#squid writes

Consciousness seeps into Yok’s veins slowly, as the daylight streaming in from the window casts dancing sunbeams across the folds of crumpled bedsheets. His legs stretch as far as they’ll go, and he becomes aware of an uncomfortable numbness prickling down his right arm.

He glances at the source of the weight that had pinned it to the mattress during the night, and can’t help but to grin when he takes in the scene.

Curled against him is the small, delicate body of Chon, who gives a shiver when the blanket shifts and nuzzles further into Yok’s body heat. Thick, dark eyelashes cast shadows over his soft cheekbones, and the blunt bangs of his bowl cut are sticking straight up on the side pressed to Yok’s bicep.

His lips are rosy, plush, and parted to allow quiet snores to escape with every rise and fall of his chest. Somehow, he’s managed to snake their legs together to the point Yok can’t quite tell which limbs belong to who, but he doesn’t care to find out, not with Chon clinging onto him with as many points of contact as possible.

The younger boy looks beautiful in the morning light. His skin seems to glow golden and radiant, and he looks so peaceful, almost childlike in his state of utter tranquility. The shadows cast by his features beg to be drawn, shaded, memorialized on canvas in full technicolor. Yok’s hands ache to do it, but he doesn’t dare disturb his restful state.

Instead, he drinks in the scene like his eyes alone can trace the valleys and curves of his body into his memory. It’s greedy and indulgent, but Yok allows himself to stare for just a little while longer.

He can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch, brushing the tip of his finger down the slope of Chon’s nose, and he chuckles quietly to himself when his nostrils twitch like a little rabbit. His heart soars almost painfully with how endearing it is. Chon is just too cute, in everything he does, without even trying. If he knew the effect he has on Yok, he’d surely become drunk with that power.

A small wrinkle had formed between Chon’s brows where they furrowed from the disturbance. That simply won’t do— it’s something that must be remedied.

Yok leans forward to press his lips right over the creased skin in an effort to iron it back out. He lingers there, breathing him in, absorbing his warmth, and Chon’s body shifts, signaling he’s finally awoken. Yok feels eyelashes flutter against his chin.

When he retreats, Chon’s eyes are open, wide with surprise at being woken up in such a way, and the gradual pink that tints his cheeks as he blushes has just become Yok’s new favorite color.

“Morning,” Yok whispers, gentle and fond.