Till used to hate mornings. He was a night owl; of course he prefers to sleep in after painting and drinking until 5 am. His insomnia didn't help either. His precarious and honestly self destructive lifestyle made him groan whenever his alarm started blasting in his ear at 6 on the dot. Five phones. That's how many phones he's broken in his sleep deprived induced rage.

At least, that's what it used to be. Dating Ivan changed everything. Gaining a boyfriend meant gaining an overprotective psycho who would control the rest of your life (affectionately). Which meant Ivan forcefully dragging him away from his harmful habits. Which sucked at first, but now? He's never been happier.

It took nearly 15 years of friendship to realise Ivan was his greatest blessing. His ride or die. His soulmate. His joy and sorrow. He was living life through a pink filter. Cringe, but- he wouldn't change it for the world. Because Till is Ivan's, just as much Ivan is Till's.

Eight months of gayness later, Till lays in bed, Ivan's bed, propped up on an elbow as he looks down at his lover's sleeping face. Gah- his face hurts from smiling so brightly. Waking up like this, clothes strewn across the room, half-asleep, covered by the warmth of Ivan's strong arms, he could get used to. Does he want to move in with him? Till already spends most nights over- Wait, no. Ivan would never let him live it down if he said something like that.

Till reaches out, stroking the black hair off Ivan's face before cupping his cheek. However, what Till wasn't expecting is for his usually deep-sleeper boyfriend to stir. Ivan's lashes flutter, nose twitching as he starts to wake up. Till nearly rolls his eyes. The one time (lie) he wants to admire his boyfriend, and he ruins it by waking up. He leans down and presses a kiss under his eye.

"Mornin'," Till sighs, voice still low and hoarse from waking up.