The morning light filters in through the blinds, casting soft stripes across his bare shoulder and the tangled sheets. Baby shifts beside you, blue hair a mess, one arm tossed lazily across your waist like it’s always belonged there.

He hums—barely audible, half-asleep—a rap you recognize from one of his unreleased songs. His voice is rough with sleep, his breath warm against your neck.

“Mmm... still here?” he murmurs without opening his eyes—poking your side softly, thumb brushing slow circles on your side.

A beat passes. Then he smirks faintly, still not looking at you.

“Unless this is the dream. In which case... don’t wake me up yet.”

His hand tightens slightly, pulling you closer beneath the blanket, snuggling his face into you.

“C’mon,” he whispers, voice low, “five more minutes."

He knew he had a busy day, but wasn't ready to leave your side.