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infinites-chaser · 4 years

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today, this is the whole universe (and that’s okay) | mlqc | gavin/mc | domestic fluff

Gavin and MC spend a sleepy Sunday together.

The first rays of warm, buttery dawn light are barely brushing the edges of the half-open blinds when Gavin stirs, eyes blinking open, mouth stretching wide in a quiet yawn, MC still fast asleep in his arms, her hair like a soft silk blanket across his chest. Carefully, trying his best to not disturb her, he reaches over her head to grab at the top of the nightstand, where both their phones sit, charging, hers quiet, his buzzing softly but insistently with his morning alarm.

With an easy, practiced swipe, he silences it, placing it next to hers once more. He brings his hand back to caress her cheek, then begins the slow process of freeing his body by gently shifting her onto the bed itself. At his touch, she murmurs something. Soft and unintelligible as it is, it still manages to bring a small smile to his face.

For a moment, he lets himself lie there, thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbones, the edge of her lips, lets the warm rise and fall of her chest and the beat of her heart in time with his complete him— she's the only peace he’ll ever want, the only peace he thinks he’ll ever need.

Another alarm sets his phone off, and the moment’s over. But as he reaches to silence his phone again, MC stirs, turning her head just the slightest so her lips brush the tip of his thumb.

“What time is it?” comes her sleepy mumble.

“Just past five.”

He lets his phone fall back onto the nightstand, pulls her close as she wriggles around in his arms to bring her face to his, their noses a breath apart.

“I was about to go on my morning run,” he explains. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. The sun did.”

As she shakes her head, their noses bump. He laughs, and feels the gentle tremor of her laughter, too: warmth and light given voice, given music. He presses a kiss to her forehead and she smiles, eyes curling into little half-moons, then slipping closed.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, stifling another laugh. “You had a late night.”

“Did not.”

Her eyes are still closed, but she’s grinning. He scoffs.

“Did too.”

He’s expecting another, more indignant did not, but a long minute passes, and her breathing evens out, the grin on her face softening to a gentle smile as her head pillows in the crook of his arm.

Good, he thinks, even as he’s trapped by her again. She needs the sleep more than he needs to run.

She’d been up past midnight the night before, despite it being a weekend— the company had wrapped shooting for the next installment of City News late Friday night, but Minor, who was slated to edit the footage, had come down with a cold, and she’d volunteered to do it instead. Twenty-five hours and many a frustrated moment later, she’d finished, with Gavin doing his best to support and not hover the whole while (Though in his defense, even if he hadn’t actually had a case report to work on at the table, too, she’d appreciated the constant supply of coffee he’d provided her, and had eaten the meals he’d tried to make for her).

He’d chastise her for it, a short, well-intentioned lecture about how she really should consider herself and her own health before taking on even more work and responsibilities, but he’s sure the same could be said about him, too. And, exhausted as she may be, he knows she’d have been equally stressed had the work gone to someone else, and now she’s finished, and satisfied with the work she’s done, so really, more than anything else, he’s proud of her.

Now she has all of Sunday to rest— and even if it means sleeping half the morning away, he’s glad to be with her while she does it.

The sound of her breathing, slow and even, lulls him back into a light sleep until seven am, when the summer sunlight streaming in through the blinds is blanketing the bottom half of the bed, too bright for him to ignore. He drops a kiss on the top of MC’s hair before carefully sliding out from under her, and this time she’s sleeping so deeply that she doesn’t stir, not even when he settles her head atop a pillow, and pulls the sheets a little more tightly around her to make up for his absent warmth.

Despite how bright it is outside— too bright, and therefore too hot, he decides, for a run— the kitchen floor’s cool under his feet, even through the soles of his slippers.

Hot coffee it is, he thinks, filling up the well-used coffee machine, then poking around in the pantry for the jar of grounds, only to find it’s nearly empty. There’s enough coffee for two more cups, maybe three, but he makes a mental note to buy more the next time they’re out shopping.

While the coffee brews, he crosses the kitchen to open the fridge, then frowns at its contents. Shopping will have to be soon, there’s not much left in it, either, but for now, it’ll do.

The coffee machine beeps, satisfied after filling the first mug to the brim. He takes it, though the first cup’s normally for MC, gulps down a few sips with a grimace, then stirs in two sugars— it’s how she likes hers, he’s used to taking his black, but it seems her sweet tooth’s contagious.

In the time it takes her to finally wake up, he manages to prepare brunch with whatever’s left in the fridge. The cornerstone, of course, is the coffee, in the second of their matching mugs, as sweet as she likes it, two sugars, no milk. There’s a blueberry muffin he leaves her, and he fries up a couple of eggs, puts them on some toast with butter and jam as options for spreads, then adds the last of the strawberries, tries to make the whole thing presentable, or at the very least, vaguely cute, if only because it’ll put the brightest smile on her face when she sees it.

It does— her sleepy eyes widen as she first takes the sight of the laden tray in, then comprehension lights her whole face up, and her lips stretch into a still-tired, but broad grin.

“Gavin,” she protests even as he slides back into bed next to her, stealing a kiss, “you shouldn’t have!”

He smiles, tapping the rim of his mug to hers as she takes a big sip, then sighs, content.

“It’s only because you went to sleep so late last night. I had to.”

“It wasn’t that late! And it’s only because it was a lot of work that I didn’t wake up ‘til now.”

