♡︎ mark lee imagines ♡︎

cozy [4:09 a.m.]

Here you are. And here he is.

The world, on the brink of waking up - shop owners' morning alarms ringing and stray kittens stretching in the streets, ready for a new day of life. In the trees, songbirds ready their voices to sing their yellow serenade.

But here you are, next to him, not yet asleep from the previous night. Here, you cling to the time you have together, unready to leave to leave his side - unwilling to accept there are only twenty four precious hours in a day. For today, he leaves.

As the moon lifts her white head high in the sky, she blesses your tangled bodies with her pale beams through the open windows. Watching her retire down towards the city line, the both of you fight the grip of sleep, chatting away about which and whatever comes to mind. Poetry leaves his gentle lips. Quotes, lyrics, confessions. Then, an alien conspiracy he's come across.

"I'm telling you, ___, they're up there," Mark whispers, voice husky against your cheek. He smells of fresh linens and aftershave. If he's a feeling, he's warm.

You hum, indulging his extraterrestrial theory tiredly, snuggling ever tighter onto his chest. The grey softness of his sleep shirt offers tempting comfort. You find your eyes fluttering shut as you tune into the rhythmic beat of your lover's heart. His fingers draw invisible shapes against your back.

"When is your flight?," you hush, the pull of sleep apparent in your tone.

"Soon," he breathes back. His chest rises and falls with a small sigh. You almost don't feel the chaste kiss on the crown of your head that follows.

"You won't be here when I wake up". It's a statement rather than a question because you know the truth well. Once sister sun bids her goodbyes to majesty moon, your love will be a hundred miles from home.

Mark lets the bittersweet words fall into silence instead of answering. In the place of a verbal reply that wouldn't soothe the slight ache in your heart anyway, he shifts under the covers so he's facing you. With your eyes shut, you feel him lift your head tenderly to rest on a pillow.

"I'll be right here," he breathes. His fingertips fall from your face down to your chest. The back of his hand presses to feel the steady beating of your heart.

You drift away together, treasuring your closeness in its last moments for weeks to come. It's peaceful as anything.

When the sunbeams arrive and your eyes blink awake, the bed is made on his side. Stretching the sleep from your bones as you sit up, a small post-it note catches your eye, the small yellow square contrast against your white comforter.

"my love. 30 day supply. - mark"

A soft laugh leaves your lips. The note is complete with a crude doodle of a bottle, a tiny wobbly heart decorating its label. Reading over his messy handwriting over and over, you stick it to your bedframe for easy viewing later.

Opening your phone, you type him a simple message for him to read when he lands.

"my love. 1 day supply. call me before it runs out <3 -___"