[it's not as if it's strange or even uncommon for heung soo to wake up before him—on the days where nam soon doesn't have to be at work first thing, that's pretty commonplace. just as commonplace is how he sleepily positions himself and tightens his grip to keep heung soo there in the bed—it's warmer and more comfortable that way.
that effort is always a fruitless one, given his relative unconscious state, and once heung soo is free of that grip, nam soon will just further cocoon himself in the comforter and fall back into a deeper state of sleep. he can easily sleep for another hour or so before the empty space beside him becomes uncomfortable. it's then that he begins to awaken a little more properly, and also when he hears all the sounds coming from the kitchen.
at that point, he's grumbling a little to himself, groggily wondering what that bastard is up to and taken note through bleary eyes that their robotpets aren't in the room, either. if he was more awake, maybe nam soon would think about how oddly domestic this is; how no matter how much they worry about their situations and what may happen, how much it's not like truly being home, that they've found a compromise to at least make things comfortable in the interim. the fact that they have morning routines and pets—this was once unimaginable, even back in seoul of course, he's not really thinking about those things now, not outside of some vague thought that always sits in the back of his mind.
what he's thinking now is much simpler. it's more along the lines of "was that a sound from the kitchen and what is this dumb bastard doing?" since it doesn't just sound like the rice cooker beeping. still, it takes him a few minutes to pull himself from the bed, feet shuffling into slippers (look how classy they are these days, they even have slippers) before he trudges to the door. once in the doorway, he'll peer out to the kitchen, unmoving from that point. nam soon's hair is still disheveled from sleep, and one side of his face has faint lines from being pressed against the sheets.]
Heung Soo-yah... [he says, and his voice is still froggy—he's a mess of a kid that just woke up for sure. nam soon barely has his eyes open, and he definitely can't see what the hell heung soo is up to there. even with the smell of food hanging in the air, it's something he eats so infrequently that the aroma feels foreign.] What the hell are you making?
[he cooks on his own so rarely, especially for breakfast that this situation is just baffling.]
no subject
that effort is always a fruitless one, given his relative unconscious state, and once heung soo is free of that grip, nam soon will just further cocoon himself in the comforter and fall back into a deeper state of sleep. he can easily sleep for another hour or so before the empty space beside him becomes uncomfortable. it's then that he begins to awaken a little more properly, and also when he hears all the sounds coming from the kitchen.
at that point, he's grumbling a little to himself, groggily wondering what that bastard is up to and taken note through bleary eyes that their robotpets aren't in the room, either. if he was more awake, maybe nam soon would think about how oddly domestic this is; how no matter how much they worry about their situations and what may happen, how much it's not like truly being home, that they've found a compromise to at least make things comfortable in the interim. the fact that they have morning routines and pets—this was once unimaginable, even back in seoul of course, he's not really thinking about those things now, not outside of some vague thought that always sits in the back of his mind.
what he's thinking now is much simpler. it's more along the lines of "was that a sound from the kitchen and what is this dumb bastard doing?" since it doesn't just sound like the rice cooker beeping. still, it takes him a few minutes to pull himself from the bed, feet shuffling into slippers (look how classy they are these days, they even have slippers) before he trudges to the door. once in the doorway, he'll peer out to the kitchen, unmoving from that point. nam soon's hair is still disheveled from sleep, and one side of his face has faint lines from being pressed against the sheets.]
Heung Soo-yah... [he says, and his voice is still froggy—he's a mess of a kid that just woke up for sure. nam soon barely has his eyes open, and he definitely can't see what the hell heung soo is up to there. even with the smell of food hanging in the air, it's something he eats so infrequently that the aroma feels foreign.] What the hell are you making?
[he cooks on his own so rarely, especially for breakfast that this situation is just baffling.]