notes— This, right here, is my ultimate edo!gruvia aesthetic. (Also, some ghibli piano won't lead you astray.)
where it ends
;;
[ Sendai, Miyagi ; Tōhoku Prefecture, Japan ]
2016
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They grew up together, neighbours on a quiet street on the edge of a town too small for the people it harboured. But in the city, they have space.
Their apartment is white and full of sun, all arching windows and wide open space. She keeps three potted plants in the corner, and he teases her every morning for getting too attached when he catches her watering them at six am. Those are the best memories, the ones he keeps close to his heart no matter where he goes — mornings when he slowly leaves the bed and drag the blanket behind him as he shuffles into the hall, catches her sitting on the window sill by her precious pots, their little green leaves the brightest colour in the room. She's quieter in the mornings, almost pensive as she stares out of the window and daydreams. For all her insistences on practicality, the gentle hours she spends gazing through the glass up at the sky are never cut out of routine.
She goes on like that, uninterrupted, not even glancing back at the sound of him, until he wraps his arms around her frame and brings her close to warm her against his chest, a soft pocket of heat hidden under the trailing duvet. Sometimes, she'll be changed for the day, but more often than not it's just an old shirt of his, picked up off the floor of their shared bedroom without a second thought. And sometimes, he'll catch her like that, will quietly massage her bare thighs at the hem of his shirt and whisper sweet good mornings into her hair. Of course, she'll huff and rolls her eyes, but also lean back into him like he's a cloud and she's the sun, ready to rest, ready for shade.
He leaves her by her window and her plants and the apartment will fill with the hearty aroma of ground beans and fresh, rich coffee. He takes a mug to her perch; and she screws her nose up at his milky sugary mess of a mug, mutters something rude under her breath and tries to hide the fond smile as he walks away. Naturally, he catches it every time.
There are the mornings when his shirts hung off her shoulders too well, when her messy hair isn't quite messy enough and the kiss to the crown of her head tumbles into gentle whispers into the skin of her throat, across her shoulders, down her back. She'll shiver, stubbornly keeping her eyes locked on the window, until he bites ever so gently into the softness where neck met shoulder, and with a breathy moan and giggle and sigh, she'll surrender to him.
Once or twice, he wakes up before her. Those are the mornings he looks forward to most, when he has the chance to catch her sleepy murmurs and mumbled secrets and store them in his heart. Those are the mornings when their apartment won't smell of coffee. Those are days spent half-asleep, relaxed and hushed and completely comfortable in the presence of each other. She'll whisper into the line of his jaw, silly things like brush your teeth and insatiable, and he'll laugh and nod as his fingers bring her to a precipice of falling apart, all arched spines and clenched teeth and bruises on his arms that fit her clenched hands perfectly.
In the city, they have space. By the window, beside the potted plants that she's altogether gotten far too attached to, he watches her watch the world and wonders if there is a reason, any reason at all, for him to live here and now if it isn't to bear witness to her and them and this.
They are twenty-five, and free, and so very close to falling too deep in love to climb back out.
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further notes— With this, I think I've said all I wanted to say about edo!gruvia. I don't think I'll write for these two again, so I'll take this opportunity to thank the readers who've humoured my fics for this tiny canoe of a ship. I could go on for ages but nobody needs to read that; all I'll say is I've had a blast and I'm very, very grateful. It's been real, friends. Bye for now. *hug hug*