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Yaku never wanted to move. Not ever. The world could come crumbling down around him, the gates of hell could open, the universe could rend itself in twain... and he would want to stay here, right here.
Lev was still asleep in his arms, snoring softly (not that he would ever admit it, and refused to believe Yaku when he told him). Yaku’s left arm, slotted underneath Lev’s torso, was completely numb, but he didn’t care to move it. His right arm could still feel. He traced the line of Lev’s hipbone. It used to jut out sharper when they were younger, but he still loved it. He still loved Lev.
When he breathed out, little wispy blonde hairs at the nape of Lev’s neck twitched and fluttered. Yaku shifted a little, burying his face into his shoulder, and breathed deep. He wondered if there would ever come a day when the smell of Lev, of home and comfort and love, would stop being the most amazing smell in the world to him. He hoped not.
The wall clock told him it was about 8am, and he was sincerely, deeply grateful that Sundays existed. Sundays were the only day of the week when he could stay like his, holding his husband close, their warm bare skin pressed flush together, their heartbeats mixing and combining into the sweetest tempo.
Gently, as light as a whisper, Yaku kissed the knot at the top of Lev’s spine, trying to pour all his love, all his endless wonder at the man lying next to him, into that small square inch of skin.
Yaku would give anything to stay like this forever. Part of him still feared that perfect Sunday mornings like these would fade away, that this golden happiness was temporary... but, the golden bands around the ring fingers on their left hands, clutched together even as Lev slept, promised that this perfection was his to keep, for as long as the rhythm of their heartbeats sounded as one.