Good Morning

It’s quiet in their bedroom, dead silent until the sounds register in his brain; the ticking of the clock, the raindrops falling and the birds chirping from the outside can be heard with the occasional sound of cars or airplanes.

It’s quite the Sunday Yifan is expecting with Yixing just snuggled to his chest, the bed weather causing them to crave for more warmth. This is enough for him, just to have Yixing close and secure in his arms; his whole world wrapped tightly within his arms, never to let go. 

From above he can only see the tip of Yixing’s nose and part of his forehead but he doesn’t need to see to know that his boyfriend’s lashes are splayed against his cheekbones, that his plump lips are parted as he lets out breaths of air that directly warm Yifan’s chest. Yifan has seen that face so many times he can describe it down to the smallest detail. He’s seen it so many times yet he always wants to look at it, Yixing’s most peaceful expression.

He redirects his attention from the clock that says it’s already 8am, even if the lack of sunlight tells him otherwise, to Yixing’s even breathing, hoping to get more sleep than he usually gets. Soon enough his eyes are heavy with sleep again with nothing but Yixing’s breathing lulling him to dreamland.

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Yixing has never been one to sleep in because he likes being up and doing something but Yifan feels too warm and too good to let go.

He cracks an eye open and there’s a lack of light seeping into their room. He assumes it’s still too early in the morning but then he hears the howling of the wind from the outside that tells him otherwise. He looks at their clock and it says nine-thirty.

For a minute, he panicked that he might be late for his class but the hand wrapped tightly around his shoulder assures him that no, he isn’t. If he was, Yifan shouldn’t be here and if he still was then the older would be dragging his body to the shower already.

He takes this moment to look up and watch Yifan sleep. It’s a rare opportunity, considering the fact that the older is always the first to wake up even on Sundays. So Yixing takes it all in, how Yifan’s usually creased forehead is smooth with no hints of stress, how his nose is just as magnificent even in the low light, how his eyes are closed with his long lashes resting on his cheekbones, how his lips are slightly parted as he produces light snores that Yixing thinks are cute, how his whole body is so relaxed, so un-Yifan in many sense but is still Yifan. He removes his arm from around Yifan’s waist and lightly trails his forefinger from Yifan’s forehead to his lips before pulling himself up to give those same lips a light peck.

“Good morning.” He whispers against Yifan’s lips and the hand that has fallen from his shoulder to his waist tightens before loosening.

“Mornin’.” The older greets back and the whole room falls silent again.