Work Text:
There are many terrible things in this world. The shrill blare of an alarm clock ripping you from your dreams among the worst offenders. Waking to find that the bed has already gone empty and cold, another. The entire room felt quiet and solemn as if it too was mourning the absence of your beloved. The thick blankets quickly grew too cold to be comfortable any longer and remnants of sleep still clung to your senses as you slowly sat up with a renewed dedication to seek out a new source of warmth.
The scent of spiced soap and a lingering mist from the shower wafted through the partially open bathroom door, a testament to Secondo’s stubborn refusal to sleep in on nearly any day. It was a gentle reminder of the countless mornings when you had woken up together, the sound of falling water mingling with laughter and shared tenderness.
After attempting to gather your thoughts, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and made your way towards the bathroom, the rhythmic sound of falling water growing louder with each step. The antique wooden wardrobe looked untouched as you passed by it. You paused to pull out Secondo’s Papal robes and the cassock he often preferred to wear underneath before folding them neatly on the bed and continuing on. Upon pushing the door open, you were met with the sight of steam billowing around the room, cloaking the space in a misty haze.
“I may be aging but I’m not deaf yet. I can still hear your attempts to sneak up on me, amore mio.” Even with his back turned towards you, you could hear the smirk in his voice despite his stern tone. Water droplets still dribbled over his skin as he moved while the steam swirled around him, seemingly dancing in tune with a silent melody.
“I would’ve thought all those concerts would’ve done you in.”
Secondo paid no mind to your witty comment, instead continuing on as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all.
“Were you sleeping well? You didn’t budge when I got up.”
“I was. That is until I was left alone in the arctic cold of silk sheets.” Your retort came with maybe a little more sass than necessary as you lifted yourself to sit on the counter.
Secondo hummed softly, the deep rumble building in his chest as he leaned over to thread his fingers through your messy bed head.
“Hmmm. I suspect you’ll survive, you appear plenty lively to me.” His words were muffled against your hair as he pressed a kiss on the top of your head. For once you decided to remain quiet when you felt him smile against you.
After a few silent minutes, Secondo pulled away to return to his routine and you quickly grew bored. You twisted around, leaning in closer to the water covered mirror and reached a hand out to draw a shape against its reflective surface. Only after you had placed your initials next to a small heart were you interrupted.
“Those stay there, you know. Smudges, after the fog is gone.” He grumbled softly before swiping a razor against his cheek once more. His eyes only flickered to you before refocusing on the task of shaving. The dedication to precision and attention to detail were always present, even in the simplest of moments. A roll of your eyes was his only response. Secondo had always been such a perfectionist, although it was admittedly respectable.
Pulling back from the mirror, you gracefully slipped off your perch on the counter and moved closer to him, pressing a kiss against Secondo’s freshly shaven cheek. The morning routine had become a dance between the two of you, a choreography of sweet gestures and affectionate exchanges.
“Are you absolutely sure you need to go to work? And so early?” It was the same familiar question you asked him at least once a week, and that tiny sliver of hope in your voice that the ever so serious older man would take off work remained every time.
“Si, completely sure, bambino. Has my answer ever changed?” Secondo’s unfaltering response only prompts you to lean back against his shoulder and clasp your hands to your chest, feigning being fatally wounded. There is a sigh at your dramatics, a kiss pressed against your temple before being waved off once more.
“You have your own work to attend to, piantagrane. Go.” You finally accepted being shooed off after a few more lingering kisses, good byes murmured softly in each other's ears before leaving the former Papa be to finish getting ready for the day yourself.
By the time you had returned to the bathroom with the intention of using up all the remaining hot water for yourself, Secondo was gone from the room. As to be expected, but still disappointing. While setting your own towels down atop the granite counter, you couldn’t help but to glance back at the small smears you had earlier left along the surface of the mirror. Papa was right, the fog had dissipated and left behind streaks of smudging. Except now it was impossible to ignore the small, cursive initials ‘S.E’ that had appeared opposite of your own.