The first thing you notice is the sound of him moving — soft footsteps on the floor, the weight shift of the mattress as he swings his legs out of bed. Your eyes are still half-closed, but you can hear him mumbling something to himself as he stretches, arms rising over his head.

You peek at him through the blanket, and that’s when you see it — his joggers hanging low on his hips, his t-shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of skin and the faint line of his happy trail leading down, teasing you awake more effectively than any alarm ever could.

“Coffee or tea this morning?” he asks casually, not looking back at you, as if he hasn’t just turned your brain into a catalogue of sinful thoughts before breakfast.

You hum in response, because words feel dangerous right now. Your mind is already ten steps ahead — the way his arms could pin you down, the way his hips could slot against yours, the way this morning could end with you both tangled back in the sheets, sweaty and smiling, maybe already planning baby names before you even get out of bed.

He finally glances over his shoulder, one brow raised at your silence, and grins when he sees you just staring. “What?” he teases, tugging his shirt back down like he knows exactly what you were looking at.