In the darkest hour of the night, there is something especially fragile in the way how cute baby Type breathes softly in Tharn's arms. Perhaps this is due to the silence, which, on the other hand, is not silence at all, it's just that this magical time allows you to hear even the faintest sounds clearly and clearly.
Tharn lies on his side, listening to Type's slow breathing. His boy is asleep, but from time to time he can hear a slight sigh. And sometimes Type murmurs in his sleep or simply purrs like the most tender kitten, and at that moment it seems to Tharn that his heart is torn apart and he cannot hold back tears of emotion and happiness.
Type moves a little, and then silence is broken by the rustling of the sheets as he moves his hand, like reaching for something. A frown appears on his face until the tips of his fingers touch Tharn's shoulder and he moves closer, snuggling up to him. Tharn hears and feels his baby sigh on his chest, and the frown disappears on his beautiful face and his breathing becomes even again.
Carefully, so as not to disturb the sweet sleep, Tharn moves a little lower to get a better look at the features of his beloved face. His Type, his adorable, smiling, kind and loving Type is always so warm, and he also feels warm when he snuggles up to him, and also feels how his closeness calms his thoughts. He craves for kissing those full, half-parted lips... no. He can't disturb Type's sleep, so he slowly and carefully makes himself comfortable to cuddle this baby, pulling the blanket higher, his boy himself deserves as much warmth as possible.
Tharn doubts that there is anything more peaceful than such moments when gentle Type sleeps on his chest, their legs are intertwined, and the hair of his loved one tickles his chin. Tharn inhales their scent — so fresh after a shower... and yet belonging only to him. He is incomparable.
And suddenly a tragic and at the same time heart-wrenching thought strikes him: Type is sleeping so peacefully in his arms, as if he trusts his dreams to his hands. It's as if he knows that whatever nightmares of the past might want to get close to him on wild furry paws — Tharn will protect him and drive them all away. This is something that needs to be appreciated, no, not just appreciated, but worshipped, this is complete absolute trust. Type makes him realize that he is the only one who can offer him the safest place in the world. And Tharn gives up. He is not able to fight with himself. Tears are already running down his cheeks. He tangles his lips in the top of the Type's and whispers a quiet "I love you, baby." He wants the universe to know that this boy is loved, so loved by him alone, and he hopes that his whisper will echo throughout the starry sky, which, like a few years ago, will settle like magic dust on Type's eyelashes.
And yet there are nights when they both want to drown in their feelings, in the fact that they are together. When Type reaches out to him and runs his fingertips over his skin, making him shiver. And Type squirms when Tharn buries his palm in his hair, and then the fingers creep to his temple and linger behind his ear. On such nights, Tharn lets his fingers wander around the Type's, caressing his curls, then gently touching the pulsating wreath on the side, causing Type to suffocate, it seems to Tharn as if he lives for these sighs. Type gets bolder, arms embrace him and pull him to himself. And then he offers his lips to Tharn. And Tharn presses against his lips and the air continues to swirl between their breaths, hot and heavy, trembling and sharp, and then soft and tender again.
There really is complete trust and mutual understanding between them.
And there are nights — until dawn without sleep. Nights when both of them are all kisses and hugs. When they are inseparable. When a beautiful piercing sound breaks from the lips of Type and then he trembles under him, under his touch, taking the Tharn with him. When he hugs him so tightly, his beloved, that it simultaneously causes such a pleasant pain and heals so completely. And to belong to each other like this, from the tips of their toes to the tips of their hair, is more than perfect.
This is real.
Later, Tharn lies next to him, resting his head on Type's stomach, inhaling the scent of his skin. Cute fingers draw patterns on his cooling forehead, write the first letters of their names, and a gentle voice sings a melody beloved by both.
And if this is not the definition of happiness, then what is it at all, my beloved smiling boy?
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Smile (Complete)
Fanfiction"This Type is kind of a weirdo. He looks about twenty years old, but behaves like a twelve-year-old." "He's not a weirdo. He's not okay..."
