In the Dawn Light
Dawn finds them in the same position every morning. With the sun barging through the threadbare curtains which hang limp before the window, Haine sits in what little warmth it has to offer. There's a blanket beneath him to separate his pale skin from the worn and scratchy carpet, and his naked back rests against the bed as he idly stares at the wall before him.
He'll have been awake for at least an hour already, picking at the wool from the colourful creation Badou named the "dog blanket", made in a fit of boredom when the red head chose to see how easy knitting was compared with sewing. Little more than a rag, really, but the purple wool stayed soft no matter how many times his naked behind has graced it in the early hours of the morning, and Haine wasn't too fussy.
Badou, on the other hand, is still sprawled in bed and partially covered by the blankets. His hair flung over the pillow and his face, loose strands fluttering as he breathes. The sign he's woken up isn't in a sound, no sigh to signify he's conscious, no change in breathing. There's no loud yawn and over dramatic stretch, but a hand flopping out and reaching for a cigarette.
In all the night's Haine's stayed over, he still hasn't figure out if Badou is truly awake when he does this, or if he's so used to it he can do it in his sleep.
He tears his gaze away from the wall to watch the hand dusted with freckles pluck a cigarette from the open packet, and bring it to parted lips. The hand drifts back into view to feel for a lighter, patting about whilst Badou's single eye remains closed. He's always said he couldn't bear to see the morning light without nicotine in his system.
Most mornings Haine just sits and watches the lazy patting, easily spying the cheap plastic lighter and playing a mental game of "warmer, colder" as Badou's hand drifts close, then away again. Sometimes, on the rare occasion he's feeling kind, he'll knock the lighter under the searching hand and get a grunt of thanks in return as the red head can finally light up and inhale. Only then does he roll on to his back and kick the blankets away, allowing smoke to stream from his nose before sitting up.
Haine tips his head back at this point, against the stained mattress to watch Badou rub the gunk from his eye with one hand, and kneed his scar with the palm of the other, well worn curses being muttered around the cigarette at how tight the healed skin feels in the morning.
At this, Haine will suggest a skin product, to which the snapped reply will always be something along the lines of how Badou "ain't no girl" and if the white haired man and his wolfish grin bring up the events of the night before they'll be greeted by a pillow to the face.
Occasionally Haine will reflect on how canine he really acts in the morning, waiting on his blanket by the bed for his 'master' to awaken, despite the fact they both know Badou holds no such position in the relationship. The freckled hand running through white hair seems more like a ruffle than a caress as the red head finally leaves the bed, first cigarette of the day finished, but Haine soon reclaims his place above Badou when he gets up and elbows into the bathroom first, always ignoring the protests and insults thrown his way by an indignant redhead.