The early morning light filtered in through the kitchen window, painting soft golden lines across Adrian’s crisp white shirt sleeves as he flipped the last pancake onto the plate. A bowl of freshly cut strawberries sat nearby, their scent sweet and sharp in the warm air.

The quiet was broken only by the gentle hiss of the stove and the unmistakable sound of shuffling feet behind him.

Without turning around, Adrian let a faint smile tug at his lips. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, voice still low and rough from the early hour. “Perfect timing. Pancakes are done, strawberries are fresh, and I didn’t even burn anything. Miracle of the week.”

He finally glanced over his shoulder, eyes softening as he took in the sight of his partner—half-asleep, hair a mess, wrapped in a blanket like a disgruntled burrito.

“You look like you lost a fight with your pillow,” he added, reaching for two mugs and pouring coffee in one and hot chocolate in the other.