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When Jonathan opened his eyes, he was met with utter darkness.
His gaze squinted heavily—both from tiredness and the urgency to see—at his surroundings, only the dim glow of the candlelights in the bedroom illuminating his dull vision. He tilted his chin downwards, only to be met with soft, silken tufts tickling the bottom half of his face from where Dio was tucked into his chest, head nestled against his clavicle.
Jonathan turned his head away, instead pressing his cheek against the crown of Dio’s head. The sheets rustled beneath him as he reached to rub his eyes, a small groan squeezing past his throat.
Like this, Jonathan couldn’t tell what time it was. He could only assume it was around morning, or somewhere around the day if Dio was still sleeping soundly. Dio had his legs entangled deeply with his, arms wrapped tightly around Jonathan’s middle, enveloping him whole. His long, sharp nails softly dug into his flesh—Jonathan held back a wince—holding him like he was his prey. Like, Jonathan was going to escape him.
Unfortunately, Jonathan’s limbs were beginning to feel like hardened wood if he didn’t stretch them. So, with as few jostling movements as possible, Jonathan slowly unwound himself from Dio’s deathly hold, using more strength than one would typically need to escape their sleeping megalomaniac lover in the morning. Soon, Jonathan managed to free himself, and his feet touched the bedroom floor, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He stretched his entire body, hearing his limbs pop and crack in satisfaction before his muscles relaxed. A soft sigh escaped Jonathan, and he slowly attempted to rise to his feet, wincing at the sound of the bed springs creaking, until—
“Jonathan,” Dio’s deep voice grumbled. Not Jojo. Calling him by his actual name for once.
Jonathan jumped a little. He sat back down on the mattress before he slowly turned to Dio. “Did I wake you?”
“You’ll wake the whole house up with your thunderous movements. No less wake Haruno up, you insolent oaf,” Dio scoffed, and the mattress creaked under way as his lover rose to sit—the blankets falling off his body, revealing more and more of his bare, pale skin. “What business do you have at this time?”
“It is morning, is it not?” Jonathan began, eyeing the pale sliver of sky beneath the thick curtain behind him. Giorno should be waking up soon. “Normally, most wake up around this time.”
“Well, we are not most,” Dio snarled. “Unless you wish to kill me before breakfast.”
“Dio,” Jonathan groaned. “I don’t wish to argue with you first thing in the morning—“ he let out, but was interrupted by the soft sounds of crying echoing from the other room. Giorno’s room.
“Look what you’ve done,” Dio sighed, irritated. “I’ve seen elephants move with more grace than you.”
“I didn’t—“ Jonathan began, but then sighed softly. Giorno likely woke up on his own, but of course, Dio preferred to blame Jonathan. “I’ll go get him,” he settled for instead.
“I think not,” Dio interrupted. “Children cry for such futile reasons. He’ll wear himself out. You will stay here.”
At that, Jonathan made a noise similar to a scoff. “Dio, he’s two,” he argued. “It's morning. He, like most of us, has woken up for the day. He likely wants attention. I won’t be long.”
Dio stayed silent for a few moments, but his irritation spoke loudly. His thick brows twitched with vexation, gaze averted where the three moles along his earlobe faced Jonathan. His long, dark nails clenched around the sheets beneath them, and when he shifted, more of the blanket fell, spilling around his legs.
Jonathan slowly backed away further, watching how Dio’s fingers clenched tighter around the sheets, his nails threatening to tear the soft fabric. “I will return,” he assured, his voice softer than intended. Dio said nothing, yet his silence said everything.
Jonathan still stood up from the bed to leave their room.
Giorno’s room was much lighter in comparison to the dreary, much dimmer display of their own bedroom. Glimmers of sunlight filtered in through the swishing, diaphanous curtains, and Jonathan could take in a soft breath to himself as he slid open the light fabric to allow more of the light to infiltrate the room. His room was painted yellow with pink and purple accents along the walls—coloured drawings of ladybirds, frogs, and other creatures adorning the paint. And when Jonathan got to his cot, Giorno was already standing against the wooden railing, his little fists clenched onto the surface. His silken dark locks were tousled from his slumber, brows upturned, leftover tears spilling onto his lower lashes, and his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, entire face flushed. Such a big expression for such a tiny, little face. Jonathan’s heart clenched.
“Good morning, Giorno,” Jonathan greeted, reaching over the cot for his son, holding him to his chest. Giorno sniffled, his pudgy cheeks stained with tears as he nestled his little face into Jonathan’s neck, the sticky residue of tears rubbing onto his shirt.
“Papa,” Giorno mumbled, and Jonathan pressed a warm kiss to his temple.
“Did you sleep well?” Jonathan asked, gently tapping his back in a soothing rhythm. “Did you have sweet dreams?”
Giorno made a small noise, muffled into the crook of Jonathan’s neck, and Jonathan smiled warmly. He pressed another kiss to his son’s forehead this time, before carefully walking out the door, returning to their room. To Dio.
Jonathan feared that the sudden darkness of their bedroom would lull Giorno back to sleep all over again, but discovered the soft golden glow of the lamp illuminating the room. Dio must’ve switched it on. Giorno perked up at the sight of his other father in their bed. Dio had lain back down once Jonathan left—face still twisted in that familiar irritation—but he slowly sat back up upon seeing Giorno.
“Haruno,” Dio breathed out, before his gaze fell to Jonathan. “Bring him here.”
