Work Text:
The morning starts normally, as it always does. Routine settles into the bone, familiarity clinging to the flesh and driving through the blood, forward.
This is how it is. How it should be.
... right. Tanaka Aoi. Yes, his name. The name of a normal, efficient, hard-working salaryman.
He wakes from a restful slumber, the memory of a dream a wisp on the edge of his consciousness. Red and gunmetal grey, and something metallic on the tip of his tongue…
It is gone, just barely on the edge of recognition. It feels important, though logically he knows it is not. Fancies of the mind, random images concocted by the brain as it rests from the drain of consciousness.
Dreams are merely that, however. A false world into which one may occasionally retreat.
Where is he…?
A brilliant scent wafts in through the door to his- ah, that’s wrong.
A brilliant scents wafts in through the door to their bedroom.
Mr. Tanaka smiles, a little half-quirk of one corner of his mouth that suggests not a lifetime of it, but rather one who’d learned how much later on.
He glances at his bedside table. It’s early enough that his alarm hasn’t gone off, at least 15 minutes before, and he reaches over and resets it for the next day. Getting up is a bit of a struggle, though not one he is unfamiliar with.
His wife, bless her heart, moves around in her sleep more than she’ll ever admit, and the less than perfect state of their shared blankets and covers reflects this. His usual modus operandi is to fully make the bed every morning; today, he merely straightens them up a bit, not making too much noise.
Then, he rises. The morning air is cool on his chest, with his pajama pants, boxers, and ankle socks being his only companions to bed other than his wife. He’s grateful for the slight warmth they let him keep, now, but unlike her, they haven’t left him to go make coffee.
Speaking of which…
Mr. Tanaka makes his way quietly out of the bedroom, making sure to slide through the door open ever so slightly to slide through. He pads quietly across hardwood floor, taking care not to breathe too heavily or to step too soundly.
At the edge of his senses: the smell of a truly delectable brew of coffee, and the faint humming of some newer song.
He makes his way around a corner in the hallway, and there she is, radiant enough that he could go blind. Yet, it would be worth it. He would never dare look away.
She’s absorbed in her own little world, grabbing ingredients, prepping pans, multitasking by checking on their rather expensive coffee machine at the same time. He sneaks into the kitchen quietly, keeping his footsteps as light as possible, and then he waits. He waits until she's not too ensnared by any task, until nothing will go awry from distraction, until-
His arms encircle her waist without warning. She jumps slightly, and he chuckles.
“Darling!” She says, trying for admonishment and failing. Her giggle gives her away, as does her leaning back into him without pause.
“Darling.” He replies, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck, just below and slightly behind her ear. “I missed you this morning.”
“I- ah.” She leans further into him, tilting her head slightly. “You say that every morning…”
“And I mean it, wholeheartedly-” He kisses her again, having learned the importance of such affection early on in their relationship. And enjoying it rather thoroughly himself. “-every morning.”
She hums low in the back of her throat, enjoying the attention of her lover. Then, she turns her head, and they kiss again, and again. After another time, she pulls back, smiling softly at him.
“That’s… enough, for now.” She doesn’t pull away, however, and they linger near one another, enjoying their mutual warmth. “I need to finish making breakfast.”
“Of course.” He still doesn’t pull away.
“Darling.”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just…”
“Hm?” She leans her head back, eyes half-closing.
“…nothing, I’m just thinking.”
He shakes off the odd feeling in his bones, his flesh and blood. He’d woken up fine, as per normal, but it’s just… strange, somehow. The memory- no, the dream, is still right past where he can recall. But it doesn’t matter.
This moment, right here, matters.
“You know…” His wife says. “I’ve also been thinking…”
Slowly, they rock back and forth ever so slightly. And it is good. And they are loved right here, in this space, together. And nothing is wrong at all. That is the niche they have carved out together in their peaceful, ordinary life.
“…about…?” He murmurs, cheek pressed against the side of her head, her golden-brown hair just in the bottom half of her- his vision.
“About…” She grabs one his hands, and slowly shifts it up from where it was clasped with the other at her waist, moves it up… ever so slightly, until his large hand is pressing lightly against the bottom of her abdomen. “…maybe…”
“Maybe, hm?”
“Mhm.”
“Hm.”
They rock back and forth, enjoying each other’s warmth.
“…are you sure?” He says quietly, though there is an undercurrent of something else there, too, other than just quiet. Warmth, surprise, love.
“Mhm.”
“Hm.” He doesn’t respond immediately. It’s true, that is the usual next step for those in their position. Not that it’s a requirement, not at all. The world is large enough already, but still, it’s a common practice. And they’re certainly well off enough, between his recent promotion and her growing author career.
“Darling?”
“Alright.” He chuckles, and it’s low and shiver-inducing in a good way. “…what would we name them?”
His wife, Viktoriya Tanaka, laughs under her breath, warm and fond.
“It’s a bit early for that, you know. We haven’t even tried…” She pauses. Her smile is a permanent fixture now, and somehow, he just knows.
“…but, well… if it’s a girl, I was thinking-”
-=-
Tanya wakes up.
It is cold, and barren. Canvas meets her eyes, and darkness is just outside her tent. It is early, and cold. But... warm browns and smooth greens, and something warm and bitter. The memory, or rather, the delusion, of somewhere else. Not an unfamiliar scene, but not real either. It's nothing at all.
Just… a dream… of something that could have been.