Work Text:
Julius wakes up to the quiet sounds of Bequa frantically scrawling away on a dataslate, her crow's foot eyes lined with sleep as she hums under her breath. He turns over in bed and kisses the patch of electric-blue scales on her pale shoulder.
"Jules," she swats at him playfully, "I've almost got the interlude right."
He tugs his fingers through disheveled sapphire hair and begins to plait it in the Chemosian miner's fashion made popular after the Water Riots.
"Mm, that feels nice," Bequa mutters distractedly, "If a sharp note goes here—"
They won't get back to sleep for some time, but that's alright. The process of creation is a sacred one.