●○reach for the sun○●

He moved carefully, as if afraid even the smallest sound might wake you, and you only stirred when his arm wound gently around your waist. He pressed himself to your back, a tired sigh leaving his lips as he nestled into the curve of you. A few lazy kisses ghosted over your shoulder, his whisper barely audible against your skin, something about being home, about missing you and then, just like that, his breathing evened out. He was gone, pulled under by exhaustion so deep you could feel it in the heaviness of his body.

By the time morning light crept into the room, he was still out cold. You blinked awake slowly, warm and disoriented, and the first thing you saw when you turned your head was him. His face was soft in sleep, his lips parted just slightly, hair messy and falling into his eyes. Even in slumber he looked worn, the faint shadows beneath his lashes evidence of too many nights running on too little rest. He looked so young like this, so vulnerable and human, that your chest tightened with both love and worry. You leaned in before you could help yourself, pressing the gentlest kiss against his lips. He didn’t stir beyond a faint twitch of his fingers where they rested against your hip. You smiled to yourself, brushing stray strands of hair away from his forehead, and carefully untangled yourself from his hold.

It wasn’t easy, his arm was heavy with sleep, and he always had a way of pulling you back when you tried to slip away, but you managed it, pausing with every shift just to make sure he didn’t wake. When you finally stood beside the bed, you glanced back once more. He looked impossibly peaceful, the rise and fall of his chest steady, and you knew he needed this. He needed hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep. You closed the bedroom door as quietly as you could, letting the soft click be your silent promise that you’d protect his rest no matter what.

The apartment was still, morning sunlight slowly painting gold across the floors, and you padded into the kitchen barefoot. You knew exactly what you wanted to do. All week, through the few short calls you managed to squeeze in between his insane schedules, you could hear it in his voice, the fatigue that clung to him, the weariness he tried to hide behind his usual cheerful tone. He’d warned you, like he always did, that he’d be busy, that things would be hectic, that he might not text back right away. But hearing his exhaustion made your heart ache, and you’d promised yourself that when he finally had a day off, you’d make it count.

So you had gone grocery shopping the day before, quietly preparing while imagining the look on his face. Today wasn’t just a morning off, it was his first real break in a full week, and you wanted him to feel cared for, to taste home in every bite, to have the simple comfort of being looked after. You set to work immediately, pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry, lining them up on the counter. His favorites, every single one. Dishes he loved, meals you knew he’d devour happily, flavors that always reminded him of comfort.

The kitchen filled slowly with warmth, the sound of simmering, the soft hiss of oil hitting a hot pan, the rhythmic chop of your knife against the cutting board. You worked quietly, mindful of the bedroom door just a few feet away, but there was a certain joy in it, too. Every stir of the spoon, every pinch of seasoning felt like you were pouring care directly into the food. The thought of him walking out and seeing it all waiting, the sparkle of surprise in his tired eyes was enough to keep a smile tugging at your lips the whole time.

It was still early when you finally finished, the counters covered in dishes and the air rich with delicious scents. You set the table carefully, arranging everything just so, and then started cleaning up, humming softly to yourself as you washed pans and wiped counters. That’s when you felt it, the sudden weight of arms looping gently around your waist from behind. You gasped, startled, almost dropping the towel in your hands, but the familiar warmth of his chest pressed against your back made you melt in an instant.

“You scared me,” you whispered, leaning back against him instinctively.

His laughter was soft, still heavy with sleep, his lips brushing against your temple. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to.” His voice was scratchy, low and rough in that way it always was when he’d just woken, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I just… got hungry.”

You turned in his arms, meeting his sleepy smile with one of your own. His hair was sticking up in every direction, his eyes still half-lidded, and he looked so endearingly disheveled you couldn’t resist leaning in to peck his lips. “Lucky for you,” you murmured, “I made you something.”

“Something?” he repeated, raising a brow as his gaze flicked toward the dining table. His eyes widened the moment he saw it, the feast spread out before him, every one of his favorites filling the table like some kind of celebration. He looked back at you then, utterly stunned, and his grin broke so wide it made your heart flutter. He leaned down to kiss you, lingering this time, his forehead pressing to yours as he whispered, “Do you know,” he says quietly, “you’re the reason I wake up smiling every morning?”

You melted at the words, kissing him again just because you couldn’t not. He was too sweet, too sincere, and even if you knew he meant it with all his heart, it still sent heat rushing to your cheeks. “Sit,” you told him gently, giving his arm a squeeze. “Eat. And after you can go back to sleep.”

He obeyed, though not before tugging you with him, pulling out your chair and making sure you sat down beside him. Even as he dug in, eyes lighting up with every bite, he kept nudging food onto your plate, insisting you eat as well. “You worked hard too,” he mumbled between mouthfuls, his hand finding yours under the table. “Don’t think I don’t know that.”

Watching him eat, watching him finally relax, shoulders loose, smile soft was everything you had hoped for. He looked more like himself already, color slowly returning to his cheeks, the tension in his jaw easing with every bite. You couldn’t stop the quiet joy that bloomed inside you at the sight, and when he caught you staring, he only leaned over to steal another kiss, grinning against your lips.

The two of you eat quietly, the clink of chopsticks and the occasional soft laugh filling the space. He looks at you often, like he can’t quite believe you’re here, like he’s grounding himself in the sight of you. And every time your eyes meet, you feel that warmth again, that unspoken bond that says everything words can’t.

After, when he leans back with a satisfied sigh, you laugh softly and gather the plates, but he catches your wrist gently. “Leave it,” he says, eyes soft. “Later.”

“But—”

“Later,” he repeats, tugging you down into his lap. You go willingly, settling against him as his arms circle you again, as if he can’t stand the thought of not touching you even for a moment. He presses his face into your neck, breathing you in, and you feel the way his body finally relaxes, truly relaxes, for the first time in weeks.

The day stretches ahead of you, a day with no schedules, no cameras, no rushing. Just him, just you, just this. And you know, deep down, that nothing could be more perfect.

//

masterlist.