Why, no, I'm not dead. Eheh. It would seem I'm back to the drabbles, but for the moment, I don't mind too much. If drabbles mean I'm actually writing again, I'll not complain a single bit.

Little thing I wrote at work today, for my boything. He made my day, so I wanted to try to make his. Don't know whether I succeeded, but I was rather pleased with the end result, so again, no complaints.

Also, would you even believe me if I tried to say I owned anything? I didn't think so.

Beep, beep, beep, beep …

He heard that jarring electronic screech somewhere in the very back of his mind, something that should have stirred him more than it did. Shifting from his side onto his stomach, he reached blindly for the button that would silence that absolutely horrendous noise – but instead of immediately pulling himself out of bed as he would any other morning, he just lay there for a moment, soft eyes adjusting to the even softer light filtering through drawn window coverings.

It was far too early to be up. He knew that, but no matter how hard he tried, how long he made himself lie there on an off day – or what came close to qualifying as such – he would only end up staring at the ceiling. The walls. Lion Heart's case leaning against one of those walls on the other side of the room.

In this case, it was him.

It was a wonder that even the subtle shift of that small body didn't wake him – he always had been a light sleeper, trained to rest only when he could still keep an eye on his target, tucked into the tightest of spaces. Tall as he was, it almost amused him how small he could make himself, curled up with both arms pillowing his head, the fall of long auburn hair spilling over bare shoulders and bedsheets alike. His face was calm, serene as it always was – and with that little upward tilt of his lips that never seemed out of place, either.

Squall slipped a bit closer, gently nuzzled his cheek before settling against his chest, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and musk. The scent of him.

That larger body finally stirred with a muffled sound of contentment, that slight curve of his mouth deepening by degrees as slender arms unfolded and wrapped around the form of the brunet nestled against him, fitting against him as though he were meant to do nothing else. Violet eyes flickered open, still hazy with sleep, but with a light shining behind them that seemed to only surface when Squall smiled.

"Mornin', darlin'."

Beep, beep, beep, beep …

He reached behind him, knocked the alarm clock from its corner on the nightstand. It hit the floor with a very satisfying clatter.

Mornings like these were few and far between – when nothing demanded his immediate attention, the world wasn't threatening to blow itself up. Anything he had to do, anyone that needed to speak to him … would still be there in a few hours. He settled again, all but purring at the feel of long fingers threading through dark hair.

He could stay in bed a little longer.