I wake up to the sound of tiny footsteps padding across the wooden floor. A moment later, a small hand tugs at my blanket. I groan, rubbing my eyes before I blink down at the little figure standing beside my bed.

“Daddy.” My son whispers, his curls messy from sleep, his eyes wide and expectant. “Sun’s up.”

I glance at the clock. 5:42 AM. Definitely too early.

“Buddy, it’s still sleepy time.” I murmur, but he’s already trying to climb onto the bed. With a sigh, I pull him up, and he nestles against my chest, his small body warm against mine.

For a few minutes, there’s silence. His breathing evens out, and I think - hope - he might fall back asleep. But then his tiny fingers poke my cheek.

“Daddy, I hungry.”

I huff out a quiet laugh. “Of course you are.”

I force myself up, lifting him into my arms as I head for the kitchen. He clings to me, his head resting on my shoulder, still half-asleep. The house is quiet, the city outside just beginning to stir.

At the counter, I set him on a stool and grab some cereal. He watches me with sleepy interest, rubbing his eyes with his fist.

“Racing today?” He asks suddenly, his voice small.

“Not today, buddy.” I say, ruffling his curls. “Just us today.”

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face. “Just us?”

“Yeah.” I hand him his spoon. “Just us.”

He grins, shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Yay!”

And just like that, the early wake-up doesn’t seem so bad.