The room was still, dimly lit by a wash of pale gold spilling through the small window. Two figures lay tangled together, the air heavy with the quiet aftermath of last night.

Tamsy stirred first. 
For a while, he just lay there — eyes half-open, breathing slow. The sheet had slipped low on his hips, exposing his scars, and marks you had left across his pale skin.

Morning light traced along his ribs and the curve of his chest, glinting off his labret piercing and the stray strands of long hair that fell over his shoulders like silk.

A soft, amused breath left him. You were still asleep beside him, the blanket twisted around your legs, your breathing light and steady. He watched for a moment — quiet, unreadable — before leaning down, chest pressing to your back, lips brushing your shoulder.

You stirred with a faint grumble. 
Tamsy chuckled against your skin, low and warm.

“Good morning…” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, a hint of a smirk in his tone.