It was a calm morning.
A quiet morning.
The kind of morning he didn’t have the chance to experience too frequently, always too many things on his mind, life too busy, the alarm clock too loud and early to allow him that tranquil sense of bliss and stillness. When he moves -- a truly miniscule movement, the tiniest shift of the entire body -- the warmth of the sun sneaking in through the windows is caressing his skin, a welcoming feeling that matched right with the gentle rustle of simple, white bed sheets. It was like one of those so very overdone scenes in movies (ones that he was, deep inside, a huge sucker for), except that this time, it was real and it was his moment.
Her smooth, peach tinted skin stood in contrast with the crinkled white of the bed, a splash of color here and there, as she successfully managed to tangle herself with the sheets in a way that made it seem like a riddle worthy of a few good minutes of resolving. Jaejoong kept a silent chuckle inside, always thinking with fondness about her sleeping habits that tended to be rather odd at times; he was sure that one day, he will wake up and her head will be all the way on the other side of the bed. (And honestly, he could not wait for this to happen.)
Even though she was still asleep, it was already her day: her sun to bask in, her fresh, late spring air to breathe, her time to shine, and laugh, and cry if she wanted to. The older Jaejoong got, the more his view on this one special day shifted: from loud parties and fireworks, to simple celebration of life and everything it consisted of. On that day, people could do what they want to do and be who they want to be, priviledged and free, because going through another year of hardships and happy moments, in his eyes, granted a person the right to unlimited liberation of anything and everything.
For him, her day meant that he got to celebrate another twelve months of being able to stand by her side.
It’d been a long time since he figured how to get out of the bed without disturbing her sleep too much -- they didn’t get to sleep together like that all too often, and getting to sleep in was even rarer, but through the times and times again it had happened, he managed to work it all out. When she moved, the kind of movement that stood somewhere on the edge of slumber and consciousness, he simply leaned in and pressed the lightest kiss to her shoulder, a quiet “sleep” whispered somewhere over the skin, the warm presence enough to coat her back in that soft sheath of dreams. In this moment, Jaejoong almost envied that serene, relaxed expression on the profile of her face -- but deep down, he was feeling probably just as peaceful as her.
Two toothbrushes.
Two towels. (Actually, four. Because they both liked making ridiculous turbans on their heads after showering, only to end up with even more ridiculous hairstyles after they took them off.)
Two pairs of slippers scattered in the living room.
They weren’t a new couple, but sometimes it still overwhelmed him -- how his life became filled with things times two. It was never just him, whether it were his thoughts, or conversations, or plans for the future, or shopping -- always two, twice, double, “us” not “me”, “we” not “I”. The longer it kept going, the more annoying were moments when he had to switch back to one, once, single, me, myself and I; he felt bad when he had to hide half of his life for the show recording at his place, both like he was lying and was lied to at the same time. Yejin was more than understanding, of course, (although he was nearly sure it bothered her too: something in her eyes, in how the carefree smile twitched at the corners of her lips), yet it ruined all the event’s fun for him. If they were the first to celebrate each other’s birthdays for so long already, would it really be so wrong for the two of everything to stay in the open?
But today wasn’t about him, Jaejoong reminded himself, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking it into a smooth mass. He put into it enough energy to rid himself of the somewhat negative thoughts and briefly wondered in the process if right now, half-naked and in the middle of his kitchen, he looked like those picture-perfect guys from the movies. (Probably not. He forgot to brush his hair and it most likely still resembled a bird’s nest. Oh well.) The scent of brewing coffee was slowly filling the air, soon joined by cooking eggs and many little things that were adding up and creating a small breakfast feast. They both preferred Western-style, so that’s what he went with; it was probably his favorite thing to cook too -- omelets, toasts, salads and freshly squeezed juice: it all felt very domestic to him, simple but effective. Breakfasts were their rarest shared meals, and the fact that their style was foreign, made it only that much more special; they didn’t need fireworks and huge birthday cakes, because this -- two plates and two cups -- meant more than anything else.
He was setting up side-dishes on the counter-table when she appeared in the kitchen space: still half-asleep, looking a bit surprised and perhaps a little overwhelmed at the sight (which meant something about the way they lived -- it really wasn’t anything that special, in the big picture). Jaejoong never told her that he would still be here when she woke up that day.
Even through the last bits of sleep in her eyes, the surprise and the confusion, she still smiled back at him when he did, her hands reaching for the offered cup of coffee as greedily as ever when the soft “good morning”s were exchanged. And it was so awfully domestic, so ridiculously special in its mundaneness. How she watched over the cup him flip, fold and slide the omelets on the plates, how he just enjoyed her warm, quiet presence at his side, how, when he nudged her towards the finished table, she didn’t hesitate even half a second to follow his gesture -- and how oddly graciously, as if they had rehearsed it, she turned when he pulled her back suddenly, sharing an intimate kiss and hasty but honest words, “happy birthday”, spoken like they were about to escape both of them.
And she just smiled, and kept smiling: smiling over the food, smiling in between the small conversations about the food, the weather, the dreams (so trivial, so perfectly normal and casual), smiling at feet touching one another (accidentally? intentionally?) in between bites.
And he smiled too, because it may have been her day -- but her day meant the world to him too.
