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Sunlight filters into the window gently, warming the air in the bedroom with warmth from the early morning sun. Beyond the crystalline windowpanes, the sun is rising, painting the clouds below it a series of vibrant pinks, oranges, and purples. Through cracked blinds and raised, sheer curtains, Ky Kiske needs to only crack an eye at the sun's position to determine that it can't be more than seven in the morning.
It's early for a king to be awake, but then again, he's always been an early-riser, even since the Crusades. In his ever-focused mind, sacrificing sleeping in for an extra hour or two of training was a well-worth it trade. Once the war ended, he woke up early to do paperwork and jump-start his day. Following his ascent to the throne, he would set alarms for as early as 6 A.M. to debrief himself on paperwork and organize his office.
He's never quite prioritized his own needs where his sleep schedule is concerned. Always sleepy behind closed doors, covering up dark circles under his eyes with thick concealer, drinking cups of coffee a day to fight to stay awake.
But, they say that married life changes a person.
Now, when he wakes up this bright and early in the morning, he wakes up for the sole reason of turning his head to the left and seeing his beloved wife laying there, still asleep, legs intertwined with his. She's cuddled into his side, her head resting on his strong shoulder, arms wrapped around him to keep him holding her (as if he would ever leave). The sunlight through their bedroom window casts little, pretty shadows of saccharine light against her soft cheek. Her indigo hair is sprawled out across his pillows- no, *their*s- in a way that's so domestic that he almost wakes her up with a deep kiss and tells her again and again that he loves her more than she could ever hope to reciprocate.
(But she does. Their affections for one another are steadfast twin flames, both burning so brightly that it's almost pointless to draw comparison.)
Ky lifts his head from his pillow for a moment, stretching. Dizzy, almost subconsciously registering his movements, balls her hands up against his bare chest, breathing warmly against his side-- she doesn't want him to go. He doesn't either.
He collapses once more into the mattress and turns to his side so he can better admire her. As he shifts, he moves her just slightly, keeping as much of her original position as possible without causing her any pain. He puts his arms around her, holding her back and moving her in to lay against his chest, her head under his chin, nose tickling the crook of his neck.
His fingertips slowly, subtly climb up the back of her soft, satin pajamas until one hand becomes intertwined with her long, wavy hair. She doesn't sleep with it in any particular fixture like braids or a bun, which he did, at some point, admittedly think she must; how could her lovely locks be so natural that she wouldn't do any sort of hair prep before bed?
(Prior to their marriage consummation, he always thought bedhead looked messy and horrid on a person, but Dizzy could wake up in the morning and walk into a conference without even a single brush of her hair and she'd look every bit as beautiful as otherwise.)
On occasion, before important days, she'll put in rollers and curlers and sleep in them, two centuries of hair-care trends suddenly making a reappearance-- but he insists that she never has to do anything because she's ethereal as is. Though, if he's truthful, it's less-so about telling her things she already knows about herself and more about the fact that if she wears her hair down, he can cars through it and play with the ends while she sleeps at his side.
Being an early riser has its perks.
So, one of his hands draws circles into her back while the other strokes the side of her head lovingly, fingertips curling around strands of her hair as her sleepy exhales cast warmth against the skin of his neck.
It's the perfect arrangement: Ky gets the privilege of being awake enough to see his wife in such a peaceful, vulnerable state *and* consequently, he's awake enough to understand that this side of her is not one she can share with nearly anyone else. He gets to see the woman she truly is because she has trust in him. It's an honor and a burden; he's honored to have her love and burdened with not being able to express it in front of the public.
Outside of these walls, the two of them aren't Ky and Dizzy Kiske. They're a human and a gear and their whole relationship is taboo. They're not allowed to hold one another and snuggle in the mornings. She's not allowed to wear his baggier shirts when she climbs out of bed and walks to his suite bathroom. He's not allowed to paint her nails and kiss her knuckles after each coat.
"Honey," Ky's heart swells with love and fondness after each passing second; he can hear her heartbeat against his chest and it's impossible not to say *something* in the face of that blessing, "good morning."
His voice is low and mumbled-- he doesn't actually want to wake her. Dizzy works herself to death to "prove that she deserves to be by his side" (even though she doesn't have to do anything to receive his love). He knows she wants to be useful but really, she's amazing the way she is and he won't have anyone, even herself, thinking that she has to do something to warrant a place by his side.
Nonetheless, she works so hard for him, for their child, for their *country* that he knows she needs the sleep. An exhausted queen should always catch an extra hour of well-deserved rest and relaxation in spite of herself.
Ky kisses the top of her head gingerly. It's his first kiss of the morning-- for these things tend to be one decided kiss and then spiral into one more, one more, one more until he needs to use a washcloth to scrub her lip tint from his face-- so he tries to keep it brief, tries not to overwhelm her with the love he gives as easily as breathing.
"You look beautiful as always," he whispers into her hair.
One more kiss for good measure.
"I must be the luckiest man in the world."
And one more to the crown of her head.
The wicked pattern is once again unbeatable this morning as three sweet kisses become four, then five, then six. Ky finds that just kissing her once is rarely enough and, with how beautiful she looks this morning and how she persistently clings to his muscular waist, how could it be any different this morning?
"Sleep tight--" Ky continues, but before he can fully whisper another love-stricken sentence, the bedroom door is swung open with a kick.
