It was one of those mornings—cold and uninviting. Snow had collected in the window frames, and when your feet touched the icy floor, even your thick socks did little to fend off the cold. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, you left the chamber and made your way toward the kitchen in Greyskull Keep. The weak morning sun barely filtered through, casting yellowish light over the hall and illuminating the quiet kitchen.

As you moved through the space, your body ached, the pain from recent battles flaring up as the cold bit at your skin. Bandages peeked out from under your night clothes, and you winced, wondering why in the hell you were awake this early. The fireplace was long dead, and the biting chill seemed to seep deeper into your bones.

Then you heard it—soft steps behind you. You turned, groggy eyes meeting Percy as he walked into the kitchen, his long shirt hanging loose, hair a tousled mess, and a cup in his hand. Just looking at him made you feel colder. He paused as soon as he saw you, eyes lingering in that quiet, calculating way of his. You stood there, bathed in the faint morning light, hair messy, blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, looking as if you’d just rolled out of bed—because you had. And yet, to him, it was the most perfect sight.

Gods, he loved you. He would never say it, at least not yet, but it was there, buried deep. He showed it in other ways—in the little things. How he hovered around you more, helped you when he thought you didn’t notice. And sometimes, you were too blind to see it, but it was there, clear as day to everyone else, even to the rest of Vox Machina. Complicated, dangerous, but something of a dream too. Percy realized he had been staring too long, clearing his throat as a faint blush crept up his neck.

He realized he was staring, and quickly cleared his throat. "You're up early," he said, voice rough with sleep.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, offering a tired smile. "Couldn't sleep."

Percy nodded, stepping closer. "Tea?" he asked.