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There is something about the morning sun glimmering on Thomas’s face that leaves Newt utterly intoxicated. They’re huddled together in a hammock under light summer sheets. Newt listens to the way the morning waves crash gently in the same rhythm as Thomas’s breathing.
Golden rays warm up both their cheeks, but some of them bounce on Thomas’s hair as Newt gently moves a strand out of his face, so the tickle won’t wake him. He deserves a late morning. The sunrise will still be there the next one. Their knees brush, and Newt wants to take him into his arms, but Thomas is a light sleeper and needs his rest.
Instead, he sneaks out from under the sheets, gifts Thomas a good morning kiss on his cheek, and slips into Frypan’s kitchen. Frypan’s out to help the new Track Hoes and Gardeners forage but made them a breakfast package, as he always does when Thomas isn’t scheduled for an exploratory run of the island they now called home. He places it on their nightstand while Thomas is still sound asleep and slips back into their hammock as the birds begin to sing.
He pushes a little to make them rock gently in the morning sun. The leaves rustle in the wind, and their shadows paint pictures on the tarp above them. A few years ago, Newt couldn’t imagine he’d ever see a perfect morning. But now, they’d been safe for two, and those perfect mornings had come to him as easily as his lungs swelled with his breath.
The waves calm his worries and soothe whatever remaining aches need it. On equally perfect mornings, the feeling of fresh plants between his fingers as he works the gardens or travels the meadows behind the dunes brings him back to earth when his mind tries in vain to take him into darker places. The patter of spring rains has become music to his ears.
He listens to the leaves and the sounds of people waking and quietly making their way to the showers, the sea, or wherever they wish. No walls to hold them back, no guards to keep them in place, only them and the people that care for and about them.
Soon enough, the rest of the Safe Haven comes alive. Some younger kids play football in the sand, and Gally and Minho leave for a morning swim. Thomas murmurs and turns, fitting his back perfectly against Newt’s chest before he places a kiss on his chin. “Morning.”
Newt hums back and rests his head on the side of Thomas’s as they stare out at the horizon together. “I got us bread and tea.” He waits for the familiar rise of Thomas’s eyebrow. “And coffee,” he adds, rolling his eyes.
He snuggles into Thomas’s shoulder as his cheeks grow warmer. “Today’s going to be good.”
“How d’you know?”
Newt peeks down to look into Thomas’s eyes, glowing in golden light as his lips gladly arch into a smile. “I just do.”