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The inky embrace of unconsciousness was a gift to behold. The world was dark, empty, fabricated; a world that could be shifted with the mere command of a fleeting thought. You could float soundly within a sea of peaceful lullabies, or you could prance around in explosions of adrenaline beneath your feet.
“Rooockeeett…”
Your brain couldn’t stimulate your surroundings any further, and thus, makes its own stimuli so it wouldn’t forget. An analysis of your realm, a rehearsal of your thoughts, all the while you rest in dreams without the need to think. Without the need to worry.
“Rockeeeeeett… get uuupp…”
It was a world to enjoy, a world that you controlled, a world that controlled you. Or maybe it wasn’t even a world. Maybe it was a universe. Maybe it was a tiny island within the inpherno. Maybe it was just your head. But it didn’t matter, regardless; because it was all at your fingertips.
An endless void that belonged to you.
“ROCKET!!”
“GAH!!!!”
The blue rocketeer jolted awake with a cold sweat, eyes darting around the room like he was looking for a serial killer waiting to jump out at him. He was tense as though preparing for battle, mind racing as he tried to track down the perceived threat.
Except there was no perceived threat. Just Sword looming over him with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“...Oh my GODS, SWORD—”
The swordsman burst out into an array of laughter, leaning back into the bed sheets as he put a hand to his head in exasperation. Rocket froze for a few moments, sending an unimpressed stare through vicious eyes, before greeting him with a harsh jab to the shoulder and a grin of his own. Sword lost his balance and fell next to the bedside, yet his laughter never died down. Rocket found himself giggling as well, leaning himself back with a more exasperated tone in his throat.
The room was as lively as it always was in the morning. Two doofuses laughing together, grinning together, having the time of their lives. It was so routine, they always found themselves laughing like idiots while huddled beneath their sheets in the brisk hours of an early morning; the routine never grew old and felt more vibrant with each passing day. That’s just how they respond to the other’s antics.
The warm embrace of the morning’s breath was a gift to behold.
“Ghh- hehehe, g-good morning, sleepy beauty!!” The taller cooed between a fit of giggles, adjusting to lean against the blue demon with his stupid grin growing wider. This was bothering him, and he knew it, though it really wasn’t bothering him because they’d bantered with each other so many times before and they both loved it.
“Yeah, good morning to you too, prince. ” Rocket spat with just as much vibrancy, gently lifting his good arm to nudge the swordsman off him, though it was so gentle that it was hardly a threat and more of an invitation to keep being a shithead. “I was havin’ such a wonderful dream! And you, ” He exaggerated the ‘you’ with a pointed jab to the other’s chest. “-ruined it!!”
Sword briefly raised an eyebrow, before leaning himself back against the bedframe with an incredibly over-dramatic expression. Rocket would’ve thought he’d just gotten stabbed if he hadn’t known any better.
“ Oh! The mere look of my face is enough to ruin you?!” They both knew damn well that wasn’t what Rocket meant. Yet it was all part of the little game that the duo always played. The rocketeer scoffed, letting out a quiet ‘oh my gods’ beneath his breath, and all Sword did was flash him a grin and proceed with his monologue. “And here I thought you loved me! I thought we had something, Rocket, I truly did! How could you betray me like this?! You wound me!”
“Yeah? Keep wakin’ me up at dawn’s asscrack and maybe I‘ll betray you again!” He shot back, almost appalled at the ridiculousness of the interaction. But it was so normal. It was so them , and it was a love that was special to just the two of them, it was a profession of adoration that no other demon in the inphinity could hold. Sword’s face scrunched up, mouth agape in offense through Rocket’s words, but it was never serious and that’s what made it so special.
Sword sat himself up with a huff, turning himself to the other side of the bed with his nose pointed upwards. “Well alright, fine! Go back to bed! You’ll just have to miss out on the scrambled eggs I was preparing to make for you.”
Rocket paused. Sword briefly turned his head back to look at the other’s expression. His smirk only grew when he did, turning his head back again to declare, “And I was gonna get you some melted cheese, too! How unfortunate. And made with soo much love—”
Goddamnit.
“You're an asshole.”
“You love it.”
"Course I do, weirdo."
"Proven right yet again!"
“Tais-toi, beau gosse.”
"I- I'm sorry?!"
Rocket let out something of a laugh as his gaze focused on the swordsman's now-very-red face. It was far from the first time he said something like that, but it always caught him so off guard, and he really couldn't lie- he always found it really really funny. And endearing. But funny, mostly. The other simply gave him a huff, crossing his arms and grumbling, "You're so mean to me." All Rocket did was roll his eyes.
The blue demon yawned, somewhat mixed with a sigh as he turned his body to get out of bed. Sword was a step ahead of him, turning to the other side and giving a stretch. His wings almost whacked Rocket, but he didn’t mind all too much- didn’t even really flinch. He’s had plenty of time to get used to the other’s wings. From when they first met, to when they became wary acquaintances, to when they became friends, to when they had their sleepovers, to when they phought together, to when Rocket fell asleep in Sword’s arms as he wrapped his wings around his body to make sure he wasn’t cold and he endlessly teased the rocketeer over it in the morning—
Just sorta got used to it along the way. It was like Rocket with his prosthetics, it’s a part of life.
