Chapter Text
It started on a completely ordinary Tuesday morning, and with three words.
Fit wakes up gradually, encased in soft warmth. There’s a solid weight tucked against his side, limbs entangled with his, soft breaths gusting across his collarbones every few moments.
He lets himself bask in the feeling. In a past life, this senario would have sent him into a panic at the fear of threat or danger and triggered him to immediately bolt, but he only feels entirely relaxed now. Long past are his days of fearing being close to another person. Of letting someone so close that they become his other half.
God, what a life this has turned out to be.
He smiles to himself at the thought, heart impossibly full, and turns his head to see Pac haloed in gold by the sunlight trickling into their bedroom through the window.
His dark hair is sprawled across his pillow, wavy and messy and certainly as soft as it looks and Fit has the honor to know that it feels. The covers had slipped down in his sleep, revealing lithe shoulders marked with scars, now faded and soft as their peaceful lives had allowed for healing.
His breath is slow and shallow in sleep, and Fit feels gratitude join the swirling pink emotions in his chest, that such a beautiful man trusts him so much to lay unconscious beside him, completely vulnerable in sleep.
This handsome guy...I swear every time I look at him, no matter how long we’ve been together, he makes me weak in the knees. Puts my ol’ tough guy' image to ruin.
Pac’s arm is thrown across Fit’s bare chest, Fit’s own arm behind him with a loose cradling hold on his hip. Fit tightens his hold slightly, squeezing Pac closer to himself so he may lean over and press his lips against his forehead for a long moment, a silent greeting for another day.
Pac hums at the pressure and his eyes flutter before squinting open. Fit pulls back to see a sleepy smile eases itself onto his face when he sees Fit and Pac tightens his own hold across Fit’s broad chest, fingers brushing against muscle over rib.
Pac’s voice is rough with sleep, the sentence barely a mumble, but Fit hears it as clearly as if it were said via megaphone.
“Bom dia, marido.”
Fit’s heart hiccups.
His head spins, and he stumbles over his reply. “Uh. Bom, uh, bom dia Pac.”
Pac snuggles closer with a pleased sound and a whisper of 'five more minutes', tucking his head under Fit’s chin to rest on his chest and sighing as he relaxes again, oblivious to Fit’s sudden emotional turmoil as he drifts back into sleep.
Meanwhile Fit is surprised his heart isn’t actively waking up the whole island with how hard it’s beating a hole through his chest, officially kick-started awake.
Marido?
Oh god.
He’d heard that word before. Cellbit's called Roier that sometimes. Fit almost remembers what the translator had said it meant.
Fit carefully reaches for his communicator on the bedside table, moving slow so he doesn’t disturb Pac. With how slow he moves, he’s forced to acknowledge that his hands are shaking just a bit.
He picks up his communicator, ignoring the old notifications and emoticons on the screen, and goes directly to the translator app. He types with his thumb, his movements mildly clumsy as he selects “Portuguese” as the language to detect, and types in the word Pac said.
He’s quite sure he knows what it means.
He’s also quite sure that as he gets confirmation from the translator, he will need to make a significant effort not to lose his mind.
The communicator quietly pings as the translation finishes loading.
Fit’s heart bounces up into his throat.
Translation for Marido: Husband
So, yeah, he was right.
About both things.
Fit lies tense and stiff in bed, feeling like he’s going to explode because of the amount of emotion crammed into his chest, like he was hit by lighting and is super charged.
He wants to cheer and kick his feet and scream to the world that he’s Pac’s husband- but he’s not.
Because they aren’t actually married.
Fit specifically didn’t want to get married. He never has before. So why is he so damn.... whatever this feeling is about the idea now?
Pac shifts on his chest, warm hand rubbing down his ribs as he grumbles something in his sleep, and Fit forces his body to relax so Pac isn’t laying on what must feel like a rock. Pac sighs and settles again. Fit can feel his smile against his shoulder as he breathes out.
Something in his heart- or perhaps it's his soul- slides and clicks into place. Something that makes him feel strong and whole, and protected, and at peace like he’s never been before. He never wants it to stop.
He shutters, dizzy like the wind was knocked out of him or he’s falling through clouds.
Fuck.
He brings his shaky hand up to cradle the back of Pac’s head, this angel of a man in his arms, and nuzzles his nose into the crown of his head as his heart flies.
I want to marry Pac.