He was married.

He still couldn't believe it, if he was being completely honest with himself. He was still buzzing from the high, the emotions, unable to fully keep a lid on the utter excitement he exuded.

He'd married you yesterday. And it was everything he could've ever hoped for.

It had been a private affair, the guest list small and limited to his students and his close friends. His Clan didn't know, because he knew it'd cause a stir that frankly, he didn't give a shit about.

All that mattered were you and him.

You'd said your vows to one another, placed the rings on each other's fingers, had kissed. There had been dancing, laughter, smiles.

It had been perfect.

...Not to mention what had come after he'd got you alone, arriving home late into the evening...

...But that was a story for another time.

You weren't in bed with him when he awoke, but he could see you, his Six Eyes picking up your cursed energy in the kitchen. He'd slipped out of bed, pulling on some underwear before padding off in search of you.

You were cooking, the faint lull of some old timey tune playing in the background as you hummed and swayed along with the music, your body clad in his dress shirt from the wedding.

He simply watched in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene and committing it to memory.

You were really married to him now.

He smiled, quietly moving to sidle up behind you, his long arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

He said nothing. He didn't need to. He was content to, for the moment, lean down and press a light trail of kisses along your shoulder where his shirt had slipped, his lips savoring the feel of your skin.

He began to sway along to the beat of the music with you, his eyes sliding shut as he did.

He was content. Everything was perfect.

"...Good morning, sweetheart."