You lie beside her, bodies tangled beneath the weight of the sheets, warmth pressed between you like a secret. The room is bathed in the soft gold of the evening sun, its light spilling over her skin, turning it to something ethereal—ivory kissed by the fading day.

She sleeps, breath slow and steady, each quiet exhale fanning against your cheek. You watch her, unable to help yourself, memorizing the way her lashes flutter ever so slightly, the way her lips part just a little as she breathes. She is serenity made flesh, and god, you could stay like this forever.

Your fingers move before you can think, tracing the curve of her cheek with a touch so light it’s barely there. And even in sleep, she knows you—feels you. Her hand lifts, fingers seeking yours, and when she finds them, she intertwines them effortlessly, like she was always meant to.

Hey, baby.

Her voice is barely above a whisper, thick with sleep, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. That look—soft, adoring, filled with something that makes your heart stutter—is enough to undo you.

God, you love her so much.