Weston's POV

When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I see is you. This first thing I hear is you snoring in my ear.

I sigh to myself, but I smile. I'll kiss you on the forehead, or ruffle your hair. Sometimes you wake up, and sometimes you don't. I've gotten used to sleeping naked with you, something I could never do before. I look at you for a moment, and I wonder how you did it. How you were able to find me, underneath all the harsh words and glares. I sigh again, getting out of bed and getting dressed.

I don't dress up as much as I used to. I leave my jacket in the closet, and sometimes my vest too, because I know by the end of the day you'll have it off me anyway. I started to wear my hair longer because I wanted a change. I keep it long, because I know you like it. As I dress, my hands pause over the buttons. My fingers brush over the pierces you have me wear, because you're jealous of Nowaki. I sigh, shaking my head and finish getting dressed. By now, you're awake. Yawning and stretching in the covers, because your body has noticed I'm not in the sheets, wrapped around you anymore. I think about this for a moment, realizing that I can't sleep either if you're not in the bed. I sigh gently, and you make some snarky comment about my ass, and my eyes narrow. I grab a pillow, tossing it at your head before walking downstairs, my shoulders stiff.

I used to think that I couldn't blush, and you proved me wrong there too. I hear you laughing in the back ground as I go to the kitchen.

I move around the kitchen, lost in thought as I get breakfast ready. I don't usually cook for you; it's the other way around. It's not that I can't cook; it's just that it seems to make you happy that you can do something for me. My hands pause. You've already done so much for me, and I never tell you how grateful I am. I'm amazed you haven't gotten sick of me.

I don't notice you're downstairs until your hands wrap around my waist. I blink, surprised, and your lips press against mine, grinning as you whisper against my ear. "Morning Weston…" I kiss you back lightly, half growling and pushing you away because you're going to make me burn something. You laugh lightly, kissing me again before I swat you away. I never really take time to look at you. To know when you're sad, or upset. I don't tell you, but you really are the strong one. Both of our eyes hold a distant memory of something we can't have back. For you, it's your wife and kids. For me, my dark times, where pain was my only friend, and even before that, Nowaki.

You comment that I look pissed off about something, and my eyes narrow. I brush the comment off, finishing breakfast. I'm not angry. I'm not mad. I just look that way, and I have no intention of changing that. You read me well enough as it is.

I want to say so many things to you Luther. I want to hold you, and whisper in your ear how happy I am to be with you. How much I owe you for giving me my life back. I want to sit down, and just hold your hand sometimes, and listen to our hearts beat together. But I don't. I never say it to you, and I probably never will.

I do love you; I just don't feel the need to say it to you every morning. Or every day for that matter. Our relationship…our whatever we have is special, and I feel like if I say it so much, it will go away, or I'll lose it. I don't want to lose you Luther. My eyes soften as I look at you, sitting at the table, laughing with Shay. I know you miss your children. I want to be able to give you everything Luther, I want to take away the pain and hurt in your eyes like you did for me.

I stand, taking my dishes to the sink, and setting them down. I want to tell you I love you. That I'm amazed you haven't tired of me. That I sometimes wonder how you can have sex with me every night and tell me I'm beautiful. I blush a little at the thought, pushing it away and slamming the dishes in the sink. You ask again if something is wrong, and I shake my head.

I want to tell you all of this…so I walk over, and ruffle your hair out of place, my eyes stern, and say, "You're an idiot, Luther." Just like always.