Work Text:
If there’s one thing Kira is glad she isn’t afraid of, it’s heights.
From the balcony of their fifteenth floor apartment, it feels like the entire town is laid bare at her feet. She can see the verdant square of grass in front of city hall, the glint of hundreds of glass windows under the still-rising sun, the darker smudge off on the horizon where the buildings gradually trickle off into dark forest. There isn’t a lot of traffic at this hour and, miraculously, not a single fire truck has gone screaming by in the last fifteen minutes.
All told, it’s a pretty beautiful view, and it serves as a decent enough backdrop for the essay she has to write. It’s due in two days and thankfully, she’s gotten a fair chunk of it done.
Well, maybe just a little bit.
Well, maybe she hasn’t really done much more than choose a topic.
So even though she would really rather be inside, still curled up beside her partner, she’s curled up in one of their (thankfully cushy) patio chairs instead, a steaming cup of tea sitting beside the stack of books she borrowed from the library. Her laptop is on the small folding table in front of her and the cursor seems to be mocking her, blinking every few seconds, the only mark on the otherwise blank word document.
She types her name in the top right corner and then groans, pushing loose wisps of her hair away from her face.
She has no idea how she’s going to finish this paper in only forty-eight hours. It’s definitely a seventy-two hour paper at the least.
She’s managed to add her student number and a title placeholder under her name by the time the balcony door squeaks open behind her. The smell of coffee greets her even before she turns around to see Cora literally stumbling outside, preternatural balance and grace apparently still slumbering.
“Hi,” Kira says, biting back a giggle when Cora simply grunts in response. Their hair is an absolute disaster of rat’s nest and flyaways, and they’re wearing the same outfit they went to sleep in: a loose pair of sweatpants and a ragged, hole-ridden cropped shirt advertising a local band who split up months ago. Their fingers are wrapped tightly around an oversized mug that Kira gave them as an anniversary present only a few weeks before.
(There's at least a dozen other mugs in the cabinets, but Cora hasn’t used a different one since.)
Cora sets their coffee down beside Kira’s tea before bending down to touch their toes. Their back cracks loud enough for Kira to wince, but Cora simply groans contently.
“Why are you up so early?” they ask, voice still rough with sleep.
“Sadly, this essay isn’t going to finish itself,” Kira says, gesturing to her laptop. “Why are-”
“Bed was empty,” Cora interrupts, taking a huge sip of coffee, somehow not burning themselves even though steam is still rolling over the rim of the mug. Kira understands; much as she likes sleeping in, when Cora gets up early for class or work, she always has a hard time drifting back off. Before Kira can say anything else, Cora sets their mug back down and tugs at Kira’s wrist. Kira knows what’s being asked; she gets to her bare feet and Cora slides around her, sitting down in the chair. Once they’re situated, they take Kira’s wrist again and gently pull her back down, until Kira is squarely in their lap.
“Comfy?” Kira asks, wiggling slightly so that she’s better positioned on Cora’s firm thighs.
“Mm,” Cora mumbles, resting their cheek between Kira’s shoulder blades and wrapping their arms around her waist. They aren’t wearing a binder today and their breasts are soft against Kira’s back.
“Don’t fall asleep back there,” Kira teases, gently rubbing her thumb against the knob of Cora’s wrist.
Cora mumbles something completely indecipherable and simply rubs their cheek against Kira’s back. Kira pulls the table closer so that she can continue to work on her essay.
Unsurprisingly, within ten minutes, Cora’s arms have loosened slightly around her waist and Kira can hear soft snoring coming from behind her. She simply smiles, leans over the edge of the chair to grab her tea and continues to tentatively type out an outline for her paper in another document.
She still has no idea how she’s going to finish this paper in only two days, but she couldn’t ask for a better work environment.
(Even if the volume of Cora’s snoring is beginning to rise from gentle to buzzsaw.)