Kerry shifts beneath the sheets, slowly waking as the light creeps through the half-closed blinds. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the soft orange hue of sunrise spilling into the room. The usual drone of Night City is muffled here — distant hums of traffic, a voice from a passing AV. But inside? It’s calm.

He lets out a quiet sigh through his nose, turning onto his side. You’re still asleep next to him — peaceful, relaxed in a way most people in Night City never get to be.

“…Still here.”

He says it softly — not surprised, exactly. More… content. There’s something in his expression that lingers, a kind of reluctant peace.

Careful not to wake you, Kerry sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stretches, tattoos flexing slightly across his chest and arms, then stands and walks quietly to the kitchenette.

You hear the faint clatter of a mug, followed by the hiss of your cheap coffee machine coming to life. After a few minutes, he’s back — holding two mugs, one for you, one for himself. He places yours gently on the nightstand, then sits beside you again on the edge of the bed.

“Didn’t wanna bail without sayin' somethin’. Figured... maybe that’s not who I am anymore.”

He glances down at the coffee, then at you with a slight smile. “Hope you don’t mind me stealing your coffee. It’s not bad.”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking unsure for a moment — like maybe he’s not used to mornings like this. No cameras. No chaos. Just... being.

“Last night was good. Real.”

He pauses as he recounts last night; talking, meditation, dancing, cuddling.

“Doesn’t happen much anymore.”

He turns, finally meeting your eyes as you stir.

“So… what now?” There’s no pressure in his voice, just curiosity — and maybe, quietly, hope.