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The outside world was loud—far too loud compared to the quiet warmth of their apartment. A thin strip of sunlight slipped through the curtains, landing gently across Sandrone’s face as she stirred awake. She barely had the chance to open her eyes before a pair of arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a familiar warmth. A soft groan sounded behind her. Sandrone turned her head slightly, only to meet Columbina’s sleepy gaze, half-lidded and unfocused. A small smile tugged at her lips—brief, unguarded—but she tried to hide it just as quickly.
Too late.
Columbina had already seen it.
“Mm… good morning, my dear Sandrone…” Columbina murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. She rubbed her eyes before nestling her face into the crook of Sandrone’s neck, breathing in that faint coffee scent she had come to adore long before they had ever become this. With a quiet huff, Sandrone tried to pry herself free. The Dove’s arms only tightened—firm, but never enough to hurt. "Ugh… It’s 7 in the morning, Columbina," Sandrone grumbled, her voice coming out rough and raspy, betraying the sharpness she had intended. “Can’t you let me start my day without ruining it?” Before she could say anything else, a glass of water was pressed gently to her lips.
She blinked, glancing over her shoulder to find Columbina already holding it out for her.
…Had that always been there?
Rolling her eyes, Sandrone took a few reluctant sips. Columbina hummed softly in satisfaction before taking the glass back and setting it on the bedside drawer. “Feeling better, my love?” Columbina asked, her fingers already threading through Sandrone’s hair. She moved slowly, carefully—like Sandrone was something delicate, something that might break if handled wrong. “I’d feel better if you let go of me. Seriously… let go,” Sandrone muttered, a faint growl slipping into her voice as she tried, once again, to wiggle free.
A quiet laugh brushed against her skin.
“Sweetheart, please,” Columbina murmured, her tone soft, almost coaxing. “Don’t start your day stressed.” Her hands slid down, resting gently over Sandrone’s stomach, grounding, warm. Then she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head. A small, helpless whine escaped Sandrone before she could stop it.
“You’re literally the one causing me stress. Don’t even start,” Sandrone snaps, shooting her a glare—ocean-deep blue meeting that soft, moonlit haze in Columbina’s eyes.
“But you get upset when I don’t bother you, dear Sandrone,” Columbina hummed, her voice light with quiet amusement. Her fingers traced slow, absent circles over Sandrone’s stomach, earning the smallest twitch from the omega before she forced herself still again. “Do you want me to stop?”
“…Forget it,” Sandrone mutters, looking away. “You’ll just do whatever you want anyway. So just—do it.”
A smile tugs at Columbina’s lips. “Technically, I already did you—” A hand immediately clamps over her mouth. Columbina blinks, only mildly surprised, her gaze drifting up to Sandrone’s face.
Bright red. Completely, unmistakably red—like a pyro slime about to combust.
“Shut your mouth,” Sandrone hisses, mortified. “We do not need a recap of that!” Her dignity—what little remained of it—hung by a thread, and Columbina, of course, noticed. She only smiled, soft and fond, as if she hadn’t just been silenced. And then she leaned in anyway. A gentle kiss landed at the corner of Sandrone’s lips—brief, warm, lingering just enough to leave something behind. Sandrone let out a small, startled gasp, followed by the faintest sigh she couldn’t quite hold back. “I’m sorry, baby,” Columbina murmurs against her skin, her voice softer now, sincere beneath the teasing.
“Will you forgive me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she began peppering soft, fleeting kisses all over the Marionette’s face—her temple, her cheek, the corner of her lips—each one light, almost playful, yet filled with quiet intent. It was clear she was trying—eager to soften whatever irritation still clung to Sandrone’s mood. And maybe… just a little, it was working. Sandrone’s breath hitched faintly, though she refused to fully give in. Instead, she lifted her hand, slow and deliberate, until the tip of her finger came to rest against Columbina’s cheek. The touch was gentle—barely there—but enough to halt her completely.
For a moment, everything is still.
Their eyes met. Ocean-deep blue locking with that soft, hazy moonlight gaze. Columbina’s movements slowed, her usual teasing replaced by something quieter, more tender. There was a softness in the way she looked at Sandrone now, something almost reverent. Drawn in by the closeness, she began to lean forward, unhurried, her lashes lowering as she closed the distance between them—but suddenly, Sandrone pinched her cheek. Not hard, but enough to stop her completely.
“Find a better way to make it up to me. Don't just romance your way into forgiveness!” Sandrone pouts. Her lips curved downward in a stubborn, almost childish pout, though the faint flush on her face betrayed her far more than she would’ve liked. Columbina froze for a split second, caught off guard—before a quiet, amused breath slipped past her lips. The sting of the pinch faded quickly, replaced by something warmer as her gaze lingered on Sandrone’s expression.
