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Everything about him is golden in the morning. His hair, the lashes resting right above his cheeks, the chain around his neck, his skin. He glows. What does it mean if her view of him has gone from David to Apollo?
They’ve been dating for about a month. It has been a while since she’s done the whole romantic relationship thing, but she could’ve sworn the treacle starts to die down at least a little bit around this time. The problem is, it seems to have gotten worse, and she’s too inexperienced to know if this is normal or not. All she knows is she’s currently hoisted on her elbows, hovering over his face to study the details, and listening to him softly snore like it’s ASMR.
Her current fixation (borderline obsession) is the little scar on his left cheek. She wants to kiss it, and then trace it with the knife scar on her index finger. “We’re so alike,” she thinks dimly; because she’s insane. She wants to ask him how he got it—just so he can tell her the story, just so she can hear him speak—but she knows it’s probably something serious that she’ll be too sad to respond to. She’ll find it in her to ask him about it later, hopefully when she starts to feel more normal about him, which currently feels like a distant future. For now, she’ll just stick to watching him sleep with his curls sprawled wildly on her silk pillows, feeling like a stalker in her own apartment.
Moving on to the other details of his face, she counts each mole on his face. Due to that being her previous fixation, she already knows how many he has, but she counts anyway out of habit, peppering soft kisses on each one. She then moves to peck his cheeks, then his chin, then his forehead, and finally his nose. Then she boops his nose, and kisses it again. This is the part of her new morning routine where she’s too far gone to care about how far gone she is. She can’t help it, not when his mouth is fixed in a perpetual pout and his eyebrows slightly furrow when she lightly tickles his ears. It makes her wanna be annoying and bite him, so she does, very lightly on his nose, then kisses it again as a soft apology.
If it wasn’t obvious she’s obsessed with his nose. If his eyes didn’t exist, it would be her favorite thing about his face. She loves how exaggerated it is; like you could draw his face with three lines. She loves the way it curves out, demanding attention, begging to be kissed. Or in her case, bitten. Or both. It doesn’t really matter, she’s just so fixated on it she’s practically made it one of his personality traits. She boops his nose, pulling out a fondly annoyed groan from him that makes her wanna squeal in her pillow and write their initials in hearts like a schoolgirl. She bites his nose again out of cuteness aggression. Then she moves to his cheek, then his ear, then his shoulder. Once she gets to his SOU tattoos, he seems half awake and slightly cognizant of the biting (which is really more like light teeth grazing) by the way he keeps twisting around. She moves back up to place good morning kisses on his cheeks and eyelids, to which he responds with “Morning,” soft as can be. She hums in reply, mirroring his softness.
When she goes to look into his eyes, still fluttering while he blinks off the sleep, she swears his irises are a little golden too. Or maybe they’re just reflecting the sun and she’s helplessly delusional. Or they just have a little yellow and green in them that she’s never noticed before. She’ll have to keep staring in them to know for sure.
Once he’s fully awake, she can tell, because of the way he snuggles into her and the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at her; a warm look that seems to be reserved purely for her, like he sees her the same way she sees him, maybe worse. Like if he’s Apollo, maybe she’s Venus.