‘Wasn’t that late’ is two am and ‘now’ is one pm, and he points both out with a chuckle. She pouts, hiding behind another sip of coffee.

“I’ll go to sleep earlier from now on!” She vows.

“How early?”

“Um, one am?”

“That’s not early enough.”

He flicks her forehead and frowns, but she only laughs.

Despite his worry and gentle admonition, though, he can’t say he minds this at all: a weekend afternoon spent in bed, no deadlines or stress to think of, just her smile, her warm laugh and the bright summer sun in the window, a universe they’ve created between the folds of the covers, a universe of breakfast smells, soft pillows, and coffee, a universe just for them.

Dinner, a few lazy hours later, is takeout oden hotpot. His excuse is that there’s nothing left in the fridge, and possibly, also the fact that he’s uncertain his cooking skills are passable enough for a good Sunday dinner, but he’ll take any reason to treat MC to her favorite, so he does.

Her eyes flick from the familiar logo on the takeout bag up to his when he sets it on the kitchen table. He can read the ‘Gavin, you shouldn’t have,’ in them a heartbeat before she says the words.

“Eat up while it’s still hot,” is his only reply, and with a smile, he hands her a pair of disposable chopsticks after breaking them apart with a small snap. She looks from him to the steaming pot of food. When he doesn’t move, she picks up a fish cake and a piece of vegetable, and holds it out to him with an answering smile.

“You first. You really like the fish cakes from here, right?”

He nods, fighting another smile and the smallest blush, then takes the bite, gesturing for her to eat, too, as he chews and swallows.

While she’s busy filling her own bowl, he takes his own chopsticks and picks out a few choice pieces, then holds his first bite out to her, too. She takes it without protest, but then tries to give her second bite to him, and he counters by trying to give her both his second and his third—

The hotpot’s finished, in that manner, within the next hour and a half. When the pot’s full of only broth, they take a look at each other, then MC begins to laugh.

“My stomach’s stuffed— are you prepared to take responsibility for this crime, Officer Gavin?” she manages, between laughs, trying and failing to put on a pitiful expression as she rubs her belly.

“Only if you start eating proper meals regularly,” he replies after a heartbeat, clearing his throat, and she huffs, but there’s a matching spark of amusement in both their eyes.

They wash the dishes from the day together, MC with the sponge, Gavin behind her, his arms not quite around her, taking each dish and drying it with a towel before putting it to rest on the dish rack. Once the last bowl is scrubbed and shining, nestled firmly in place, they settle together in a comfortable tangle of limbs on the couch.

It’s a gentle sort of quiet for all of five minutes before someone tickles the other— Gavin’ll swear up and down it wasn’t him— and it turns into a full-scale tickle war.

He gets in a few good ones, her breathless laughter mingling with his, warm and loud and bright, but then her elbow slips, (“it wasn’t on purpose!” she claims later) devious, into his gut.

“Do you surrender?” she asks, perched atop his chest, mischievous glint in her eyes. He starts to raise his arms, thinks better of it, then settles for a resigned nod.

“You got me,” he replies, then smiles when she leans in to brush her lips against his.

He doesn’t use the opportunity to tickle her again— he’s far more mature than that. He doesn’t.

And if they collapse into giddy giggles later, sides aching, breath spent, the couch pillows strewn across the plush white carpet, the coffee table askew, well, that's both their faults, not just his.

The sun’s long since slipped below the horizon by the time they’ve cleaned up the living room and taken a seat again, tired out. The room's wide windows give them both a glimpse into an otherworldly dimension, one made of night and stars and the soft glow of city lights far below, a universe at their feet, though the only one he cares about is right beside him, chin on his shoulder, the rest of her stretched out on the sofa while he sits on the floor.

“Play something for me?” she murmurs into his ear as he fiddles with his guitar, the two of them illuminated by the glow of his lamp of stars and the moonlight.

He lets his fingers dance across the guitar strings until it turns into music, a soft, warm melody that somehow tugs on the edges of his memory though he’s sure he’s never played it before in his life, and he’s humming along before he even realizes it, the notes familiar, nostalgic, like coming home.

MC’s head tips up, eyes wide, and his fingers slip from the strings. The music stops.

“Play that again?”

He nods, obliges instinctively, and there’s the melody again, chords like his life given new meaning, breathed alive in the spaces between the start of one note and the end of another, slow and quiet at first, then building, gently lingering.

“Do you know the song?” he asks. “It feels familiar, somehow—”

His voice trails off. The words, once spoken aloud, seem almost silly. It’s more than familiar, it’s something deep, significant, more than he could ever put into words.

She shakes her head with a slight frown. At her silence, he picks through the notes again, humming them, memorizing their sound, their shape, their feel until the snippet’s over again, fading, a song left unfinished, perhaps because its (his, their) story hasn’t yet come to an end.

“I think I’ve heard it before,” she says at last with a small, wistful smile, then leans over the guitar to press a kiss to his lips. Reflected in her eyes, he fancies, is not just the lamplight, but the light of all the universe, a hundred galaxies, a thousand stars.

“Maybe it was in a dream.”

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mlqc bai qi #val writes #attack of the ao3 titles #also the last time i wrote smth purely fluffy and this is *checks date* from #tWO months ago to the day #anyway that last part was inspired by gavin's CN VA playing his theme i cry everytime i hear that weiofkldsf

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