happy day of borth my freaky thanos i hope you enjoy this (go fuck yourself if you don't/j) || 669 words
so rare you're the only one
the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it's dark. everywhere is dark— the sky outside, the room, your boyfriend's hair that's made it's sentient mission to get into your mouth while you sleep— everything near you is dark.
you wiggle around, trying to get a feel for the position you're currently in, when you hear a sharp "oi" from somewhere above your head. as your fiance's head moves, you manage to inhale some hair, sputtering offendedly, spitting out a stray strand of his ridiculous mane. "leona..."
a low rumble answers you from somewhere beneath the sheets. it’s not quite a growl, not quite a purr— just a noise someone who doesn’t want to be disturbed makes. "don’t move," he mutters, voice gravelly and muffled against your shoulder. "still too damn early."
you glance toward the window. "it’s not early. it’s just cloudy."
"same thing." he exhales, warm and lazy. cozy. "stay."
and really, after five years together, you know exactly how this day is going to go, and you're not in the mood for that.
"do you know what day it is?" you murmur sleepily, leona peeking from under the blanket at you.
"mm. your birthday." he responds nonchalantly. "and i made—" a yawn, "made plans."
"oh, really now?" you tease, hand reaching up to scritch his ear as he rumbles contentedly. "what glorious plans has this husband of mine planned?"
"breakfast in bed." he grumbles, curling inwards as you chuckle. "you stay right here, and don't move. otherwise i'm going to eat whatever i make you." with a big stretch, he rolls off of you, yawning and tossing on a shirt and pant. "you stay right here." he reminds you like a petulant but excited child, stalking away to the kitchen.
eventually, curiousity gets the better of you, so you roll out of bed, tossing on one of his shirts that goes all the way down to your knees, and walk towards the kitchen to find him in a tight apron, prodding the sizzling pancake batter like it personally offended him. on the side, you see a failed pancake hidden under an overturned plate, a plate of eggs and toast sitting comfortably next to it.
"oi. what're you doin' up already?" leona asks without turning around.
"i had to see this glorious attempt for myself," you tease, leaning against the doorway like you weren't about to fall asleep.
"tch. sit. it’s almost done." a few minutes later, he plates everything—clumsy but careful—and sets it in front of you at the table. he sits opposite you, chin propped in his hand, watching with that half-lidded gaze you knew and loved.
"well? try it."
you take a bite. it’s a little uneven, a little undercooked here and there, but it’s warm and comforting. more than that, it tastes like effort—his effort.
"t’s good," you say honestly, pausing to shovel some more in.
"hmph. guess i didn’t screw it up too bad," he mutters, but there’s the faintest glint of pride in his eyes.
before you can say more, he slides a small velvet box across the table. inside is a simple gold necklace with a tiny lion-shaped charm that matches the bracelet he gave you years ago.
"five years," he says, leaning back in his chair. "five years and you’re still here. still choosing me. you’re rare, one of a kind, like the purple you like means. the only one stubborn enough to love me this long."
you can’t help the soft smile that spreads across your face.
he steps behind you, clasping the necklace carefully. his fingers linger against your skin for a moment longer than necessary, and then, when he faces you again, he presses a quiet kiss to your temple.
“happy birthday, aivy.” he murmurs, voice low but certain.
and in that moment—just you, him, and the soft glow of a cloudy morning—you know. for leona, this is love. quiet, clumsy, rare.
so rare, you’re the only one he’d ever do this for.
What the fUCK
