The morning Sun slowly crawled up on the sky, letting golden rays fall everywhere. It filled the streets, the houses, the parks with a glowing light, peaceful and warm, a gentle caress in the chilly early hours of the day.
Haru, as he laid in his bed, enjoyed the morning sunshine too. A blanket covered him, though something else gave him more warmth. He looked down and saw arms encircling him. He turned his head a bit, following the arms until he reached a shoulder, then a neck and finally a familiar face.
Makoto. His hearth thumped with affection and love, something he needed time to get used to. Now it seemed so natural to wake up in the same bed. They wore old, faded pajamas with cartoon characters on them and slept until noon like nothing mattered.
Haru turned around completely, carefully - he didn't want to wake Makoto up. When he was done, he gazed lovingly at him. It amazed Haru, even after years of dating, how his boyfriend looked so innocent while he was sleeping. He didn't seem worried, no wrinkles on his forhead or between his eyebrows, though Haru constantly thought about how they would stay there forever as Makoto started college – he never looked so stressed before.
But in the morning everything was alright. More sunlight filtered through the curtains of their cheap apartment, making Makoto's face glow as if he wasn't even human, but an otherworldly creature, an angel.
As he thought about it, Makoto often seemed angelic. It was a part of him, his looks, his nature. Haru imagined him with huge, pure white wings sometimes. They would spread and could hide them both from the world, they would be that big. When Makoto's smiles were particularly bright, he imagined a halo too. Not just some small one, it would light up even the endless night sky. It would probably blind Haru too, but he realized he wouldn't mind.
If he became blind, he would be surely because of Makoto's smiles, he thought to himself as he shuffled a bit closer to his boyfriend. When he would be sent to a world of eternal darkness, he would summon the image of kind lips and treasure them until his mind couldn't remember pictures anymore. Then he would live on with Makoto's sweet voice, and he would enfulge himself with it, let himself drown in it, until words became meaningless syllables and melted into warm tones and caressing murmurs.
But as long as he could see, he would gaze at Makoto. He wished he could do that forever.