Sicheng is awoken by the beams of white sunlight that pour into the room in slants through the blinds. He doesn't even open his eyes, which ache just a little with grogginess. Instead, he lay for a moment, enjoying the gray space between wakefulness and sleep for a few seconds longer before he becomes aware of how quiet it is; the only sound seemed to be his breathing, and the hum of vehicles on the street below.
He turns his head, cringing at the sharp ache in his neck, expecting to see Doyoung, his roommate, fast asleep beside him.
It would only just be hyperbole at this point to say that Doyoung spent more nights in Sicheng’s room than in his own, especially recently. He’d find his way into Sicheng’s room, nagging him about garbage, or Felix, or just to ask what he was doing, and they’d end up talking (sometimes wrestling, because Doyoung knew just how to push Sicheng's buttons and was fairly relentless in doing so) and they’d fall asleep at some point thereafter. Sicheng had playfully objected to this occurrence a few times, but had stopped, because he…somehow, didn’t mind so much.
Only Doyoung wasn't there, even though he had most certainly fallen asleep there, and Sicheng is strangely disappointed.
He sits up and stretches before he hears the clanking of pans, and he realizes that the other man must be in the kitchen.
One unexpected perk of moving in with Doyoung is the fact that he happened to be a good cook, and he seemed increasingly happy to show that off, to the extent that Sicheng was surprised that he hadn't grown fat in the previous months. It was a pleasant change from living on his own, during which time he'd eaten salted rice or instant ramen for meals more often than he'd care to admit.
He makes his way into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and saunters up behind Doyoung, and seeing that the boy is very clearly cooking more than enough for just himself, he places a hand on the counter to lean on, hovering just over Doyoung's shoulder hoping to get on his nerves.
"Are you making," he begins, pausing to yawn, "are you making me breakfast?" he asks, chuckling, "You know...you'd make a pretty good wife, Doyoung."
