Roxas awoke, his eyes cracking open at the onset of dawn. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting streamers over Naminé's thighs, her dress. They were both strewn across the bed, his head nestled up against her thigh and her fingers stuck in his hair. The outside world burned; he closed his eyes again, resting against Naminé as if she might somehow nurse him back to sleep. It wasn't until moments later that he absently opened his eyes again, peeking up at the clock on the wall as if it might offer him some different incentive than the beautiful woman that he shared a bed with.
It was five o'clock.
He had to leave in an hour.
Roxas carefully rolled over so that he could look up at Naminé, who looked as angelic as she always did. Her hair was a careful mess, displaced by the pillow beneath her head. Her full lips, often tightly pressed together into a curious semi-smile, were parted. The quiet heaving of her chest, soft, rhythmic, told him that she hadn't yet woken up. That was fine. His hand moved to find hers, his fingers gently prying hers from his hair. Hesitant, perhaps scared to wake her, he brought the back of her hand to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss before extricating himself from the bed.
She didn't stir, but she did roll onto her side, nuzzling further into the pillow as if it might drive her deeper into whatever dream she seemed to be having. He hoped it was a good one on his way to the bathroom down the hall.
Their apartment wasn't large. Recently dried towels were stored in a closet beside the bathroom door, alongside the rest of their clothes. She hadn't been living with him long, but it hadn't taken her much time to get used to the way he'd done things or to improve greatly upon them. She was more of an architect than an artist, engineering new ways to live for a boy that spent so long unsure of whether or not he even wanted to. Her quiet considerations left him so much more alive than he'd ever been.
Stepping into the bathroom only reminded him of that.
She had practically forced him to buy better hand towels at gunpoint. That turned out to be a solid investment that all of his friends loved. Xion, particularly, made a point to let him know that he had finally escaped what she considered to be his "caveman" phase. Axel made fun of him, but Saix was quick to point out that the redhead ended up buying a few of his own as soon as he found out Roxas had some. Xion insisted that he was just jealous that Roxas had somebody helping him become a "normal human being," but Roxas figured that the elder man just didn't want to be left behind somehow.
Hot water turned the next twenty minutes into an imperceptible blur. His hands, calloused, a little scratched up, washed over his tired muscles while he thought of the day ahead. There was so much left to do, so many things that needed to go according to plan. For once, however, he couldn't let Naminé be the one to get caught worrying about that.
Though she had never voiced a word of complaint, there was a certain tell to when she felt anxious. Her arms would snake around her back, linking up with each other, massaging her soft skin in order to return some of her anxieties to the nether where they belonged. It hadn't been long before he'd picked up a similar habit, tracing circles in her skin with his thumb when they held hands – when he stroked her face, when they were curled up in bed like ancient, twisting vines.
Cold air and the need to cover himself led him out of nudity's clutches seconds after he stepped out of the shower. His still-wet hair dripped while he shaved away his nonexistent beard, covering his black muscle tank and boxer shorts in absolutely no hair.
Still only half awake, Roxas rubbed his eyes on his way through the den. There was no feeling quite like that of a fresh shower, when his body felt brand new, freed of yesterday's fatigue. He made his way into the kitchen, separated from the den only by a marble countertop and half a wall, and flicked the lights on. Inverted shadows cast themselves lazily onto the living room floor, strung out across the carpet like the open mouth of a lit jack-o-lantern. It didn't take long for him to make his way to the oven, turn on the heat, or open the fridge. Finding some eggs took him a minute or two.
Cracking them into a ramekin without getting yolk all over himself took a little longer.
The first three eggs were complete scratches. They wound up splattered all over his hands and the counter. Flustered, he wound up injecting little fragments of the next two eggshells into equation and had to wash the little bowl out before he did anything else with it.
He was a cook. He cooked for a living.
Taking a breath and reminding himself of that, he managed to crack an egg into the little, white ramekin after what he considered a monumental struggle. With that arduous task out of the way, he sprinkled salt and pepper over the egg and added some cream before he went about preparing a second one. They each got tucked away into the oven on separate baking sheets a minute later so that he could focus on preparing the rest of his sleeping girlfriend a good morning meal.
The scent of caramel, apples, sweet things for a sweet somebody filled the kitchen while he worked on a large, fluffy pancake. She didn't much like normal pancakes. That was fine. He knew she liked the rest of it, that this would be an exception. Little bits of chopped fruit were plated next – Naminé was one of the few poor souls that really couldn't stand bacon and it really wouldn't have gone with the rest of his breakfast ensemble – and placed on the table just beside the pancake.
There were still about ten minutes left on the eggs, so he went back to the linen closet in order to actually get dressed for work.
Roxas pulled a pair of houndstooth pants over black socks and wrapped himself up in a white, double breasted jacket that fit him snugly. He didn't bother with the hat. It was in the car anyway, though he did have an extra in the linen closet. Buttoning his jacket up as he made his way back to the kitchen, Roxas immediately moved toward the fridge so that he could withdraw a bottle of sparkling wine. He made sure to grab something decently acidic to cut through the sweetness of the caramel apple pancakes, perhaps slice through the softness of the eggs.
One uncorked bottle and poured glass later, he took the eggs out of the oven and placed both ramekin beside the plated pancakes. It was set up to look a little like a sideways happy face, with a wine glass blemish on the meal's edge.
