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Bob refuses to get out of bed before you do.
It doesn't matter whether he's tossing and turning, phone illuminating his face in the otherwise dark room while he scrolls mindlessly on social media through different apps and posts he doesn't really care about.
He'll stay up, playing an app game that has him struggling to not rage out while you're soundly asleep and quiet except for the little snores that you produce every so often, making him snap out of it and mumble little praises while he struggles not to hold you as close as possible.
Although not always can he stay focused while playing a game- not even enough to be on his phone.
He almost wishes he could go back to sleep if it wasn't for his brain going wild at every second, which is what usually rendered him awake at early times in the morning before the clock even strikes six.
If he could just relax into it like you did, easing slowly into shallow dreams and whispered phrases, he'd be plastered to you, and asleep.
He wanted to get up- that's what he'd convinced himself. That, surely, if you weren't by his side he'd have been able to make an effort within the silent dawns and quiet footsteps across the cold hardwood floors that lined the tower and refused to creak under his gentle strut towards the kitchen.
That if, just maybe, he'd be in the training room right now practicing his punches and stamina by running on the treadmill for an hour or so to get all the energy out of his system before everyone else awoke.
He could even hear the doors beside your room click open, the heavy morning fatigue of Yelena announcing herself as she dragged her feet to the kitchen, and Ava's slippered steps that he could only hear because she had them on- otherwise she's eerily silent.
Because of the serum, if he really focused, he'd hear the blender that he knew Alexei used to do his usual disgusting morning shake he proclaimed helped with 'everything digestive system needs to be strong!' though Bob immediately regretted trying it the one time he was very convincing- he almost didn't make it to the trash can.
He can hear the frying of Bucky's four eggs and John's three with two sausages beside each other, both mumbling curses and withdrawing because of a pop of the egg splashing them, or at the fact that they both 'had to make breakfast at the time the other was' and, 'couldn't help themselves to wait'
Bob accidentally got in the middle of that, too, although it was much more emotionally scarring than physical, when they both looked at him like they were about to pounce and he was going to be the next meat they fried.
Ava opted for toast, and Yelena scounging for whatever she could find that made it quick and easy while she recovered from getting out of bed.
Bob had learned not to question anything anymore, so he just didn't ask.
And, well, he couldn't because he was glued to your mattress.
To his 'dismay' he'd put it, he was always pleasantly curled up into your side, though sweaty somehow ran cold when beside you and your body heat had tended to him like a sickness had given way just because you commanded it.
Like somehow you reversed the way he worked, rewired his clockwork. Maybe because of sentry feeling dialed down when by your side, almost like an off-switch when he also felt at peace- you'd become hotter then he had.
He had a clue that was why, but he didn't want you to soak in the glory of rendering him so down bad you completely changed his newly wired anatomy. Somehow, while deeply in sleep and unconsciousness, were bossing him around and you refused to stop!
Some days while stuck, he bit his lip to stop himself from giggling at the ridiculous yet endearing thoughts to tease you with when you finally wake up, "such a bad example to set", with his badly done pokerface he'd try to retain but broke immediately into his signature teasing smile seeing how you had deadpanned while being met with his antics so early on in the day.
A grumpy, definitely not morning person being met with the earliest riser in the world. He loved seeing you pout. Unless it was caused by someone else, of course.
What he didn't admit was the way he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head while admiring your sleeping form, stroking you while he closed his eyes and breathed you in for a moment, just to relish in the domestic peace of the birds chirping and the way you were beautifully draped across his mattress, smelling like you. Your personal scent. He was obsessed. It was ingrained in his bloodstream.
One hand over his pillow instead of his waist, which, quite frankly, he took very much offense to- he'd frown playfully in the morning and you'd roll your eyes commenting on how dramatic he is.
These mornings were the kindest to him. That's truly what he hadn't said out loud, not yet.
No nightmares alive and constricting him to mental confines while squirming, just easy sighs and the scent of your chapstick still lingering of when he kissed it off your lips, minty and it made him pucker at the unexpected smell.
He reminisced at the night before, both of you undoing the other, even just through sensual rubbing and touches and the act of closeness while your legs were tangled and hands resting underneath shirts just to be there.
He loved finding the hem, hand traveling up your stomach just to rest it on the soft skin, sometimes pushing back your shirt to kiss a path up to your collarbones.
He didn't even mean it sexually, he just loved the feel of you giggling and squirming below at his gentle fingertips, exploring every inch you'd allow him to and resting his head between your breasts like a pillow.
And you loved the closeness of it, how you felt so intertwined and cared for when he kneaded your sides and planted little love bites some places along the way, in a way of saying you're mine. Hidden, and carved out just for you to see and him to admire.
To provide a grounding. A knowing, that you loved his touch- needed it, even.
And when your eyes finally started to blink open, rubbing them awake with your hand, you were met with the sight of your boyfriend dumbly smiling at you like you had made his morning already.
"Baby?" You grumbled, hardly coherent.
"Yes, my love?" He said while cupping your cheek and rubbing it with his thumb, a gesture he had made habit over the last few weeks when you'd eventually wake.
"mm-" you yawned as he huffed out a laugh, grabbing your waist and pulling you over to make you curl up against his soft t-shirt and solid torso, head resting on his collarbone while he stroked your back
"Did you sleep well?" He mumbled in your ear like he couldn't already tell.
"f'course I did- 'cus you're here" you slap a hand over his cheek when reaching up to touch him, lazy and unintentionally harsh.
You graze the stubble that's hardly there and the warmth that encases his face. You trace his jawline, like you're memorizing it in a sleepy trance.
And he lets you. He watches, doesn't say a word, not until you're back up to his lips and he can successfully draw out a peck to your knuckles, one after the other until you're sighing happily.
And when your breathing evened out again, he didn't shake you or even attempt to wake you up.
He just watched like always, and kept firmly rubbing your back like nothing could ever detach him from you again. He wouldn't let anything- no, he'd stay here with you forever like this. Sleepy and incoherent, all his.
And he'd enjoy every last moment, right up until your alarm rang, and you'd repeat it again the next morning.