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There’s just something about Sunday mornings that make you want to stay in bed all day. Maybe it’s the deliberate attempt to ignore the impending Monday blues. Or perhaps you want to enjoy your freshly washed sheets a little longer.
Truthfully, you know exactly what it is about Sunday mornings that keep you in bed, you married him after all.
Every other day of the week, Kento wakes up before you. Normally, the smell of his morning cup wakes you up in the same slow way that his coffee drips into his mug. You’d stretch lazily before getting out of bed, padding down the hall to the kitchen in his shirt and your underwear. You always find him looking outside the apartment window over the sink as he drinks.
“Good morning, my love,” he’d murmur from behind his mug when he feels your lips place a gentle kiss onto his bare back.
All you can muster in reply is another sleepy, sweet kiss.
But those early mornings aren’t meant for Sundays. No, Sundays are meant to be unrushed. Steady like the wisps of sunlight climbing up his freckled back. You like to watch as it peaks at his hair, fully encompassing him in a golden glow.
You don’t touch him during this time. You’re content to take in the rise and fall of his body and the way the comforter always seems to rest near his hips. As he lies on his stomach with his arms under his pillow, you listen to every consistent breath he takes. In and out, in and out.
Time seems to move in a way you can’t fully comprehend. It’s never long enough before he wakes up, but there is hardly enough time until he does. You aren’t granted this quiet moment on any other day of the week, and you cling to it as though time might stretch just for you. Watching the sun trace the curve of his back, you find yourself wondering what he might be dreaming about.
Eventually, he shifts and buries his face into his pillow as the world of you rouses him from his sleep. He lets out a low moan as he stretches, before turning back to face you with bleary eyes. You’re still a little lost in the reality of his languid vision, until the sound of a wailing ambulance starts up outside your building, shaking you from your moment of heaven.
He snorts quietly at your surprise. You reach out and gently move his hair out of his eyes before cupping his cheek, smiling bashfully.
“Good morning, my love,” he murmurs as he closes his eyes under your touch. His hand comes out from under his pillow to cover yours, keeping your palm to his warm cheek. You can feel the vibration of his voice when he speaks. “I missed you.”
A small huff of amusement escapes you as your eyes remain glued to his face. Your first words of the day are said softly, your tone full of affection for the man beside you. “I’ve been here all night, Ken.”
“I know,” he says simply. “You weren’t in my dreams though, I don’t think.”
“You’re not sure?”
One of his eyes crack open to give you a slightly exasperated look. Upon seeing your teasing smile, he pulls your hand to his lips, kissing your palm. The air from his breath caresses your skin as he looks at you with both eyes now. “Are you ever sure of your dreams?”
“My dream is always you,” you reply plainly as you pinch his cheek. “But I suppose you’re right, I hardly ever remember what I dream about.”
Instead of responding, Kento moves onto his back, pulling you into his arms. You think he’s always at his warmest when he wakes up, especially with how hot his chest feels on your face. Your legs tangle together and he hisses quietly when you press your cold feet to his skin. He doesn’t move away though, he never does.
A car beeps below your apartment building, but you both don’t care enough to listen to the yelling that follows it. Kento’s fingers are brushing through your hair slowly, his thick pads lightly massaging your scalp. You respond with a peck to his chest. The outside world turns quiet for you again.
“I dreamt of a house,” he starts out.
“A house?”
He hums, “It was on a hill and had a big yard, with a picket fence and everything.”
“I’ve always wanted a house on a hill,” you reply, absentmindedly tracing patterns onto his stomach.
“I know.”
You smile at his simple statement. “What else did this house have?”
“A wrap-around porch and tall windows.”
“Two-story? Fruit tree in the back? Handprints on the mailbox?”
His chest jumps slightly with laughter. “I don’t remember if it had all of that. I can tell you what it was missing though.
You shift to place your chin on his chest, smiling as you look at him. “What was it missing?”
“You,” he smiled back as his hand went to rest on your hair.
There’s a pregnant pause before you begin to chuckle. “I knew you would say that.”
He shrugs. “Of course you did, we’re married.”
The quiet moment is interrupted by another car horn outside. His hand brushes through your hair, his touch grounding you amidst the noise outside. The sound of police cars whizz by. Your eyes glance to your bedroom window before reuniting with his. The city never seems to stop, even on Sundays, but here in his arms, you think of the quiet life you could be sharing.
“Our lease is almost up,” you whisper.
He hums lowly, caressing your head as he waits for you to continue.
“We could move to the countryside. I have a realtor friend, and we’ve been good about our savings—” You push yourself up close to his face, excitement evident on your face. “And–and we can get that giant coffee machine you’ve been wanting! We’d finally have the space for it.”
Kento cracks a small smile. You love the look of mirth in his eyes. “It would be a lot quieter in the mornings.”
“Exactly!” You can’t help but stare at him, your grin turning hopeful. “So can we do it?”
He takes a few moments to look around the room while he contemplates, his gaze lingering on tiny things— the ever-growing pile of books on the dresser, your bottle of perfume sitting next to them, the small crack in the ceiling that’s been growing since you two moved in. All this thinking is fruitless, as once his eyes return to you and the way the sun highlights your hair, his decision is made. He laughs before pulling your face even closer, nudging your nose with his.
“How could I say no to you?” His lips find yours, warm and unhurried, and you both melt into your first kiss of the day. His hand cradles your face, and you feel the press of his thumb against your cheekbone. The kiss is soft, steady, and laced with the kind of love that feels like home. When your lips part, his voice is barely above a whisper, “We can do it.”
You let out a giddy laugh and bury your face in his neck, inhaling the smell of the life you share. He chuckles and wraps his arms around your middle, tightly holding you to him while leaning his head against yours. Embracing each other, you both imagine it: your shared house under the sun.
Soon enough, the noise of traffic outside your window is replaced with birdsongs and windchime out on the porch. Some things never change. On these Sunday mornings, you’ll still find yourself watching the light rise on his sleeping form and listening to his steady breaths.
It seems that you’re in his dreams after all.