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Byakuya was used to waking on his own, early in the morning, at precisely the same time each day. His internal clock was, due to years and years of discipline, as near perfect as any human body could hope to achieve, if not moreso.
He would wake each morning without a hint of drowsiness, roll out of bed and onto his feet elegantly and start his perfectly mapped and planned morning routine, just as he always had.
The first thing he noticed, this particular morning, was that he had woken five minutes later than usual, and the realization sent a dismayed jolt down his spine.
The second thing he noticed, just moments later, was that there was some warm, breathing mass lodged tightly between his arms, and something about that helped quell the rising panic in his gut, which hardly made any sense.
He blinked his eyes of sleep, letting the light flood in and out of his vision- it was still hardly light at all, but still, his eyes needed to adjust from the contrast of total darkness. Even before he was able to distinguish him entirely, Makoto’s scent washed over him, although he was too tired to much worry about why that was something he was able to identify at all.
This was strange, he noted. His mind was unusually fuzzy, a pleasant calmness despite the unusual disruption from the routine he had become so accustomed to. This was hardly the worst thing he could imagine…
He shook his head sharply to clear it of such a sentimental thought. This was hardly a good thing. The fool had a way of worming into his life, into his thoughts, and into his bed, apparently- he was making him weaker, as evidenced by the fact that he didn’t even resent him for it.
Or maybe it was early, and that was what was clouding his thoughts so terribly. The other man felt nice in his arms, warm and real and breathing gently against him, and his hardly conscious mind was jumping to conclusions. It wasn’t like he really cared, not truly, and he scoffed at the notion. Makoto stirred beside him, making some pathetic incoherent mumbling noise, and Byakuya stopped moving except to pull him just slightly closer.
He let his eyes fall shut, for just a moment, to indulge in the feeling of their chests rising and falling together, to wonder what idiodic thing the other man might be dreaming of- Makoto was in his arms, and something about the thought that he had felt safe enough to drift off to sleep beside him in the first place made his chest flutter, probably because of the sheer idiocy of it all- Makoto knew what he had done, been willing to do back in hopes peak, that he had been more than willing to kill him, and still he seemed to find it in his hopelessly forgiving little heart to trust in him so fully, that he was so willing to strip himself of every possible defense before him. That kind of stupidity made his cheeks burn, his heart race like he was coming down with a fever, and he hated it more than anything.
He opened his eyes again, before sleep could even think about trying to pull him back in. His eyes fell on Makoto’s freckles, the rise and fall of his cheeks with each breath, his hair tousled by his own breath. He hardly had to worry whether he was safe, when he could see him, feel him in his hold, and he supposed that was one less thing to worry about. He always seemed to be getting himself into trouble, into hopeless circumstances that made his heart stretch and ache and worry in a way that it was surely never meant to. He had proven himself capable, certainly, but no amount of capability would stop him from worrying at some base level, no matter how irrational thoughts like those felt.
Makoto’s nose twitched, and he mumbled something under his breath, and byakuya leaned forwards minutely to press a brief kiss against his cheek, warm and firm, and he hated how warm it made him feel, content in some way that felt far too childish for someone like him. Perhaps it made sense that he felt so comforted, his brain lighting up at the information presented to it, a warm, soft body in his arms. Perhaps he was coded to react in such a way to something like that, but he resented the idea that he might be falling for such common comforts so easily. He was stronger than that. Perhaps it was some comfort that he could hardly imagine anyone else in makoto's place. Maybe that made it worse. He was hardly any ordinary man, and he thought maybe there would be no one else quite like him ever again, and his soft, freckled hands held onto his heart in a vice grip.
Byakuya wished he could really kiss him. He liked him better when he was awake, full of life and bursting with foolish optimistic energy- although he was far more annoying in that state. This was nice, he thought absently, seeing him so truly calm and at ease in a way that he could only really recall from his memories of him. He let his fingers trace idle circles against his shoulder. Perhaps, then, it felt cruel to wake him, no matter how desperately he longed to see his eyes open drearily, wide and confused as he took in his surroundings, distantly registering who was in front of him, whose bed he lay in. Perhaps he would say his name, dull and scratchy from sleep and with a little too much adoration, or perhaps byakuya’s sleep addled mind was providing him with what he wished to hear. No, that hardly seemed like him…
So he pressed his face into the crook of Makoto’s shoulder, warm and perfect, and he let his eyes fall shut once again. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to lay here, at least until the sun rose more fully. He hardly felt like stepping into the cold world outside of his duvet, or hearing Makoto’s nagging about leaving him in his bed alone.