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Izzy wakes up slowly. He rises from sleep lazily, savoring the warmth of his bed. He feels heavy, his limbs weighed down with sleep and contentment. The sun outside the bedroom window filters through the curtains like warm, golden syrup.
Behind him Roach is still asleep, half on top of him with an arm draped over his waist. His breaths are deep and steady, and he makes the occasional soft hum that Izzy can feel in his back.
They got home late. The reception ended at midnight so they stumbled, tipsy and exhausted, into the apartment at nearly one in the morning. They barely managed to bundle each other in their warmest pajamas before falling asleep.
Izzy has nearly soothed himself back to sleep when Roach stirs. His arms flex, squeezing Izzy's waist, and his legs shift, pressing one of his freezing cold feet against the back of Izzy's calf. Then he nuzzles his nose against the back of Izzy's head, making a happy little noise.
"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep, "husband."
Izzy, already warm and comfortable in his new husband's arms, feels a bubble of joy in his chest. It's like his heart is too big for his body. "Good morning." He tries to roll over, but Roach tightens his arms, holding him in place.
He nuzzles him again, still waking up and snuggly. "I love you," he says softly, nearly lost in Izzy's hair.
Izzy still can't quite put his feelings into words when Roach says that. He talks about love so easily, almost casually. He'll snag Izzy by the belt loop as he walks by, pick up his hand to kiss it, or kiss his temple with a quick, "Love you, my songbird," as if it costs him nothing.
The first time Izzy said, "I love you," he said it into the front of Roach's shirt. Roach pestered and teased him until he made eye contact, his face flushed so red he thought he'd catch fire. But yesterday he said it over and over: stumbling over it in his vows as they stood before a justice of the peace, his hands trembling in Roach's; laughing as Roach tried to feed him bites of cake; murmured quietly as they danced together, swaying more than moving, with Roach's cheek resting on the top of his head.
And every single time, Roach said it back. It was like a beautiful dream.
“I love you, too,” he murmurs, and Roach finally lets him roll over so they’re face to face. Izzy kisses him, which is a little gross with morning breath, but he chooses to ignore it.
Roach wraps his arms around him and squeezes him so tight it makes him gasp. Roach, always an opportunist when it comes to getting some affection, takes advantage by slipping him some tongue. Izzy might be only half-awake and tangled in bedsheets, but he clutches at Roach's shoulders and rolls onto his back, pulling Roach on top of him to settle between his spread thighs.
Things are just about to get interesting when Izzy feels the very familiar pressure of a tiny paw on his cheek.
“Meow,” Chai says right into his ear.
Izzy squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if they don’t pay attention to her, she’ll go, and they can get back to –
“Meow,” she says again, more insistently this time, because she’s an asshole.
Izzy opens one eye. Roach is hovering above him, lips pressed tight against the laughter that wants to bubble out of him. He presses his face into Izzy’s chest just in time to stifle a snort, his whole body trembling.
"I hate her," Izzy lies. He turns his head so he can look Chai in her completely unrepentant face. "I hate you." She licks his nose. Roach shakes harder.
Chai, content with her work ruining the fucking mood, pads away and jumps down to the floor. Only when she's gone does Roach lift his head off Izzy's chest. He presses his lips tightly together, cheeks flushed with the effort of not laughing in Izzy's face.
“Don’t you take her side,” Izzy grumbles, and Roach cracks. He rolls off of Izzy and onto his back, cackling in that huge, joyful way Izzy loves so much. The sheer force of it makes the mattress bounce beneath them.
Izzy rolls his eyes and lets him get it out of his system. Roach curls onto his side, still shaking, and tucks his face into Izzy's neck. Izzy pats his shoulder condescendingly, which just makes him laugh harder. Izzy waits him out, which is awkward, but he's used to it after three years together. Roach laughs much more freely than he does, so he spends quite a bit of time watching him. (He loves it. Roach's laugh makes him happy.)
When he finally gets it under control, he nuzzles his nose under Izzy's jaw and presses a kiss there. "Well, since we are awake and not otherwise occupied, we may as well start the first day of our marriage."
Izzy whines, "No no no nooooooo," flails until he untangles himself from their blankets, and wraps all four limbs around him, but he's a slippery bastard and manages to escape with another laugh.
