice, before letting his arm and her shirt drop.
Guts looks up to find her gazing down at him, a smile on her lips, so tender it makes his heart ache.
She cards her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, moving back until she cradles his head in her palm. Leaning down, tilting him up just a bit, she meets him in a soft kiss, sweet and unhurried. With her other hand, she touches his chest, splaying her fingers out over his heart.
When they break apart, Guts is almost dizzy, drunk on love. She makes him feel so safe.
He falls asleep there, in her lap, one large hand folded over hers.