A *kick*.
The First King of Illyria's bedroom door is *kicked* open.
And after that, once it's been properly thrashed open, a young boy with Ky's own strawberry-blonde hair bounds in, still dressed in his dinosaur-patterned pajamas. An eye patch covers up one of his eyes, but it's still plainly visible that he has his mother's face. He has her sappy, sweet smile, slim nose, and long lashes. He has her cheekbones and dimples.
But he has his father's authoritative stance and strikingly soft hair.
"*Sin*," Ky says, his voice lower and a good deal more stern, "what did we tell you about knocking?"
"Well," Sin giggles as Ky turns his head against the pillow to get a better look at his baby boy, "Mom says I don't need to knock if I'm having a nightmare!"
"Well, are you having a nightmare?"
Sin shakes his head, tousling his messy hair. "Nope! But I brought breakfast!"
"Breakfast? Wh--" Dizzy stirs against Ky's chest and he immediately puts a finger to his lips. "Keep it down or you'll wake up your mother."
"But I have breakfast for her too!" Sin says sheepishly. "Mommy, get up--"
As if instantly reacting to the presence of her son in the room, Dizzy's head slowly lifts from the mattress. She rubs her eyes sleepily, murmuring, "Sin? Is that you?"
"Good morning!" Sin laughs.
"I told him to be quieter," Ky sighs, "because you need sleep."
Dizzy just smiles at that. "Thank you, dear, but this has to be one of the best wake-ups I've ever had! C'mere, Sin! Come join us on the bed!" She holds her arms out to their boy, now sitting upright, sheets pooled around her waist.
With Dizzy no longer pressed to his side, Ky turns around to face Sin too, only to see that in his hands, he's holding a metal serving tin with a plastic box of muffins within it. With every passing second, the boy bounces on the balls of his feet, pushing the muffin caddy on the tray closer and closer to his parents.
"Oh my, are those for us?" Dizzy giggles as Sin sets down the tray on Ky's bedside table and climbs into bed directly over Ky. One particular wiggle sends Sin's foot into Ky's rib, earning him a cough of pain, but also of pride in how strong his son has become. Painful as it is for him to climb into bed these days due to his muscle and rapid physical growth, it's also a test to his positive eating habits, frequent exercise, and plentiful sleep, which is more of a blessing than a sole kick is a nuisance.
"Yep!" Sin affirms, snuggling right in the slim space between Dizzy and Ky, wasting no time in climbing under the covers and tucking his young face into his mother's shoulder. "Made 'em myself, too!"
Ky looks over to the bedside table and is met with a very contrary sight. As previously observed, the muffins are in a little plastic caddy, holding about eight in the encasement. The top plastic lid and bottom flooring are secured by a long sticker that says "VENOM'S BAKERY: BAKING WITH SKILL FLAVORS THAT KILL". It has the ingredients listed, allergen information, a little graphic of an unpleasantly familiar robotic man bearing Ky's likeness, and even a mini sticker that reads "retail price: $5.66" towards the bottom.
"You *made* them?" Ky raises a brow, turning back over so that he lays on his side and faces his little family.
"Sure did, pops!" Sin stretches out an arm to Ky's side and pulls him into an embrace, nestling himself between his parents, almost hidden entirely under the blankets on the bed.
He wants to chuckle at Sin's lack of foresight. To pull off the illusion of having made the muffins yourself, you first need to dispose of the plastic casing. . . Oh, to be five years old again, so naive and clueless.
"Good job, Sin," Ky finds himself acquiescing to his son's rather obvious lie, if only because his happiness at the idea of doing something for his parents is moving.
Dizzy fusses with the little hairs on the top of Sin's head motherly, trying to smoothen out his bedhead. "Yes! You're thoughtful as always, dear!"
Ky leans in and presses a kiss to the crown of Sin's head, then leans over him to give Dizzy a kiss on the cheek.
"I love you both so much," he confesses suddenly, hands wrapping around the both of them so he can hug them at the same time, holding them as close to himself as possible. "You're the best family a man could hope for. A true blessing."
"Ew, dad, stop getting all *mushy*." Sin wrinkles his nose in childlike disgust. "Delilah's dad is mushy too and it's gross!"
"I hope that one day, you'll love someone yourself. Then, you'll understand, Sin." Ky replies simply, rubbing Sin's back.
Sin hums. "Yeah, yeah. El says the same thing."
Dizzy giggles lightly, igniting a fire of infatuation in Ky's heart. "Does she?"
"Yeah and it's weird because she--," Sin yawns loudly into Ky's shoulder, "--she doesn't even have a girlfriend yet. Ram does. But Ram isn't all weird and gross about it."
Ky gives Sin an amused glare. "That does sound about right."
"Are you sleepy, love?" Dizzy asks Sin, "Because if you are, you can close your eyes."
"N-No, I'm awake!" Sin protests, "And besides, it's breakfast time! So we gotta eat our muffins before they get cold from the oven."
But, despite this firm stance of his, after ten minutes, he is fast asleep between his parents, snuggled up between them with his head in Ky's chest and his body sprawled out, legs up on top of Dizzy's.
The muffins, still in their plastic casing, are forgotten on the bedside table.
And, for the first time in almost fifteen years, Ky Kiske sleeps in.