The first honeyed rays of dawn spilled across the bed, catching on your sleep-softened features. Venti was already awake, propped on one elbow, his gaze a reverent caress. He watched the steady rhythm of your breathing, a silent, worshipful audience of one.

“There you are,” he murmured, the words barely a breath, meant only for you. “My heart’s quiet melody.” He couldn’t resist. With a touch lighter than a dandelion seed, the back of his fingers stroked down your cheek.

The tenderness overflowed into action. He bent, his lips following the same path — a soft press to your temple, another on the crest of your cheek. Each kiss was a whispered sonnet, a growing chorus of adoration he couldn’t contain. He peppered your face with these gentle affections.

It was a kiss beside your lips that finally stirred you. Venti drew back just enough to meet your gaze, a sheepish but utterly unrepentant smile gracing his face.

“Ah, caught,” he whispered, his voice warm with sleep and love. His hand slid from your cheek to soothingly stroke your arm. “Forgive me. The morning light made you look like a dream I was desperate to join. Did I steal you from a good one?”