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Mornings were always a routine, but a routine well-loved and never tired of.
Siegbert would wake up at 5:30AM sharp, with or without his alarm clock, already having used to waking up early ever since he was a child. He would turn over, adjusting the arm over his waist accordingly until he was facing his sleeping lover, who snored every once in a while, mumbling something or other. Usually it was a foodstuff, something Siegbert based their breakfasts on (“Mnh… sushi…” or “Miiilk…” were favourites), mumbled versions of his father’s name (he’d learned in time to understand “lobs...ter…” as Ryoma’s nickname, and not a breakfast Shiro wanted. The man had a shellfish allergy, anyway), or—best of all—Siegbert’s name.
Whenever he said that, Siegbert pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and decided he would choose what breakfast they had that morning.
He would be out of bed shortly after that, quickly—never hastily—washing his face and getting dressed, and he would head out into the kitchen, their cat and dog already threading around his legs as he walked. Nome, Shiro’s dog, would bound happily along the hallway, ever the bundle of energy puppy yellow labradors were, while Iggy, Siegbert’s cat, would follow at a more docile pace. Siegbert would feed them first—Nome would get cranky if petting food wasn’t the first thing he was treated to in the morning—and would then get about getting breakfast ready.
It wasn’t the smell of whatever was cooking that would wake Shiro. It was the lack of a warm body next to him.
Like clockwork, fifteen minutes after Siegbert rolled out of bed, Shiro would wake up to see empty sheets, the scent of coffee and breakfast coming from the kitchen and Nome’s barking the world’s morning greeting to him as he woke. He would smile, and without getting dressed, he would head to the kitchen to see Siegbert already done cooking, already setting the table.
“Morning.” He would always say, and Siegbert would always give him a kiss, and tell him who decided what morning breakfast should be, and they would tuck in together.
It had always been like this, ever since Shiro had popped the question, and if waking up everyday to Siegbert’s cooking and smiles cost them both their inheritances, then, well.
He stroked Iggy’s head, the cat purring under his hand as he held Siegbert’s hand, admiring the way their bands matched.
This was so worth it.