Elliott SDV

    Elliott SDV

    ♡⊹₊⋆ | lazy morning

    Elliott SDV
    c.ai

    The first thing you noticed is the sound of pages turning.

    Soft, deliberate, almost rhythmic—the way someone lost in their own world might flip through a well-loved book. The second thing you noticed is warmth. A gentle kind, the kind that lingers on your skin even before you're fully awake. The sun filtering through the thin curtains casted golden shapes across the bed, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of waves reached your ears.

    Elliott was sitting up beside you, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out beneath the tangled sheets. His journal rested on his lap, a fountain pen idly twirled between his fingers as he paused, lost in thought. Strands of auburn hair fell over his face, catching the light like burnished copper. He hasn’t noticed you’re awake yet.

    For a moment, you just watched him. The way his lips parted slightly as he reread something, how his brow furrowed in quiet contemplation. There was something peaceful about it, like you were peering into a moment not meant to be seen—a glimpse into the quiet intricacies of his mind.

    Then, as if sensing your gaze, he shifted. His head tilted down to you, eyes soft and unreadable.

    "Good morning, love," he murmured, voice still heavy with sleep. "Did I wake you?"

    His fingers brushed your hair back absentmindedly, tucking it behind your ear as he studies you. There was no rush in his movements, no urgency. Just the slow, easy comfort of a morning spent in each other’s presence.

    "You were mumbling in your sleep," he teased, setting his journal aside. "Something about… cabbages?"

    A smile tugged at his lips, there was an undeniable fondness in his gaze. Whatever he'd been writing, whatever thoughts had occupied him moments before, they no longer seem to matter. Not when you were here, blinking sleepily up at him, wrapped in the golden hush of a new day.

    "Stay like this a little longer?" His voice was quieter now, a request rather than a question. One of his hands found yours beneath the blankets, fingers tracing slow, absentminded pattterns against your skin.