Reasons to Love Kuki Urie

The Fourth Reason

He's a softie, but he's your softie.

On contrary to popular belief, Urie is not a light sleeper. As much he'd like to fool himself to get the normal eight-hour optimum sleeping patter, he just can't get himself to do it. Yes, he might call it a day the moment the hour hand strikes 10, yes he might lay down with his eyes closed and the lights out, but it rarely works. He tried to blame it on the coffee once, tried to cut off his daily intake for a month, even tried stopping altogether. Still, sleepless.

He tried listening to those videos Akira had suggested, tried meditating, even went as far as buying scented candles (not that he'd let anyone know). It's amazing really, he thinks, no matter how late or shallow his sleep is, his body jolts awake by dawn. He knows he isn't the only one to have this problem, hell, he's been to college, he knows what it's like. He just didn't expect for it to follow him through his adult years.

So he settles for staring at the ceiling. The blanket pools at his waist, the cool air of the room caressing his bare torso. He is distracted by the sudden movement beside him followed by a soft coo, a leg brushing against his left calf before the figure settles down again. He turns his head, barely making out your figure in the dark. You fell asleep three hours ago, you must be off somewhere pleasant, he's jealous. He doesn't notice the smirk forming on his lips, eyes adjusting and finally making out your face. Lips slightly parted, letting out small huffs of air, eyes shut and a cute little frown between your brows. His hand finds yours, fingers tracing small circles on the skin of the back of your hand. Somehow the gestures makes him take in a deeper breath.

Slowly, he turns to face you, laying on his side, face resting on top of his clenched knuckles. The tip of his index finger finds the ridge of your nose, tracing it lightly before halting when it reached the tip. He thinks it's cute, perfect in its own way. He thumbs through the apple of your cheek and down to your chin, another soothing pattern. You shuffle a little, nose scrunching, scratching somewhere behind your ear a little before turning your back against him. The act makes him chuckle softly. You unconsciously press yourself against him, the heat of his torso seeping through the thin fabric of your thin shirt - his shirt- feet tangled with his.

His free arm circles your waist as the top of your head rests against the tip of his chin. This has happened way to many times and it's not even a big deal to begin with, sure he'd admit that he was awkward as hell the first time, stiff as a board, but know that he's grown accustomed to it, it would be an understatement to say that he liked it. Not that he would tell you that face to face, though the way he buries his nose on your hair says otherwise.

"What are you dreaming about, baby?" He whispers to himself. Another thing that he wouldn't dare to do in front of your face during the earlier years. Urie had developed another habit, talking to himself (to you, actually. But it's the same category with the scented candle....he wouldn't tell anyone about that...he wouldn't even admit it to himself)

"You know, I used to think paper works were easy... but they're not, y/n. Training these new kids are hard too...heh, I'm getting old and my back is killing me." He rants.

"Oh god I can't believe I'm doing this...talking to you, to me, because I can't sleep. The younger me would've think I've gotten too soft...not that being soft is a bad thing...and I am kinda soft when it comes to y-I mean you made me so---ah shit. Forget it." He grumbles, eyes checking if the noise ever woke you up. Still asleep.

"How the hell can you sleep that fast and that deep? I'm jealous."

You try your hardest to fight the smile growing on your lips from his rambling. Kuki Urie is dead serious, anyone who has eyes would tell you that. Passive face with an equally passive-aggressive attitude, topped with state of the art sarcasm. He cam be really mean sometimes, though not as he used to be. That's what time does to you, it makes you realize, it makes you learn, it changes you, he supposes.

Though Kuki Urie with a (l/n)(f/n), now that's something. Even he himself would attest to that.

But a sleep deprived Kuki Urie with a sleeping (l/n)(f/n)? That's a different story altogether.

Kuki Urie behind closed doors, the Kuki Urie trying to let off the small things that crosses his mind and that happened to his day every time he thinks you're deep in slumber. You find the gesture intimate, it makes your heart swell to know that he trusts you to let you see the barest parts of himself after dark. It's bare, it's quirky, sincere...your Urie.

"The coffee machine broke down today too, I was so close to throwing out the window----"

"Isn't your office on the 17th floor? That's dangerous." You mutter, voice still laced with sleep. He almost falls off the bed.

"You were awake?!"

"No. No. I'm asleep."

"y/n!" He half-shout half-whispers.

You let out a giggle, head craning up to meet his eyes, "You called me baby."

The mischievous grin you send him makes him blush, he thanks the universe that the lights are off. You wiggle in his embrace, trying to balance yourself on your elbows. He lets you, arm letting go of your waist, he rolls on his stomach, chin now resting on his crossed arms.

"I can't sleep."

He made no attempt to deny your first accusation, you note.

"I know. C'mere..." your voice is soft, he wonders why the both of you are talking in hushed voices. It's not like you're sharing the flat with anyone or thin walls for the neighbors to hear. He feels your hand snake through the strands of his hair, guiding his head against your chest until he's lying on top of you. The skin of his cheek sticks against the skin of your collar and the seams of the shirt. He hears the soft beating of your chest. Your fingers gently traces the skin of his scalp and it makes him sigh. He feels you slowly let yourselves down, settling against the pillows and the pooling blankets. The thumb of your other hand kneads the skin, muscle and bone on the base of his nape. Easing the tense knots he didn't even know was there until you made him aware they were there. It was soothing, you were soothing.

If someone had told him back them that he found peace in comfort in being your little spoon, he would've rolled his eyes and scoffed at them. But hey, who would've thought?

He closes his eyes and relishes on your warmth, on the soft hums you let out and the comfort of you.

"Did I ever tell you I love you?" you whisper against the crown of his head.

"Everyday." He lazily answers and you smile, his breath falling in time with yours. You can feel his lashes touch your skin.

"I do...I love you." You tell him as-a-matter-of-factly as much as the softness of your voice allows.

"I love you too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The last thing he feels is your lips against his forehead.

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He opens his eyes to the harsh morning light, blinking a few time before looking up at your sleeping chest. You put down your phone, you smile at down at him.

"What time is it?" he mumbles.

"10:30"

He blinks at you, letting your words sink in. It worries you, "...it's your day off right? I mean...I know you usually wake up early regardless, but you were sleeping so soundly---I--- do you want breakfast?"

He lets his face drop, flopping face first on your tummy. "...later. Going back to sleep." His voice muffled by your shirt, he pulls you against him tighter. It surprises you and you smirk.

"Who are you and what did you do with my Urie."

He does not reply, burying his face further into you.

"Softie." You chuckle.

"Heard that."

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Dedicated for asgi231

a/n: I'm back!!!! Comments are deeply appreciated. ♥️