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A promise of a new day; a fresh start. Today is the “tomorrow” yesterday promised, and tomorrow will be the promised day of tomorrow’s yesterday. Another day to amend for the past’s trips and falls, another gift that allows us to start all over again. While those may seem like positive connotations, watching the bright and unceasingly burning yellow light emanating from the sun slowly making its way to its throne up in the sky, Alban can only sigh.
Being that he was there in the darkness, listlessly crouched up with his knees tucked to his chest and enveloped by his arms, you’d think he’d appreciate the miracle of light purging away the cold and desolate darkness that surrounded him. Sure, he loves the blazing blue sky for all the fond memories it has let him make under it, but the way it comes into being, dazzling light, radiant but never burning, serves as another daunting reminder of the life and the home he left behind.
He lifts his head from where it was buried on his arms to try and properly take in the breathtaking view in front of him. He breathes.
“It’s cold,” he mutters to himself as it finally hits him, his breath visible in the air as his words leave his mouth. He’s been there since– he can’t remember. All he knows is that he’s been unable to sleep and decided he’d go and tire himself out outside the walls of his new “home”.
The brunette sighs again, heavy. If only he could stare at this scene without his thoughts weighing down and depreciating the picturesque scenery in front of him, he thinks he can try and start today with a lighter heart. He brushes his hands across his arms in an attempt to lessen the bite of the cold. Damn, he really should’ve at least changed into thicker clothes before he left.
“If you’re cold, let’s get you back inside,” a strong, deep voice he recognizes jolts him awake from his dazedness, along with the sensation of a thick article of clothing being draped over him.
‘Ah,’ he doesn’t even need to turn around. “Sonny.”
Sonny watches his companion closely, noticing his tensed shoulders and distant tone. It’s at these moments that he feels lost; he knows– in times like these, Alban’s mind is probably somewhere else, battling the thoughts in his mind that he rarely, if at all, shares. It hits him, the recognizable twinge of helplessness that burdens him whenever he sees the younger in this state.
“What’s got you sighing so heavily this early in the morning?” His tone is light, but his voice does not sound like it was laden with sleep either. “Are you alright, Albie?”
“You too, huh?” Alban all but chuckles softly as he replies, albeit without a hint of mirth in his tone.
With Sonny, Alban thinks– feels, as if there’s no use to fronting. Sonny knows him well, as he does Sonny. It’s a funny story, truly, how an officer serving justice came to vow his loyalty to a phantom thief of all people, the one who should’ve been on the opposing end of his gun. But, that’s all a story for another day.
Sonny hums in response.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Sonny inquires, still standing behind the shorter’s crouched figure, a soft lilt in his voice; careful, as if Alban was the most fragile existence he couldn’t bear to break.
“You know it. Same old,” Alban closes his eyes as he angles his head up, feeling the cold breeze brushing past his delicate skin, tousling his soft, brown hair into a mess, mellow rays of yellow lying intricately on the surfaces of his skin that it reaches.
‘Like this,’ Sonny thinks guiltily, ‘he looks like a dream.’
A beat.
Then, a shuffle– Alban feels the familiar sensation of warmth against his skin. The brunette opens his eyes, lowers his head back, and turns to his left. His heart paces faster, he knows why.
Really, Sonny can rival the sun with his dazzling sun-colored hair and his sunny demeanor (and if anyone tells Alban that Sonny was anything but sunny, that’s neither here nor there). But, above anything, what amazes the phantom thief about his cunning officer are his eyes; eyes that saw unimaginable horrors, yet tell a story of satisfaction, of peace. He’s envious of the fields of lavender that lay embedded in those eyes, yet finds himself unable to be hateful. Instead, he wishes he could be laying on the grass of those fields; maybe then, his own can find tranquility.
And surprisingly, after a snap back to reality, he does find his reflection looking back at him through Sonny’s eyes. The lavender field looks at him (and maybe with a little too much fondness than he’s used to), and he finds himself overwhelmed.
“Wanna talk about it?” There’s not a hint of persuasion in his voice. A pure question, one that gives Alban a choice.
