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Wanderer opens his eyes to a sunbeam drilling directly into them. He’d normally immediately move stations, but both fortunately and unfortunately someone has decided to use his chest as a pillow. He settles for lazily throwing an arm over his eyes, loosing a sigh.
The rise and fall of his chest prompts a hum from his bedmate, who nuzzles impossibly closer in his blissful slumber. Aether always looks so at peace when he’s asleep, and Wanderer envies whatever sweet dreams he’s having in this moment. For now, though, he doesn’t wake the sleeping outlander, instead threading the fingers of his unoccupied hand through golden tresses of hair and relishing the softness he feels there.
The room is silent, save for the deep, unlabored breaths Aether looses as his arms slowly creep around Wanderer’s torso, finally settling in a comfortable embrace. Wanderer allows it, knowing that any attempt to stop it would wake Aether up. Besides, he doesn’t want to wake Aether up. He likes to cause trouble, sure, but to disturb someone so peaceful? He doesn’t have the heart nor the drive to do it.
Wanderer likes watching Aether sleep, especially in the mornings, when the sun makes Aether’s hair gleam like polished gold. There’s a faint dusting of pink atop Aether’s cheeks, and Wanderer wonders what manner of dream he’s having. He’ll never know as things are, so he instead settles for shifting slightly in place to make himself more comfortable and ignoring the habitual impulse to mutter something rude.
Even in a situation like this, free of troubles and any pressing matters, Wanderer falls back into old habits and comes off as abrasive and cruel. It’s something he’s working on — something Aether is trying to help with. Aether’s asleep now, and therefore can’t chastise or correct him, but Wanderer still keeps his mouth shut and tries to be verbally kind as well as physically.
“You’re so…” Wanderer trails off, searching for a nicer term than his usual vernacular. In the end, he settles on an embarrassing, “…pretty.”
“Thanks,” he hears Aether mumble, and his face heats up as he realizes that the damned idiot has been awake for quite a while now. He uncovers his eyes, ignoring the glare of the sun as he sits up as much as he can with Aether still on top of him — which is to say, not at all.
“Y-You…!” Wanderer sputters, eyes wide and cheeks burning. “How long have you been awake?!”
“Long enough to hug you,” Aether replies with a yawn. “And to feel you petting my hair. Feels nice, by the way. You should do that more often.”
“Well, now I’m not doing it at all,” Wanderer huffs, but he doesn’t move his hand from where it’s still interwoven with the aforementioned hair.
“So spiteful this early in the morning,” Aether mumbles. “Can’t you think of a better way to spend your time?”
“I haven’t been able to do much of anything with you like… this,” Wanderer retorts, gesturing to Aether with his free arm.
“You’re doing something,” Aether argues, voice still slow with sleep.
“Which is?” Wanderer lifts an eyebrow.
Aether smiles, and the skin around his eyes crinkles with drowsy mirth. “You’re loving me.”
At that, Wanderer falls silent, closing his mouth with an audible click. He supposes Aether is right, embarrassingly-worded as the claim is, and any desire to keep arguing fades away. Even so, he refuses to agree out loud.
Aether shifts so he can hug Wanderer better, and the puppet lets him, both hands threading through Aether’s unbraided hair and idly combing it out. Aether returns the affection in kind, brushing a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then both cheeks, and then finally his lips. Each one is chaste, but filled with affection nonetheless, and it’s a matter of three out of the six before Wanderer’s smiling.
Suddenly, the annoying assault of the sun on his eyes is the last thing on his mind.