Mirko woke with the dawn, its orange light like a gentle hand, reaching out to shake his shoulder. Last night, the window to the room had been left open, and now a mild breeze blew through it, pulling at the gauzy white curtains so that they wound lazily about themselves, like creatures from some underwater paradise.
Martín slept beside him- Mirko always woke first- his face tranquil with a lack of dream. Time had faded the scars around his eyes, but Mirko still admired them. There were other things to admire, too- his fair eyelashes, his soft mouth, the slow rising and falling of his chest. The golden wedding band that curled around his finger. Its partner was worn by Mirko, and had been now for years.
When Martín woke, it was slowly, without calculation. When his eyes flickered open at last he sighed, and when he remembered himself he saw Mirko and he smiled. It was a beautiful process. That Mirko could watch it was a treasure far more precious than any gold.
"Good morning," Martín murmured, the words fogged by sleep. Mirko kissed him gently and he hummed.
"Good morning," Mirko agreed. "I will make breakfast."
Martín concurred with another senseless noise, rolling over to blink at the steadily brightening sun. Years ago, when they had met for the first time in that Italian monastery, would Mirko have guessed they would end up this way? Before that, even- during his war-torn youth, the cold streets and colder bullets, the jail cells and hospital beds and blood money- would he have imagined a future like this one? No. Then, peace had felt beyond his reach. Now it was only an arm's length away.
When the eggs began to fry Martín joined Mirko in the kitchen, padding to his side for another kiss, and Mirko was content.
