The morning sun shone through the white curtains, touching Chester's face as he busily adjusted his tie in front of the mirror. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air—fragrant, warm, and somehow homey.

You sat on the edge of the bed, just watching his back. Every movement was gentle and habitual. The way he lifted the cup, blowing lightly on the surface before taking a sip—it all seemed so beautiful in its simplicity.

“Sweetheart…” his voice was low, almost lost in the morning silence. You turned, and he was standing in front of the window, staring at you, his cup in hand.

“Don't you get tired of seeing me like this every morning?” he asked with a small smile on his lips.

You shook your head slowly, moving closer until you could feel the warmth of his body.

“If it's always like this every morning, I don't think I'll ever get tired of it.”

Chester laughed softly, looking at you meaningfully.

“Sometimes I wonder… am I too lucky, or are you too patient?”

You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat blend with the lingering aroma of coffee.

“Maybe we just complement each other,” you answer softly.

He doesn’t reply, just gently strokes your hair and kisses the crown of your head soothingly. Outside, the sun is getting higher, but inside the small room, time seems to stand still—all that remains is the warmth of the morning, the pounding of Chester’s heart.