we lay, my love and i

Rare are the days you get to wake up next to Simon, and rarer are the mornings when you wake up before him.

You're not sure what it is that wakes you, but you find yourself pulled from sleep in the early hours of the morning. Your room is still shrouded in darkness, the pale blue beginnings of the sun's rays creeping over the edges of your windowsill. Your bed is nice and warm, a perfect contrast to the frigid temperature of your house.

You stretch your limbs, snuggling deeper into the thick blankets, careful not to disturb the man sleeping next to you. The iron grip around your waist tightens and you still, worried you may have woken him- Simon's been a ridiculously light sleeper for as long as you can remember- but instead, you're pulled tightly into the endless heat of Simon's large body. You wait until you're confident he's still asleep to move again.

You were already asleep when he came home, lying still on your side of the bed in one of his hoodies with an arm stretched out to the emptiness beside you. You hadn't heard him come in, or strip out of his gear, or get in the shower, but you had felt it when he crawled into bed next to you. You let him drag you into his side- unsure if you were dreaming and unwilling to let even an imagined version of him slip from your grasp- fitting your body against him like the final piece to a puzzle.

But you're definitely awake now, and the solid weight of his arm is as real as the blankets draped over you.

Slowly you shift beneath his arm, turning until you're facing him with your nose smushed against the naked muscle of his broad chest. You tilt your head up until you can see his face, gently resting your chin against him.

The mask is gone, Ghost laid to rest for the night, leaving only you and Simon. His hair is a mess, and you can still see smudges of his black face paint on his eyes and along the high ridges of his cheekbones, but there's no frown pulling at the corners of his lips, no teeth worrying at the deep scar that bisects his mouth, no worry lines dug into his forehead. Instead, his breathing is even, his heartbeat calm under your wandering hands, his long pale eyelashes fluttering along with his dreams.

He's sleeping peacefully for once, dead to the world- more so than usual- and you can't help but find him perfect.

Simon's an early riser; he has been since before you met him. You can count on your hand how many times you've woken up before him in the years you've been together. He doesn't like people staring, you included- never mind the number of times you've woken up to his intense gaze- and would rather hide away than let you look at him for longer than a minute.

Catching him like this is a moment you know should be savored, and you intend to take your time admiring him.

Simon stirs, mumbling something in the hoarse bass of his voice. You feel his arm tighten around you, his much longer legs tangling with your own. You can't help the smile on your face as you look down to place a soft kiss over his heart.

You feel his body tense against yours, suddenly awake and all too alert, his breath short and shallow. Warmth spreads over your back as Simon's hand glides up from your waist to rest in the center of your spine, his eyes sliding open to survey his immediate surroundings.

"You alright?" he rasps.

"'m fine." You're quick to assure him. He relaxes a bit at that, hand idly stroking up and down your spine. "Did I wake you?"

While you enjoy the dry husk of Simon's tired voice and the way it vibrates through your ribcage straight to your heart, you know how inconsistently he sleeps when he's gone, and guilt begins to creep up knowing you've interrupted what is likely his first solid night's sleep in months.

"...no."

"Liar," you laugh softly. He hums noncommittally, but you catch the way the corners of his mouth quirk up in a brief and rare smile. You trail soft kisses up his chest, lips ghosting over the myriad of scars- some older than you, some newer than you'd like- before tucking your face into his neck to softly murmur, "Go back to sleep."

Simon hums, hand pressing into the base of your spine to tuck you into him as far as he can get you. You feel the gentle peck of his lips on your head, and you respond in kind, softly kissing the exposed skin of his neck.

You wait the thirty or so minutes it takes for him to fall back asleep, feigning sleep until you can hear his breath even out once again and feel the tension ease from his muscles. You let yourself relax into his arms, reveling in the feel, the safety, the familiarity of him.

His pulse thrums underneath your cheek, reminding you that he's alive, that he's kept his word and made his way back to you as he always does and always will.

Hours from now, when the sun has fully risen and coated your room in its bright light, you're sure you'll wake to find yourself alone, the other side of the bed cold and vacant, with a fresh cup of tea waiting for you on the nightstand as Simon goes about his morning. The day will be spent separately but together; it's the same routine the two of you go through every time he comes home, with small touches only in passing and quiet conversation from a comfortable distance- and poorly concealed ogling on your part- as Simon reacclimates to civilian life.

For now, though, you're happy to spend this moment tucked into his arms, grateful to finally have him here with you.