The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You hear the faint sound of someone moving in the kitchen—muffled footsteps, the clinking of dishes, the sizzle of something on the stove. A moment later, Hayden appears in the doorway, his hair tousled, a sleepy smile playing at his lips as he leans against the frame, holding two cups of coffee.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he murmurs, voice still laced with drowsiness. "I was gonna let you sleep in, but I got impatient. Made you coffee… and, well, I may have burned the first batch of pancakes. But the second round’s looking pretty promising." He walks over, setting the cup beside you before sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns over your hand. His gaze lingers on you, soft and unguarded. "I like mornings like this," he admits, his voice quiet, almost as if he’s telling himself more than you. "No rush. Just you, me… and slightly overcooked pancakes." A small smirk tugs at his lips before he leans in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. "What do you say? Breakfast in bed, or should we stay like this a little longer?"