Work Text:
In bed, I watched the early morning light filter through the dewy tree branches. The leaves, just beginning to turn, glowed electric in the light - veins and imperfections highlighted by the sun’s rays. The moisture running from surfaces in silvery drops, frost already melting. Dust motes swirled in front of the gauzy curtains, settling on the art-laden windowsills. A wide, slanted patch of sun drifted in and landed on Rhys’s side of the bed, placing him in the spotlight.
It was still early, and my mind was in a haze; unable to focus on anything for too long, capable only of comprehending these bright fragments of the world, and it felt perfect. One of those crisp weekend mornings that brings with it warm beams of sunlight to cut through the chill and soften any hard edges. A day that gave us nothing to do but to spend time together, to love one another.
I shifted beneath our duvet, rearranging my pillow and rubbing my eyes against the last dredges of sleep.
When my eyes adjusted to the light and the bleariness had cleared, I saw that Rhys, too, was just waking. The palm of his hand propped his head up. His raven locks lit up by the sunlight and ruffled from sleep. His violet eyes cracked open to watch me.
He smiled, and I felt warmer than the sun from the inside out.
We moved towards each other at the same time. He opened his arms for me and pulled me into his warmth, I tangled my hands in his hair and held him close. I heard our hearts, pressed so close and beating together in perfect harmony, each one the other half.
Neither of us said anything, both of our minds still too muddled from sleep. But that was fine; there was no need to speak just yet.
Nyx was asleep.
The world was quiet.
The morning was slow.
So, we could be too.
But it wasn’t long before Nyx started to fuss, squirming and whimpering in his crib at the foot of our bed.
Before I could detangle myself from the sheets, Rhys gave me another soft kiss.
“I’ve got him. Don’t worry.” He whispered.
Nyx’s cries turned to whimpers once he was safely tucked into his father’s arms, then fell silent as Rhys provided a bottle for him and climbed back into bed, Nyx still swaddled and secure against his chest.
I questioned where he got the bottle from for only a moment before my mind moved on, for some reason unable to entertain the thought.
I had almost fallen asleep again - soothed by my family right next to me - when Rhys spoke.
“It’s chilly today. Are you warm enough?” Without waiting for an answer, he began tucking the blankets further up and tighter around us. With Nyx now settled against his shoulder, he pulled me closer to his side, got comfortable in the pillows against the headboard before pressing a line of sweet, gentle kisses to the crown of my head. I could feel his skin, soft and warm against mine as I entwined my legs with his.
I placed my hand over Rhys’s, helping him to support Nyx’s head even though he didn’t need my assistance. It was simply a comfort to me to be touching the two people I loved most.
I could have stayed like this forever. With the world outside of us non-existent and our cocoon of blankets protecting us against the chill the morning brought, keeping our family safe and sound.
But then something began tugging on my mind. A distant babble, soft words spoken in the stillness of morning. Something next to me, shifting before falling still again. Cold air seeping under the duvet. Soft hands brushing my face before grasping my hand.
It didn’t make sense.
I turned my head to look at my husband and realized this was all wrong.
Nyx wasn’t a newborn.
He was four years old.
He didn’t sleep in a crib anymore.
He had his own room. I had painted stars for him. Mor and I had hung glow-in-the-dark planets from his ceiling using fishing line.
It was like punch to the gut as I remembered the most painful truth of all of this:
Rhys wasn’t with us anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time and wouldn’t be ever again.
I turned back to him, clung to his hand, and sat up. He didn’t even look at me, just kept his eyes on Nyx. I opened my mouth to speak to him but found it impossible.
I wanted to stay, I needed him with us. I thought if I held on tight enough I could have that, but the image before me quickly began to fade.
Feeling the fingers of sleep pull away, I frantically drank the sight in: Rhys holding our son, watching him with every ounce of love in his heart, holding onto my hand against the pillows.
I wanted to remember this. Even if it wasn’t real, I wanted to stay.
Something tugged on my hand, and just like that, I was pulled into full consciousness. Pried from my husband’s side and into the real world.
The mattress dipped on his side of the bed. Where there should have been a warm chest covered in swirling tattoos, I instead found our son, still in his outer-space pajamas and with sleep wrinkles covering one side of his face.
Kneeling at my side, he was holding my hand and watching me with his big, beautiful eyes. His eyes, which were nearly identical to those I had previously been lost in.
“Good morning, little love.” I blinked back my tears as I sat up and pulled him in for a hug.
I vaguely remembered promising muffins for breakfast - and he would, without a doubt, hold me to that - but we could afford a little extra time for morning cuddles.
My heart ached for him. For myself. For everything I lost and everything he wouldn’t have.
So, I pulled him closer, held him tighter, in the hopes that it would make the hurt go away.