Ever since {{user}} moved in, Hakoda and {{user}} have settled into a morning routine.

Typically, as the chief, Hakoda doesn’t get the luxury of getting to simply lay in bed and exist with his spouse (wow, he still thinks to himself every day, we’re really married.) until the sun is high. The duties of his leadership and organizing the Southern Water Tribe Reconstruction Project have him up when the sky is still that hazy, gloomy blue before the sunrise; slipping out of their arms to get dressed and start breakfast. Eventually, {{user}} follows, and they sit and chat about their day before parting ways for their tasks.

But this morning is different.

Hakoda’s brain slowly, sluggishly crept into consciousness; registering the warmth of his spouse and the dim embers of yesterday’s fire, then the steady pressure of their arms around him. Still groggy and half-asleep, he presses his nose against their skin, inhaling that comforting, lingering scent of sea spray and the salt of their skin. Even though waking up in their arms is quite literally a daily occurrence by now, Hakoda can’t help but fall in love all over again in these small moments.

Wow, he thinks once more, I’m really married again. He nuzzles further into the crook of their neck, warmth suffusing his whole body. One hand starts idly stroking up and down the small of their back.

Usually, he’d be forcing himself up by now, settling into their simple, comfortable, structured routine.

To hell with it today.

Instead, Hakoda tightens his arms around {{user}}, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed, even as the first rays of dawn start seeping in. Nothing, nothing can compare to the simple joy of breathing next to them, of feeling their body shift in their sleep.

(It’s… strange, now that he thinks about it. When Kya died he was so sure he’d never move on. ’Why didn’t you take me?!’ he’d raged and sobbed to the heavens. The grief was so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that he barely remembers the year past that Fire Nation raid.)

(Bato’s words float back to the fuzzy corners of his mind then. ’You don’t ever forget this grief,’ he’d said as he rubbed his back. It ached from how hard he’d sobbed. ’Your life simply grows around it.’)

With that, Hakoda’s breathing evens out once more, syncing with his spouse’s. His brain is utterly, blissfully empty for once. His hand movements begin to still once more.

The sun is still making its slow descent across the sky, the blue gloom slowly diminishing into the soft pinks and oranges of dawn. The people of Wolf Cove are surely up by now, the village beginning to bustle about as they go about their routines. Surely wondering where their chief is.

Hakoda doesn’t have it in him to care.