There it was again. That softness she tried so hard to hide. And Columbina, of course, noticed. “Oh?” she murmured, voice low and thoughtful.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to be a little more creative, won’t I, my dear?” Columbina didn’t rush. For once, she let the moment breathe—her gaze softened as it lingered on Sandrone’s face, tracing every small shift in her expression. The stubborn pout. The lingering flush. The way her shoulders held tension she pretended wasn’t there. A quiet hum slipped past her lips. "Creative…” she repeated under her breath. Her hand moved first—slowly, deliberately—sliding from Sandrone’s side to rest more securely over her stomach. Not teasing this time. Just… there. Warm. Grounding. Her thumb brushed gentle, absent circles through the fabric, instinctive and careful, as if reminding both of them of something fragile and precious. Her other hand reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Sandrone’s ear with surprising tenderness.
“Mm… no rushing,” Columbina murmured, almost to herself this time. She shifted slightly closer, enough that Sandrone could feel the steady warmth of her, but instead of closing the distance with a kiss, Columbina simply rested her forehead lightly against hers.
Close. Quiet. Patient.
“Is this allowed?” she whispered, her voice softer now—less teasing, more sincere. Her breath fanned gently against Sandrone’s lips, but she didn’t move any further.
Didn’t push.
Didn’t take.
Her thumb continued its slow, soothing pattern over Sandrone’s stomach, protective in a way she didn’t bother to hide anymore. “Or will I be punished again?” she added faintly, a hint of amusement returning—but subdued, careful not to tip too far. There was a pause. Then, softer—
“And if I still get it wrong…” her fingers stilled for just a second before resuming their gentle motion, “…will you tell me what you need instead?” For a moment, Sandrone didn’t answer. She just looked at her. Really looked at the softness Columbina had settled into, at the quiet patience she wasn’t used to seeing so early in the morning. It made something in her chest tighten in a way she didn’t quite want to name. Her fingers, still resting against Columbina’s cheek, shifted slightly—less defensive now, more… thoughtful.
“…You’re being strange,” she muttered, though there was far less bite behind it this time. Columbina only smiled faintly. “Am I?”
Sandrone huffed, but the sound came out weaker than she intended. Her shoulders sank just a little, the tension slowly draining out of her body now that she wasn’t actively trying to fight it off. “…If you’re going to make it up to me,” she started, voice quieter, gaze flickering away for a second, “then stop treating me like I’m made of glass.” Columbina’s hand paused. Not withdrawing—just listening. Sandrone swallowed, her hand drifting down, almost unconsciously, to rest over Columbina’s where it lay on her stomach. “I’m not going to break,” she added, softer now.
“I just… get tired.” That, at least, she didn’t try to hide. The mornings had been the worst lately—her body was heavy, slower to respond, a dull ache lingering no matter how much she pretended it didn’t bother her. Even now, there was a faint discomfort she couldn’t quite shift away from, something that made her instinctively lean back into Columbina’s warmth despite all her earlier protests. Columbina noticed. Of course she did. Her thumb slowed, gentler now, tracing careful, soothing circles beneath Sandrone’s hand. Not intrusive. Not overwhelming. Just enough to ease to the ground. “I know,” Columbina murmured, her voice losing the last traces of teasing. “You don’t have to be fragile for me to take care of you.” Sandrone’s brows knit slightly at that, but she didn’t pull away.
“…Then don’t hover,” she mumbled, though her fingers curled just a little tighter over Columbina’s hand, contradicting herself almost immediately. A soft breath of a laugh brushed against her hair. “Alright,” Columbina agreed easily. “No hovering.” There was a pause. “…But I am still making you breakfast.” Sandrone let out a small, tired groan at that, tipping her head back just enough to rest more fully against Columbina’s shoulder. “You’re terrible at cooking,” she muttered. “And yet,” Columbina hummed, pressing a light kiss into her hair, “you still eat everything I make.”
“…Because if I don’t, you’ll sulk.”
“Mm. So you do care.”
“I didn’t say that.” But she didn’t argue any further. Instead, she shifted—just slightly—until she was more comfortably settled against Columbina, one hand still resting over her stomach, the other loosely gripping the sleeve of Columbina’s shirt. A quiet moment passed. Just the steady rhythm of Columbina’s hand, the warmth behind her, and the faint, lingering drowsiness of a morning neither of them seemed quite ready to leave. “…You can stay,” Sandrone mumbled after a while, voice barely above a whisper. “For a bit." Columbina didn’t miss the way her grip tightened just slightly as she said it. A soft smile curved against Sandrone’s temple. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”