“Maybe next time,” he replies and turns his head back to stare at the real sun. The darkness is almost completely gone.
“Alright,” Sonny does the same.
And so, a comfortable silence engulfs them, like a thick, soft blanket putting two exhausted children to sleep after a whole day of playing tag.
Then, Alban feels strands of hair tickle his face and a weight on his shoulder. His eyes trail back to Sonny and finds him lying on his shoulder– he snorts.
“Pfft…what are you doing?”
“You told me seeing my hair alone can brighten up your day, so I’m just giving you a close-up,” the taller man says, dead serious, while comfortably snuggling his head on the thief’s shoulder.
“I meant that literally,” Alban says, voice trembling as he attempts to stop himself from laughing at Sonny’s sincerity.
“Or do you want to see my handsome face instead?” Sonny quickly gets his head back up, makes a “handsome” face, and turns to Alban, presumably trying to also give him a better look of his smolder.
Alban finally breaks and lets a laugh out. Sonny is relieved.
“You’re so stupid,” Alban tries to articulate in between his laughter.
“Hm,” Sonny hums thoughtfully. “I guess I can live with being the stupid one between us for a day,”
As Alban laughs while playfully and softly punching his arm, Sonny can only stare at him with a pensive smile. He knows both he and Alban have trouble sleeping at night every once in a while, and maybe on most nights it was Sonny who took those sleepless nights the hardest, but Alban’s always been there to say the right words to him, giving him just what he needed.
Sonny often likens Alban to a cat; not because he does look like one (seriously, he even has a tail and cat ears on, but he swears those are for practical purposes), but because much like a cat, Alban may offer him affection, but is elusive when he’s on the receiving end of the sentiment– he craves it, but would run away if offered even a slightest drop of it. And so, just like how he would with a cat, Sonny can only patiently wait until Alban finally trusts him enough to comfortably come to him on his own. Until then, he’ll gladly grasp at these ephemeral unguarded seconds they can share without crossing a line.
He reaches out his hand to take hold of Alban’s, gently, soothingly– which startles Alban to a halt, but he doesn’t pull away. Alban watches as Sonny, with all the care in the world, wraps his relatively bigger, calloused hand around his. The Sun Incarnate stares at Alban’s hand tenderly as he continues their conversation.
“What do you want for breakfast, Albie?” he asks, eyes still trained at Alban’s delicate digits. “I can cook for us today.” He smiles, contentment evident in his tone.
“What do we have in the pantry?” Alban asks as he leans on Sonny this time, a quiet surrender; an unspoken acceptance.
Sonny is surprised, but doesn’t complain. After all, this sort of closeness isn’t foreign to them. It’s what distinguishes their relationship from all the others’– a sort of profound understanding only they have with one another. Sonny lets out a soft sigh of contentedness, feeling every bit of the gentle weight of Alban’s head on his shoulder. This, he thinks, is what serenity truly feels like; the cool crisp of morning air blanketing them and the shared warmth keeping them from freezing.
The silence is of total comfort, filled by the sounds of their synchronized breathing. Alban finds himself drowsily looking back at the horizon.
‘Ah. The darkness is completely gone already,’ he belatedly realizes.
“Well, I can whip up a nice bacon and egg combo, but maybe you’ll prefer pancakes?” He squeezes Alban’s hands lightly, brushing circles at the back of his hands with his thumb, trying to ground himself.
“Hm…that’d be nice,” Alban responds, though his voice sounded oddly quiet.
“Yeah, I can do that for you,” Sonny whispers back breathily.
When he’s met with silence, he turns to look at Alban’s heterochromatic eyes, only to find out they’ve been enclosed behind the boy’s eyelids already. An enamored look takes over Sonny’s face as his heart swells with an indecipherable adoration for the boy resting snugly against him.
As he watches the usually-energetic boy finally be at peace in his sleep, Sonny feels the gentle burn of the morning sun’s rays against his own skin. A soft, muted reminder of why he’s there, right at that moment, and of why he stays– because all his days spent with Alban feel like finally stepping into the light of the morning after a cold, lonely night. And for now, that’s enough.
“Good morning, and good night, Alban.”