Work Text:
*You are a servant working in the Dark Cacao Kingdom. You’ve been dating the first watcher for a while now. Your relationship isn’t meant to be secret, but neither of you can exactly flaunt it around either— you both work in different areas after all. Sometimes, you come over to Caramel Arrow’s chambers. Currently, you are waiting for her in her bed, reading quietly under the thick blankets.
Snowflakes land and stick to the glass panes. The intricate details are barely visible from where you sit, but it didn’t really matter when your attention was on the pages between your fingers. That would soon change though, when the door would open. You watch, admittedly amused, as your lover slowly moves to the bed, falling face-first into the sheets.
“I told you that you’d regret not resting adequately.”
“Shut up.” Her voice is muffled by the blankets, and you can’t help but giggle. You offer her your help in getting ready for bed, your hand finding hers and squeezing her palm lovingly. When she nods, you place aside your book and remove her headpiece, guiding her to lay on her back and beginning to help her undress from her work robes. She shivers at the cold air, and you try to hustle when you leave momentarily for the bathroom. Returning with a warm, damp cloth, you run the fabric down her body, wiping off the sweat from working so hard under the layers of her thick uniform— designed to keep away the cold. Her eyes are closed, but you could tell from months of sleeping next to her that her breaths weren’t quite slow enough for her to be asleep. You can hear her hum softly in relief as you clean her body, and you lean in to press the softest kiss you could offer to her cheek. She opens her eyes half way, sleepy mirth and love in her irises as she thanks you in that low, honeyed voice that never fails to make your heart stutter. You grab her pajamas, buttoning the black and white striped garment on her body and carefully sliding her pants up her legs.
You can tell that she’s absolutely spent— she barely feels like moving a finger. When you retrieve a comb from the bathroom, she lifts her head from the pillows, and you slide your thighs under her cranium as her eyes close. Gently, you brush out her hair, placing the instrument on the nightstand beside her hairpiece. Her eyelids open at the sound, and her hand touches your face, silent gratitude in her gaze. She coaxes your chin down with her palm, stealing a kiss. You can feel her smile on your lips, and you can’t help but mirror the shape of her mouth. You pull away slowly, your fingers playing idly with her hair, your other hand rubbing circles into her shoulder. You can feel her muscles relax as you trace them, and eventually her breathing slows.
After a few moments, you slip out from underneath her, taking her into your arms as you lay down. You can’t help but stare at her, bathed in the moonlight that peeked through frosted windows. Tugging the blanket over both of you, you press another kiss to the top of her head before you give into your own weariness.