“I will bring you breakfast,” he promises, darting in for a quick kiss before slipping out of Izzy’s grasping hands.
“Come back heeeeere,” Izzy whines, giving up on all dignity. It’s the morning after his fucking wedding, goddammit, he deserves at least a little cuddling. Roach, because he’s as mean as Chai, just laughs.
“I will be back soon,” he promises. "Come here, my precious teacup." Chai squeaks indignantly, the way she does when Roach puts a hand under her belly to scoop her up. "You are a brat and I am angry with you." There's a pause as he waits for Chai to respond and she chirps happily. "It is a good thing you are so cute and your daddy loves you so much."
Izzy sighs in frustration, allowing himself a moment of... not pouting, he doesn't pout, fuck off. It’s the day after his wedding and he was looking forward to the morning sex. He's allowed to be a little put out.
Still, he hears the familiar sounds of Roach -- his husband, which still doesn't feel quite real -- making noise in their kitchen and talking to their cat. It fills his heart with warmth, and he holds up his left hand to look at his new ring. He's been wearing one since Roach proposed a year ago, but yesterday he added a second. They're in this together, for real and forever.
He hauls himself out of bed and shuffles, barefoot and bedheaded, to the kitchen. Roach is fussing over the coffeemaker with Chai wrapped around the back of his neck like a tiny, fluffy scarf, and she meows when she sees him.
Izzy presses against Roach's back and wraps his arms around his waist, giving Chai a kiss on the nose and Roach a kiss at the base of his skull just above Chai's fluff. He doesn't say anything, just rests his head gently between Roach's shoulder blades.
It’s strange to think that this all happened by chance. That if he had walked on the other side of the street as he left the bar that night, or moved just a little faster, or a car horn had gone off at that moment, he wouldn’t have heard the tiny cries of a newborn kitten sheltering from the cold beneath a dumpster. If his phone battery had been dead, he wouldn’t have been able to use the flashlight to find her in the dark. If another veterinarian had been open earlier in the morning, he wouldn’t have burst into Roach’s office, unknowingly holding his entire life in his jacket pocket.
Chai bops the top of his head with her little paw, pulling him out of his reverie. He squeezes Roach around the waist, who tilts his head back just enough not to disturb Chai from her place. “What are you thinking of, songbird?” he asks, resting his hand on Izzy’s forearm.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just… I think I might be the luckiest bastard in the world.”
Roach chuckles. “I would agree. You certainly married up.” Izzy squeezes him again in retaliation, making him laugh. They stand together for a moment, then Roach says quietly, “I am so lucky it was you who came into my clinic that morning.” Chai squeaks, and he adds, “And you, my little princess.”
“You spoil her,” Izzy grumbles for the millionth time, as if he’s not even worse.
Roach chuckles and turns around, removing Chai from his shoulders and passing her to Izzy. He cuddles her against his chest the same way he has for three years: when she was so tiny she barely filled his cupped hands, when she grew into her awkward adolescent stage and had paws too big for her body, when she was sick with a respiratory infection and spent two weeks covered in snot and sneezing so hard he thought she’d pop like a balloon. She purrs and nuzzles his ear, and he kisses her soft fur.
“Go sit down,” Roach says, shooing the two of them toward the kitchen table. “Coffee is almost ready.”
Izzy moves out of the kitchen but doesn’t go far. He holds Chai and watches Roach, thinking of how he fills what was once a cold and lonely apartment with warmth, noise, and life. Their life, he thinks; the two of them and their little cat, an unexpected and incredibly lucky family.
“I can feel you staring,” Roach says without turning away from the coffeemaker.
“Better get used to it,” he shoots back, “you gave me a ring, so you’re stuck with me.”
Roach smiles at him over his shoulder. “Suppose I am. Now, come along, my beloved husband, my precious little teacup, let us enjoy this day together.”
They linger over their coffee and breakfast, petting Chai and kissing each other at every chance. It’s the best morning of Izzy’s life, and when he watches his husband talk, waving his hands about as he narrates a story from their wedding reception, he realizes that every morning will be like this from now on. He will negotiate sleeping arrangements with a stubborn little cat, wake up in Roach’s arms, make coffee and eat breakfast and kiss his husband goodbye as he leaves for work, anticipating the moment he comes home and they can spend the evening together.
He feels loved. He feels happy. And he feels very, very lucky.