Which, speaking of, he underwent the same routine he did every morning when it came to them. He briefly checked for any irritation (there wasn’t any, he was good about maintaining his residual limbs,) and slipped a pair of liner socks onto each respective nubs. His prosthetic leg sat right below the bed, to which Rocket stepped into the slot and promptly stood himself up. Did a little march to make sure it was fitted properly. He did the same for his arm, reaching over to a little table reserved to the prosthetic besides their nightstand.
Into the socket, snap it in place, roll the shoulder, muscle memory. It was a mundane routine. Some might find it a bit grating, boring, monotone- but Rocket couldn’t help but absorb it all in, as though it were a key to his soul. Because it was such a typical morning. It was their typical morning. And he got to share it with Sword.
Sword who, after briefly checking over his wings for any discomfort or pin feathers, was the second of the duo to get up- shooting a little smile back at Rocket before making his way over to the kitchen. Rocket was quick to follow, rolling his eyes and trailing right behind. Speeding up a little in the process, to reach forth and hold his rough hand, slightly leaning towards his body in the process with still-sunken eyes. Sword squeezed it back. Routine.
It’s all routine.
—
Warm sunlight gently leaked itself through the windows, leaving nothing but an orange haze in its hold. The brisk air of the morning felt as crisp as ever, as it typically did at such early mornings- Sword felt as though he was gonna get a headache from how the sun glared in his vision. The air of the kitchen left behind nothing but a sweet serenade- their senses holding nothing but the sizzling of a pan and the smell of slightly burnt eggs. A radio sat among the scattered utensils, chiming with a gentle tune of a song.
Sword hovered over the countertop with a slightly frustrated glare, pursing his lips as he gripped at the pan hovering above the stove. He had something of a habit to speak before he acted- challenge before he could assess his bearings. And now here he was, shuffling around scrambled now burnt eggs while his husband clung to his back in a sleepy haze. He looked a bit like a koala. It was cute, despite the strain it put on his muscles.
Zuka was the one who’d taught them this particular recipe. Sword especially. He’d recalled sometime after he’d asked for his blessings, Zuka sat him down and taught him an influx of tidbits about the rocketeer. (Did you know? Apparently Rocket has a soft spot for classical music. He’d never admit it, but Zuka had found him falling asleep to it a number of times.) Though as many times as Sword practiced, and as many times as they went through this routine, he still ended up burning the eggs more times than he’d like to admit.
Rocket didn’t mind all that much, though. If anything, he liked it better like that.
Eventually Sword had switched the burner off, almost in perfect sync with the radio song. Rocket lifted his heavy eyelids to gaze at the taller, before drifting his eyesight to the now-emptied pan after Sword had scraped its contents onto two paper plates. He shifted his body to turn around, lightly prying off his husband from his back in the process.
“C’mon, darling, we’ve gotta eat.” The swordsman chuckled with a gentle edge. The blue demon let out a playful groan and stepped back, smiling through his sleepy expression and simultaneously dramatizing his anguish. Really, how dare he push him off his back at his weakest hour? Sword’s own softened at the sight, and the two reconvened at their dining table.
The scent of their breakfast made the air feel a bit more energetic now. Rocket perked himself up, though he still slumped over his own chair as he yanked a fistfull of scrambled eggs out of his plate. Sword stared. The first time he saw Rocket do that, he almost couldn’t believe he’d fallen head over heels for such a weirdo. Key word, almost, because that was exactly how Sword loved him. He rolled his eyes at the sight, taking a silver fork set on the table prior and jabbed at his own plate.
“I burnt it a lil.” He admitted, though they both already knew.
“I know. I like it.” His husband replied, though they both still knew.
Sword found himself smiling- but when was he not when he got to share his mornings with Rocket?- cocking his head down to focus back on their dish. The song on the radio shifted as he did, prompting the blue rocketeer’s eyes to light up in recognition. Sword took notice, observing as he practically shot himself out of the chair with a beaming grin.
“You know this song?” Sword questioned with an expression of amusement growing upon his face. Rocket returned the sentiment, stars practically shining in his eyes. They always looked like little galaxies to him. Sword couldn’t get enough of it.
The blue rocketeer across from him nodded vigorously, shifting himself to the side with reminisce. “Yeah! It’s one of my dad’s favorites. I’d hear him play it around while workin’ in the mornings.” Rocket leaned forwards a little bit in a quiet bout of thought. “Y’know, never really got the old man’s taste in music. He was really into some classical stuff- but like, also into heavy rock? Least I think so from some old albums.” His expression shifted once again, churning to a look of bittersweet fondness at the words he let spill out of his brain. “Started listening to some stuff cause of him, and I started to like… actually get into it? Like, uh, Swan Lake,” He listed off his fingers, “The Seals Lullaby, somethin’ bout two roads… y'know the stuff! Between you and me,” Now he bore a smirk across his face. It was so endearing. “I used to play it in front of him all the time. Like, intentionally. I think I’ve caught him smiling bout it a few times.” Then he ended with a laugh, before going off about some other thing.
Rocket’s lips were curved into the same warmth that was emitted through the heat of the morning’s sun, and all Sword did was listen, giving him the same warmth in return. It was the same as they always did. It was so routine.
Sword sincerely hopes he'll get to spend every day like this.
Rocket hopes the same.