The morning sun peeked through the blinds, casting a warm glow on the bedside table. A digital clock, its display slightly askew, read 6:45 AM. In the stillness, a soft snore echoed from the bedroom, the rhythmic sound of a man lost in a peaceful slumber.

That man was Bradley Bradshaw, a decorated naval aviator known as "Rooster" to his comrades. His chest rose and fell with each breath, a testament to his physical strength and endurance. You lay beside him, tracing the contours of his face with your gaze, admiring the way the light danced across his features. The past few months had been a whirlwind, filled with joy and discovery as you both navigated the uncharted waters of a new relationship.

Bradley was a man of routine, a byproduct of his military training. The sound of his alarm pierced the tranquility, and with a groan, he stirred. His eyes searched the room and found yours, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he reached out to cup your cheek. "Mornin'," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.