The room was still, wrapped in the hush of early light. Pale gold spilled through the slats of the blinds, casting long shadows across the sheets tangled at your feet.

You were warm—sleep-soft and comfortably tangled in limbs that didn’t belong solely to you.

Aaron lay beside you, bare-chested, breathing slow and even. His arm was slung over your waist, fingers twitching slightly in sleep, like even now his body refused to let you go. His skin was warm where it touched yours, and you could feel the steady thud of his heart through your back.

You were wearing one of his shirts from the day before—oversized and soft, the fabric smelling like him: crisp, clean, and something faintly spiced that made you want to burrow deeper into the bed and never leave.

You tilted your head slightly, watching the light curve over his face. Blonde hair mussed and messy, lashes a dark fringe over sharp cheekbones, mouth parted just slightly. He looked younger like this, peaceful in a way you rarely got to see—unguarded.

You didn’t move. Didn’t dare wake him yet.

Instead, you reached for his hand under the blanket, your fingers sliding between his with ease. He hummed at the contact, quiet and instinctual, and shifted closer, burying his face into your neck like he always did when the world was still too loud—even in the silence.

“Are you awake?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

But his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, anchoring you to the soft mattress and the moment. His lips brushed the spot beneath your jaw—barely a kiss, just breath and skin and affection.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Not yet.”

You smiled, heart full.