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the stillness, the silence, the quiet of the morning din of home.
he was starting to think that, no matter how many times he woke up here, like this, it would always surprise him in a way. the calm and ease... so unlike anything he's ever known before this, before now, this reality of a plush, downy bed to rest on, of four sturdy walls and a roof over his head built with his own two hands, of the sound of his heart, his life, breathing soft and rhythmic right there next to him.
the gentle cadence of his steady purrs, a susurrus that puts the burbling of the agelyss to shame, the consistent in and out of his chest breathing at ease in sleep, the way, with the slightest bit of focus, shai can hone in on the sound of his heartbeat, right there, the marching, resolute thrum of his pulse. his body healthy, hale, whole, everything working just as it should, gears and cogs all turning in unbroken, perfect harmony; the most beautiful humsing he's ever known. the song of his own personal lifestream. how easily it could lull him back to sleep if he'd let it...
and nearly it does, his eyes heavy as he watches his husband at rest in the emerging morning light, the comfort and contentment it brings him like nothing else— dozing until the squawking crow of an apkallu outside jolts him back into full consciousness, a rumbling huff of laughter and crooked smile on his lips, shai leans close to sink a kiss to his sleeping mate's cheekbone, lingering enough to drink deep his scent, before pulling back and untangling himself from their sheets. a indulgent, lethargic stretch given, messily pulling up his dark, silken lounge pants as he sees himself out of their bedroom; one more stolen glance over his shoulder, a private, softer expression making temporary home on his face before taking up permanent residence in his heart.
the birds are loud this morning— both their own and the woods'. it's been getting warmer by the day, finally free of the coerthan-fringed winter frost, and the world is singing their joys earlier and earlier. as adjusted as he could be to the cold, moons spent in ishgard, he's grateful for the way the rising sun warms his bare skin as he steps outside, loosening up his muscle and allowing him to breathe all that much easier.
"cor, yer all feelin' mighty spry this morn'—" their flock of apkallus hover and pace around his legs anxiously, clucking with fervent appreciation as they're given their morning feed, a few hatchlings barely a moon old tripping over their own feet before setting themselves to rights.
the aldgoats, by comparison, are somewhat more subdued, bleating impatiently and butting their stubborn heads against his thighs until they are fed their due. he sits with them for a spell, as a lamb still needs to be bottle fed, her hunger just as rambunctious as the rest of her herd, "easy now, darlin', easy, gon' make yerself choke like that."
the garden is a far more straight forward affair; the early morning water and check for any obvious signs of illness in the leaves, the assessment of the fences and trellises— the mahogany is holding up well against the rain, as he knew it would. it'll be awhile yet until any repairs are necessary.
by the chocobo stables, where omelette and aska are preening each other in a morning bath, he allows himself a moment of reprieve. soaking in the quiet, divine dawn of the slowly waking world around him; before his own world, his husband, wakes, before their respective work steals away their focus, before patients and customers make house calls, before the clinic demands his presence, before he busies himself with a scavenging trip following suit. before a wayward vagabond may show up at sunhigh to tend to the animals for the noon and eve, before an unlikely voidhunting duo come looking for a safe haven to rest their weary heads until sunset.
though he feels himself as dusk, the dawn in this private moment feels like his own, how easy he breathes in the cool, dewy air. like it's welcoming him with open, healing arms.
like it loves him.
back inside he feeds logs and tinder to their stove hearth, bringing a pan to simmer and kettle up to a gentle boil. cracking a pair of apkallu eggs and toasting slices of walnut bread baked the day before, their kitchen waking gradual with the rest of the world with sounds and smells as he slices a crisp mirror apple and peels a la noscean orange brought back from their last trip across the merlthor strait, alongside a generous dollop of honey collected from their own hives. licking calloused fingerpads clean before splashes of aldgoat's milk is added to mugs of breakfast tea, cheekily he nabs a rose from the vase off their kotatsu of a living table, adding it to the tray of humble breakfast— he's sure his husband won't mind. probably.
he's stirring ever so slightly in his sleep when he returns to him, tray in hand, it's a rarity this, to see him sleeping in somewhat for a change, and shai indulges in it so completely. setting the tray down gingerly on his own, empty side of the bed, before climbing atop his husband's slowly waking form; shamelessly, grinning wide, nuzzling deep into sleep-mussed peach soft hair, tracing his lips downward, to sun's temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his perfect mouth that's beginning now to pull into a smile of its own, before his eyes even open. in the sweet, pale column of his lover's neck, otherwise flawlessly unmarred if it weren't for a pair of puncture scars long leftover from hungry, possessive fangs, he lingers and breathes deep, his own purr rumbling out low, the dragging brush, barely a grind, of their bodies together, "g'mornin', baby."
despite waking him with warm hands slipping underneath his night shirt, wandering ever insatiable as smiling lips meet, part and meet again, shai is able to temper himself enough, a modicum of restraint a grand feat in his books, to free his sweet husband's mouth long enough for them to enjoy breakfast in bed together. though that certainly doesn't stop him from chasing sun's thumb with his tongue when it smooths away the juice of an orange wedge threatening to dribble down his chin.
nor does it stop him from coaxing his husband into the shower with him after they've ate— undressing slow with languid fingers and inseparable mouths sighing benedictions of desire into the divots of each other's tongues, hot water and warm steam envelop them as their limbs tangle, as their hearts beat as one.
and as the dawnlight bleeding into day spills over their skin, kissing everywhere they do not touch, there's no mistaking it now, not a doubt in his mind
he is loved by the dawn
(and gods, does he love him too)