Roxas studied it for a moment, looking down at it unhappily. He could do better, he was sure. Maybe he should have woken up earlier, come up with something more elaborate. There were so many ways that she showed him her love that, suddenly, a loud gesture like his felt insignificant, even silly in comparison. She was so quick to listen to his woes, so eager to tolerate his flaws, that he could make her breakfast a thousand times over and still be in debt.
Love wasn't about debt, though.
Love was about the way she said his name and the way her lips felt pressed against his.
The wine was chilled well enough that it would be cold long after she woke up. The clock over the counter told him that he had maybe ten minutes before her alarm went off, ten minutes before he needed to leave for work. It was tragic that he wouldn't get so be with her until after his shift, but… but that was fine. In a way, it was possible that a day without him would bring her some much needed stress relief. He'd actually gone out of his way to make sure that she had as little on her metaphorical plate as possible.
She had the day off from work. She had no plans until the evening, when their friends would be coming over for a mercifully short party. He would be picking up a small cake from the bakery – one better than anything he would put together. The laundry was already done, the sink empty; all she had to do was relax and enjoy herself. It was the least he could manage for someone who helped him find himself so very often.
Before Roxas met Naminé, he'd been so lost in his own head that he never would have found his way back on his own. He used to be so angry, so full of tenacity, so stubborn… but she saw through all that. Over the course of a year, Naminé brought him back from the brink of endless frustration to resurrect the happy boy that he forgot existed, helping shape him into the man he was.
Grabbing a pen from a cup on the counter, Roxas pulled a small card out of the pocket on his chef's jacket. It was a picture of the two of them together, printed on card stock. In the photo, they stood at the base of some old, long abandoned castle. His arm lingered on her waist, a smile drawn across both of their faces. He grinned down at the photo and turned it over so that he could scribble out a note, informing her that she wouldn't need to worry about breakfast or chores or any other stupid thing that she might have otherwise needed to worry about on her day off.
The words felt paltry in comparison to the feeling behind them.
As if to compensate, he added a small, very poorly drawn recreation of the two of them holding hands at the bottom of the note. It was nothing to her art, but it was heartfelt. With any luck, that mattered.
Still, he laid it down above the food, photo side face up, so that she wouldn't miss it.
He didn't know how long he spent staring down at his little preparation before he heard her alarm go off. She was such a diligent, dutiful person; he would have slept in until noon at least on his day off. A subtle smile painted across his face, he grabbed his keys off of the counter and moved toward the door, hesitating for only an instant at the lock.
That was all the time it took for a sleepy looking Naminé to wander into the living room, her expression a little more bedraggled than usual. Her hair was still a mess, but it framed her face so beautifully that it gave Roxas a moment of pause. One of her hands was up rubbing at her left eye, trying desperately to wipe away the sleep that she'd just woken up from. Key still in hand, Roxas looked her over, his eyes memorizing the way she looked in the morning, as if he didn't already have her shape committed to perfect memory.
Her round face studied him for a moment, as if debating on a thousand different questions she could have asked him.
"Good morning," he said, breaking the silence.
"Mm."
Such a scintillating response. The smile on his face widened a little.
She was too cute when she was tired. She was also too cute when she was awake, perhaps a little too cute when she was asleep, and at her cutest when she tried not to be.
"Happy birthday," Roxas managed. "I made you some breakfast."
"You didn't need to do that," she said, simply.
"Consider it one of the perks of having a cook for a boyfriend."
She marched over to him with a fatigued determination in her eyes. Before he could stop her, her arms were wrapped around him and her head was nuzzled into his shoulder and he could smell the fading scent of her shampoo. He held her with one arm, content to let the moment linger. Being late no longer mattered. Tentative, Roxas brought his lips to the crown of her head, planting a gentle kiss in her angel hair.
"Thank you," she finally said, pulling away to look up at him.
At once, his heartstrings were all pulled taut. How could he be expected to leave something so precious to him to go work a job he could have lived without?
"I love you," he replied, pressing his lips against her forehead. She felt a little warm. Hopefully, that would abate by the time he got home. If he were a little shorter, he might have seen the blush in her cheeks, the way it spread across her face as if painted by some distant hand. "Take it easy today."
"Mm."
A thousand questions hit him in a single syllable.
"I have to get going," he replied. "To work."
"Mhm."
It was as if, by understanding perfectly his plight, that she was challenging him to do anything else.
After a moment of pleasurable silence, she relented.
"Well, you should get going."
Relented may not have been the word he wanted.
Dared, perhaps.
Roxas leaned down, lifting her chin so that her lips could meet his and the world could be put on pause for a kiss he hoped would last an eternity.
When she pulled away from him after only a few seconds, he was forced to admit that work now seemed fairly paltry in comparison to spending the day with his adorable girlfriend.
It wasn't like she was even asking him to stay.
She was, but she wasn't.
And he wasn't exactly opposed to staying home, sharing the couch… poaching some of the eggs he made her. Maybe stealing a bite of that pancake.
Did she know that she had him exactly where she wanted him?
When he sighed in defeat, the smile on her face grew a little wider. He placed the keys on a hook beside the door, where they were meant to go in the first place. She watched patiently as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, called in to work, and marched dutifully over to the table where the two of them would inevitably share breakfast. It hadn't exactly been his original idea, but he doubted that she minded his company. She'd put up with him for a year. A day more would hardly ruin her.
It took a moment for her to join him, her normally serious expression replaced with a quiet contentment that he could only equate with some universal mystery. The reasons she loved him were beyond his realm of expertise, beyond what he imagined of himself.
Roxas could only speculate that Naminé loved him for more than his caramel apple pancakes, but that was really just debatable at best.