Married Life - long

I wake up to the feeling of Luigi shifting beside me, his arm tightening around my waist as he buries his face against my neck. His warmth is familiar, comforting, and even though I know we both have to get up, neither of us move just yet.

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

I smirk, eyes still closed. "You said that ten minutes ago."

He groans, but I can feel the smile on his lips against my skin. "Pretty sure I didn't."

I laugh softly, finally turning in his arms to face him. His curls are a mess, his eyes barely open, and there's something so domestic about the way we've settled into this routine—waking up tangled together, talking in sleepy whispers before the day really begins.

Eventually, we make it out of bed, though not without Luigi trying to pull me back at least twice. I win, of course, because the promise of breakfast is the only thing that motivates him to actually get moving.

The kitchen is filled with soft morning light, and while I start the coffee, Luigi leans against the counter, watching me. "You know," he says, crossing his arms, "I think I should be spoiled today."

I raise a brow, already seeing where this is going. "Oh?"

He nods, serious. "Yeah, I deserve breakfast in bed."

I snort. "You barely got out of bed. And you do realize you're literally standing in the kitchen, right?"

"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "I guess I'll settle for breakfast at the table."

We cook together, a comfortable rhythm we've fallen into over time. He chops the fruit while I handle the eggs, stealing bites of whatever's in reach when he thinks I'm not looking. When I call him out, he just grins, completely unrepentant.

Breakfast is slow, filled with playful teasing and easy conversation. Even after all this time, there's something about just sitting with him, drinking coffee, and talking about nothing that makes me ridiculously happy.

After breakfast, we both get to work—Luigi at his desk, me at mine. We work in different rooms, but at some point, he always wanders in, making up an excuse about needing something just so he can wrap his arms around me from behind and press a kiss to my shoulder.

"You good?" he asks.

I nod, tilting my head back to look at him. "Yeah. You?"

"Better now," he says, grinning.

Lunch is casual, usually leftovers or something quick. Sometimes we eat separately, caught up in work, but other times, Luigi insists on taking a break together.

"It's important," he says, stealing a fry off my plate. "Quality time."

"You just want my food."

"I can multitask," he says easily.

In the evenings, we do our own thing for a while—reading, watching something, or just relaxing—before eventually ending up back in the kitchen together. Dinner is a mix of teamwork and chaos, mostly because Luigi gets distracted and starts dancing around the kitchen, trying to get me to join him.

"No," I say, shaking my head as he reaches for me.

"Yes."

"Luigi—"

He takes my hand before I can protest again, spinning me right there in the middle of the kitchen. "Come on, y/n," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. "Just one dance."

I roll my eyes, but I let him pull me in, let him sway us gently to music that isn't even playing.

Later, after everything is cleaned up and we've settled in on the couch, I curl into his side, letting my head rest against his shoulder.

"Today was a good day," he says, his voice soft.

I hum in agreement. "Every day with you is."

I don't have to look at him to know he's smiling.