A/N: As always, thanks to Befanini for the nigh-instantaneous beta-ing skills.
Disclaimer: Not mine
Sunrise
There's no safe way to lie in this bed, so my back's to the window and his is to the door. And this is the only time I'll tolerate it because it's hot and sticky and we're breathing each other's disgusting morning breath. But still, for once I'm glad that I don't sleep well, because I get to watch what sunrise does to him.
Can't tell him when he's awake or he'll get a big head (he would make a vulgar joke out of that statement, too), but Sha Gojyo is one sexy son of a bitch. Of course, it's easiest to see when he's not spouting how sexy he is (though I'm sure he's reaffirming it in his dreams) so I like to watch him sleep. When the first glow starts in the room, my body is still blocking too much to let the rays hit him directly, but some color starts to leech into him. His face ceases to be dark gray and starts to look brown and tanned, his hair almost russet—colorized but still lacking any sort of vibrancy. I'm mapping every little detail with my eyes, because touching would wake him and I don't want to ruin this.
I'm watching for the light creeping over his cheek, a nose, revealing the two lines he hides so carefully. He doesn't understand what a gift they are—a reminder of survival. My own wounds haven't left many scars; those that exist are weak, thready things that disappear when I don't wear my glasses—nothing half as satisfying as the lines standing proud on his face. Nothing to prove to me that this isn't all some incredibly intricate near-death dream (trust even my dreams to be annoying) that I'm having as the youkai kill me, too, and get both of Master's sutras.
The sun clears the window, bringing all the colors to life on him. His skin brightens to the shining bronze that only gets darker with every day we spend out in the Keep, instead of burning like mine does. Good thing, because if his skin turned red, too, he'd just look ridiculous. Up over the planes of his face, lighting up those scars. Proof you survived. Proof you're here. (I won't add 'with me') Then it hits his hair fanned out on the pillow behind him and I have to get on one elbow to watch every strand turn into its own conflagration of red—every shade from a dark near-mahogany to fire engine—and orange and even gold on the few strands that stray away from the rest. I don't know if it's the sun hitting his face or my shifting that wakes him, but he pops open one blood-red eye (you still have blood in you—you survived) and mumbles, "Mornin', beautiful."
Before I can argue that I told him not to call me that, he pushes himself up on both elbows to kiss me. And the sunlight floods the whole room.
"…Your breath stinks."
He laughs and snuggles back down into the bed. "I love you, too."