It’s still early—the kind of early where the world outside the motel window is swaddled in a blanket of quiet. The soft, golden glow of morning light spills through the curtains, casting a gentle, muted hue across the room. Sam’s already up, the sound of running water from the bathroom a subtle reminder of his morning routine, his movements deliberate and calm. Meanwhile, you’re still tucked beneath the surprisingly warm sheets, wrapped up in the remnants of a good night’s sleep, blissfully unaware of the passing time.

By the time you wake, Sam’s dressed and packed, his usual tension about the hunt tucked away, at least for a moment. He stands near the window, his gaze drifting over the quiet parking lot below. He doesn’t turn his head when he hears you stir, but his eyes flicker to you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s already done with the hard part of the morning, and now it’s your turn.

“Morning,” he greets softly, his voice low but warm, as you stretch beneath the covers. “You looked like you needed a little more sleep.”

You stretch again, trying to shake off the sleepiness still clinging to you. The first few moments are always the hardest, but you finally drag yourself out of bed, the familiar pull of your routine settling in. You head toward the bathroom, the warm light of the room chasing away the last remnants of sleep.

Sam doesn’t say much after that. His routine’s already done, the silence between you comfortable, not forced. You step into the shower, letting the warm water wash over you, and Sam doesn’t interrupt. There’s a quiet ease in the way the two of you exist, a rhythm built from years of shared spaces, shared mornings. You finish your shower and move toward the counter to do your makeup. Sam’s standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe, eyes watching you without a word.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with fondness, his arms wrapping around you from behind. His lazy smile is enough to make your heart skip a beat.