A/N- The writing exercise gave the directions of "set your timer to eight minutes and write as much as you can". I finished this in ten. Hope you guys enjoy! This piece is definitely AU, or hopeful, whichever. :)
He hangs his coat on wooden peg and starts inside, cracking his neck and sighing deeply. The weight of the day is upon him; the biting cold of February ever present and sinking into his bones. Will's first reaction to the silence is a brisk arch of his brow. His home is rarely, if ever, silent.
It's one of the things he loves most about his life, now. There's never a moment to dwell on yesteryears, or on the spaces between the cracks of time. Every giggle, every word spoken low and in the cadence of love, it all hangs and darts through the spacious rooms. Bad timing is an old enemy that isn't invited to dinner. Will begins to loosen his tie as he passes through the living room, empty of any sign of life. There is no food cooking on the stove, and he wonders, for a moment, if he needed to call for pizza.
He checks his phone on the way to the bedroom, questions more when he finds no text.
He calls out as he climbs the stairs, something like worry pitting his stomach.
Pushes open an oak door, further than the way it was parted slightly.
The next thing he sees literally takes his breath away.
Lights are manually adjusted to dim, yellow bathing the room, and he nearly squints to make out the forms, dead to the world. The picture before him is the definition of peace.
Alicia's hair is tangled and grown out, a fan of mahogany curls spilling across the white pillow. Her mouth is parted in sleep, the gentle lines that adorn her face smoothed out by the natural rise and fall of her chest. She's in her pajamas already, cotton and blue, and he knows how soft they are to touch.
Snuggled into her stomach, a bundle of warmth sucking his thumb lays in a shadowing position; like mother, like son. The toddler clings to her even in sleep, lighter hair just as curly as his mother's. The two year old's eyelids are lavender in slumber.
Will dares not disturb.
Quietly, he toes off his shoes, unbuckles his belt, and lays his jacket and button down on a nearby chair of the same maroon the master is painted in. He's spent from the day's work, fleetingly wonders if he's getting too old. The grey at his temple is testament, at the very least. He drops his weight down onto the bed as inconspicuously as he can possibly muster, and closes his eyes when he feels Alicia's being beneath his fingertips. Try as he might, she still stirs.
"Hey," she whispers lethargically, leaning back to peck her husband on the lips.
"You guys okay?" he inquires in a hushed tone, nuzzling her neck.
His hand travels to caress his son's hair.
"Rough day," Alicia remembers, still half asleep. They've been sick the past two days. "You too?"
Will hums in acknowledgement, but his chest is filled with something whole, seeing all he has in his arms, at his fingertips. This is his whole world. His whole life.
"Actually," he mutters into Alicia's skin. "Not anymore."
Alicia leans back and kisses his jaw, a smile gracing her pretty lips. "Hmm?"
He gazes at his son, feels warm despite the frigid temperatures. "This is so perfect."
"We've been sneezing and coughing the past two days, Will," she banters quietly, rolling her eyes.
"You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Equally, she struggles not to lean over and climb him and she struggles not to smack him on the chest.
"Daddy," a drowsy slur drifts through the air, and chubby hands clutch at her pastel nightshirt further. "You home?"
Will's grin is encompassing, able and honest, as his eyes drift toward the ceiling.
"Yeah, buddy. I'm home."