Jonathan carefully handed Giorno to Dio, who immediately curled up into his father’s chest. Dio’s brows furrowed at the tear tracks evident across Giorno’s cheeks and reached to wipe them with his forefinger—Jonathan winced at the sight of his sharp nails so close to their son’s face.
“Dio, your nails,” Jonathan reminded, his voice strained, but Dio only scoffed at him.
“Quiet, you. You insist that I’d hurt our son.”
“Accidents can happen!” Jonathan argued, and Dio cocked a brow at him but pulled his hand away regardless with a vexed sigh.
“Sit down. The sight of you standing so stupidly is irritating me,” Dio snarled, and Jonathan rose a single brow himself before he sat down on the bed, one leg pressed to the floor and the other tucked underneath him.
With his back turned to him, Dio nudged a little closer towards Jonathan, still holding Giorno close to his chest. Dio didn’t spare him a single glance of day, but Jonathan’s lips curved into a soft grin. He met Dio halfway and moved closer towards him, with his chest almost pressing against his back, planting a warm kiss on the side of Dio’s head.
“Good morning,” he whispered, and Dio scoffed even quieter. But he didn’t move away.
“It is anything but good for me.”
Jonathan’s smile only grew wider around the edges with a chuckle. He gently brushed aside Dio’s golden tresses cascading down his nape with even gentler fingers, pressing a soft kiss to the patch of skin revealed. That had Dio glancing back behind him, his expression still twisted with vexation—yet, it highlighted the amber glimmer in his irises, accentuated by the soft glow of the lamp spilling light softly across his usually sharp features. His tufts of blonde hair tumbled across his forehead like golden, woven silk, a few strands caught in his long lashes with the longer strands spilling over his shoulder and down his muscled back. Dio’s skin was soft as Jonathan cupped the side of his face, his cold skin unusually warm, but perhaps that was due to Jonathan’s body heat emanating onto him. He carefully brushed away the strands obstructing Dio’s vision, his lover’s vexed expression seeming to dissipate the closer Dio moved towards him, and suddenly their lips were pressing together.
Jonathan made a soft sound in the back of his throat, but Dio only leaned in harder—taking and taking until he was satisfied. He had always loved to take. Dio’s hand curled around Jonathan’s muscled side, sharp nails threatening to burrow into the warm flesh, to pierce the skin until streams of crimson dribbled down, staining the white sheets spilling beneath them. Like Dio had to entwine them further, as if fate had not done that already, until their physical bodies would merge into one entity. So, Jonathan only held Dio’s face softly against his, a thumb gently stroking down his cheekbone.
“Dah!” Giorno cried out, and Jonathan jerked back, eyes wide—he had almost forgotten he was there. His smile fluttered back on his features, and he gently took their son from Dio.
“You must be hungry,” Jonathan smiled at Giorno, who only babbled gleefully against him.
Jonathan’s gaze trailed back to Dio, whose gaze flickered with a hidden intensity that Jonathan thought it was too early for—let alone with their son here—he swallowed. “I’m going to make Giorno breakfast,” Jonathan told, and Dio’s usual irritation returned to his expression. He scowled in reply, carding his fingers absentmindedly through Giorno’s dark, silken hair, over Jonathan’s shoulder, who only grinned.
He kissed Dio’s forehead—who almost seemed to lean into the affection—before standing up and walking out of their bedroom once more, taking Giorno with him.
When Jonathan had returned, the day was in full swing—Giorno had eaten his breakfast, Jonathan had managed to make something for himself, and now Giorno was in the playroom, soaking up the glimmering daylight through every window. It was a stark difference to return to their bedroom where darkness shrouded every corner, save for the candles glowing around the room.
“Dio?” Jonathan called out, squinting once more to discern between the sheets and his lover in their bed. Normally, Dio would’ve sensed his return by now. Jonathan further squinted, feeling around the sheets until his fingers met bare skin, and then the soft tufts of Dio’s hair as Jonathan’s hand travelled further up his face, and Jonathan leaned in closer—only to discover Dio’s restful expression, nestled into their duvet.
Oh. Jonathan’s expression grew fond, and his fingers gently threaded through Dio’s locks before coming to cup his face. Jonathan smiled. He watched the soft rise and fall of Dio’s chest through the blanket before he slowly leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
Then, Jonathan was pulling away as quickly as he leaned in, lips furthering from his face, fingers untangling from his hair. Until Jonathan was standing in their bedroom again, staring at his sleeping lover, who looked oddly… harmless in his sleep. Maybe, until Jonathan got too close, and Dio would rip his head off. It was such an oxymoron, especially for a megalomaniac such as his lover. Yet, with his lashes tickling his cheeks and roseate lips slightly parted—his expression reminded Jonathan of back when they were younger, and he would find Dio asleep in their library. With his arms tucked underneath his head, an array of books and study materials scattered across the wooden table and soft snores escaping him. It was odd seeing him hold an expression that wasn’t irritated, triumphant, or plain malicious. Just restful. Like he had let go of the succumbing ambitions that had plagued him so. Jonathan was unsure how they got to this point, at their parody of domesticity, with their son, who carried both of their features, their life.
It was a reality Jonathan wasn't quite sure was his, but he was living in it, and that much was enough.
Jonathan’s smile returned, “Sleep well,” he whispered, carding his fingers through Dio's hair a final time before turning away. He left a final time, ready to start his day.