Work Text:
It’s a quiet morning. Despite the quiet, Dan’s brain doesn’t wander, or worse, spiral. He just is.
It’s quiet, but for Phil’s soft, shallow breathing next to Dan. Quiet—no, silent, utterly silent—because in this new house they’re (purposely) not surrounded by constant traffic or accidents tended to by ambulances. A real perk. No sirens, no blaring horns, no annoying neighbors. A stand-alone house, with a giant garden, designed by the two of them.
Speaking of the garden—he rolls away from his sleeping husband’s lax embrace to face the floor-to-ceiling windows—it’s luscious and green and really picking up, growing at rapid speed, and in the quiet morning, filled with golden light. Streaks of it slip in through the blinds, coloring the darkened room’s murky contour pink, and showing silhouettes of the outside on the fabric itself.
Dan smiles as it creeps across his face, but seeks warmth in their sheets yet again. It’s still early March, not a summer’s day, and he’d rather be cuddling than searching for the rays of the sun, naked as he is.
Phil grumbles slightly, grasping mindlessly for him. Dan smiles, this time softly, watching his lip turn as he huffs out a puff of air, and touches his drooping quiff—soft, and fallen against his forehead. He looks adorable, as always, and it’d be a shame to wake him.
Instead, he cuddles up close—let’s Phil’s head fall against his chest, where he too seeks warmth—and intertwines their limbs, not minding the chafing. The bed fits both of them tenfold, despite their giant statures.
And there he stays, almost falling asleep, again, until Phil’s internal clock tells him it’s time to kiss Dan silly and wake him. Not birdsong. After all, it’s a quiet morning. A quiet morning, and just the two of them.