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Of Brilliant Blue | Gerpard (technically HSR but shh)

(Thank you, GreatDain!)

The slow descension of the sun brings a reign of quiet serenity. It is as if the sun and its rays that blind the beings from above taking its leave brings the chaos of daily life with it. You bring out cookies from the oven, the plush light blue oven mitts with daisies on it shielding you from the scorching heat of the tray. The smell hits you immediately, and the urge to eat them is further accentuated by a growl from your stomach.

But you stop yourself.

Gerpard should be home any minute, and you smooth out your pants and start cleaning up the kitchen before your instincts take hold and you devour them. As you finish scraping the last of the batter from the bowl (And definitely didn't consume it because you are an adult and not a six year old child), the jangle of the keys are heard and you make a mad dash to the door.

The jingle of Gerpard's house keys are like Church Bells. Precious, special, and even rather holy to you at times.

"Honey, I'm home." His voice is jaded by exhaustion, his lilt that is usually light and pleasant is quieter and almost soulless. You hug him as he shuffles his shoes off and places them in the shoe cupboard neatly. It's the rather small details that Gerpard notices that makes you fall for him more: he tries to get a more pleasant alarm ringtone in the morning to allow you to sleep in, he keeps stools around the house so you can reach things easier, because Gerpard is a giant. You're glad now that he puts his shoes away properly even if his eyes are slowly closing from fatigue. He leans into your hug, his hands wrapping around your waist and his nose nuzzling into your shoulder. You run your hands through his sunlight spun locks of gold hair and he sighs appreciatively.

"How was work, my angel?" You ask, sitting him down on one of the dining room chairs. He sinks into the light blue plush and throws his head back, sighing dramatically.

"Sampo... He's just so... Oh, let's not ruin our evening speaking about it." He waves a gloved hand dismissively, before removing his gloves with his teeth. His eyes, the hue of the summer seas glimmer in the evening sun, bleeding through the half open window and trickling through the white lace curtains. "What were you up to? That's a pretty outfit!" Gerpard always notices how you dress. He knows that the lighter whites and blues are reserved for trips to the beach, red and purples for dates and more risque activities, and black and green for work. Pinks and pastels are for home. Sundresses that are too short to wear in public adorn your figure in the house, but Gerpard doesn't mind at all. Even if it makes heat rise to his cheeks when you bend over to retrieve something from the drawer below the kitchen sink.

"Oh, thank you!" You twirl in a pink chiffon dress with pastel yellow and darker pink flowers, the straps adorned with a bow on each shoulder. "No, nothing much happened today. But you look exhausted, darling..." You move the tray of cookies towards him. "Fresh out of the oven. No raisins!"

Gerpard giggles softly, taking your hand and kissing the pulse point on your wrist, nuzzling into your palm, his hair tickling it. "I'm just very tired, is all." He plays with the wedding ring on your finger, a simple yet elegant sapphire centrepiece brilliant blue as his eyes. He then silently interlocks his ringed hand with yours, the jewel the colour of your own eyes. He looks at the rings that catch the light and gleam in the golden glory of the evening. Gerpard's laugh resembles the chiming of bells, puppy like, charming, innocent. Even if he towers over you, there is nothing he uses to intimidate you. In fact, there seems to be a level of understanding and equality between you. Even in troubling times, he knows that you both stand on equal footing, if not putting you higher than him. "It smelled of cookies when I got here, I knew you were concocting something."

"Try them!" You urge, and he takes a bite. His eyes light up and he eats it with great vigour and both eloquent graces, the teachings from childhood still remain.

"They're great! You get better at baking them every time, I don't know how you'll step up from this one. Did you get a different brand of chocolate chip cookies? They're amazing!" He praises you, his hand running through your hair and ruffling it slightly. Gently, he brings your face closer and pecks your lips. "You're an angel." He whispers softly, his voice dropping a few octaves.

"No, you are." You kiss Gerpard back and tuck some of his hair behind his ear. "I've ordered a few massage oils, I think we should put them to use." You pinch his cheeks, "You look stiff. I've run a bath for you too."

He blushes and puts your hand on his chest, his brows upturned. The strict expression he wears as a leader completely diminishes in your presence. "I don't think I deserve you, no matter how many good deeds I've done." He smiles, flashing his teeth. You look at him, in your scene of domestic bliss, and those relentlessly hypnotic eyes stare right back at you, and you know that no matter how many times you stare at them, even if your hands become wrinkly with age, you will forever be weak to those eyes of brilliant blue.