Work Text:
Early-morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the heavy, drawn curtains that separated the outside world from their bedroom, casting them in a gentle light. The heady scent of sweat clung to his nostrils, and he could still taste it at the back of his throat, refusing to leave. An arm had been thrown across his chest, and against his neck warm breaths stole his away. Soft sighs and sleepy mutters led him to waking, eyes stuttering open and lazily scanning the room, before looking to the person beside him.
She was still asleep, dark hair cast across the pillow and sheets, strands tangled between his fingers and sticking out at odd angles. Her chin rested on his clavicle, lips parted and flushed red as a trail of drool made its way down her face. Her breaths came slow, chest rising and falling as he watched intently. A ray of sunlight drifted to her face, the glow making her seem almost like a painting, a work of art that only he had the privilege to see, in this private gallery that was their bedroom.
Her breaths hesitated for a moment, her eyes moving under the covers of her eyelids, before they fluttered open, immediately looking to him. In the gentle sun, her dark eyes seemed to him like flames, flames that he knew would one day consume him. Her lips parted slightly, before lifting into a slight smile, then she buried her nose into his neck, breathing in deeply, and causing him to stop breathing for a moment. "Mmmm." she mumbled into his neck, still in the transition between sleep and waking, "good morning, Loid."
"Good morning," he said, running a hand through her hair and shifting to his side. She wined in annoyance, but still curled further into him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, then one of her legs over his hips, the blanket slipping away to reveal her bare thigh. Loid placed one of his hands over it, while the other lifted up her chin, allowing their lips to meet. She sighed into it, losing her eyes and pulling him closer. When they broke apart they were both smiling, "how did you sleep?" he asked, voice rough.
"Better with you with me." she answered truthfully, then pulled him in for another kiss. With them both so close together, she could hear his heartbeat, steady, but quicker than it usually was. She could imagine the blood it was pumping, allowing his body to keep functioning, painting his face a pretty shade of pink. He was always so serious, seeing him like this made her own heart skip a beat. "Do you think we have time before Anya wakes up?" she whispered into his ear, as if their daughter could hear them through the walls of the apartment.
"She doesn't have school today, so she will probably be sleeping in," he said slowly, as if the slow morning had slowed his own thoughts to a crawl, "and she hasn't come her to wake us up yet." He brought their lips into a kiss once again, then trailed his kisses down to her neck, then further, as his hand rubbed circles into her thigh. When he reached her navel, though, he paused, eyes catching something on her leg, at the junction between thigh and pelvis, where the femoral artery lay just underneath. On the skin there were words written in small, grey, uniform letters.
"Loid," she said, placing a hand on his head, running it through his hair, "you don't have to look." They didn't need to say what it was to know it. A soulmark. Just the night before, as they had fallen into bed, she had seen his. Yor Briar, written in her own swooping print across his his shoulder-blade. She hadn't shown him hers at the time, and he hadn't pressed her to. The soul marks were not infallible, all knowing blessings. They were just as random as the universe itself. It was not uncommon for them to not match each other, or for a person to never meet their supposed soulmate, or to have one at all. Him having her name written into his soul was a pure coincidence. Her not having his name was a matter of chance.
He didn't take her warning, gently pulling her leg up to get a better look. She didn't fight it, it was his choice, even if she couldn't bare to see the disappointment that would cross his beautiful face. She held her breath, but the disappointment did not come. Instead, a number of different emotions crossed his face. Surprise, awe, sadness, and something she could not name, but was nostalgia.
His lips parted then closed a few times, his mind stuttering to a stop as he tried to find the words, while his fingers traced over a name he hadn't seen in well over twenty years. He recognized the writing; it was his own, honed from years of practice, perfectly spaced and completely generic, to the point that it could only be his. It was strange, seeing that name in those letters, rather than the elegant cursive of his mother's hand, or his own childish scrawl. It almost seemed unfamiliar, but it was not. It was as familiar as Yor's name, written on his back. As Anya's, on tests and forms. As familiar as Loid Forger.
"I'm sorry." Yor's whisper broke their silence. "I'm sorry it is not your name." she said, her eyes glistening with un-shed tears. She looked truly remorseful, as if it was her who wrote that name on her leg. She lifted his face so that his eyes met her own, "I love you. It doesn't matter what name my soulmark has. I love you, Loid Forger."
Smiling, her pushed them both up, so he could wrap himself around her. She sighed into his touch, as he leaned close to her ear. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered into it, as if it was dangerous for anyone except the two of them to know. And it was. "That was my name. When I was young, before the war." Yor's breath hitched, and she pulled back slightly, fingers tracing his face. His thin lips, his nose, the indented scars that were invisible except for up-close.
"Before the war?" she repeated. She knew that everyone her age had experienced the war. It left scars, both physical and mental, left thousands of children orphaned, like her, and even more families in ruin. Why had she never asked Loid about his own scars? But, the name. "Your name," she said, slowly, hesitant, allowing him to change the subject if he wished, "Its Westalian."
"It is." he replied. She ran her hands over his face again, breath catching. She didn't ask any more questions. She knew what he had told her was dangerous. They both knew it. Thoughts sped through her mind that were too dangerous to say out loud.
There was a reason Loid changed his name. Sure, Ostania and Westalis were not in all-out war anymore, but the scars were there. She knew that being openly Westalian put a target on your back, it made you automatically presumed to be a spy, the immediate one blamed for anything bad happening in the country. It would likely make Loid's job as a psychiatrist even harder, if he was even allowed to practice at all. And that meant Anya had to be Westalian too, or at least half, depending on who her mother was. That would have taken her out of the running for Eden immediately, with all the children of influential people there.
As these thoughts ran through her head, Loid's eyes watched her carefully. Not scared, she couldn't remember when she'd ever sen him scared, but hesitant. Waiting. As if her next move would set in motion a world changing series of events. Brushing his cheek with her thumb, she leaned in slowly, giving him time to distance himself.
Instead, he leaned forward, their lips pressing together into a honey-sweet kiss. In the distance a clock chimed eight o'clock, and they separated, breathing slow and worries long forgotten. Leaning her forehead against his, she smiled and said, voice barely above a whisper, "let's have breakfast."