It always started the same—soft light bleeding through the curtains, the quiet hush of morning air… and Jing Yuan’s hands already sneaking around your waist before you could fully wake.

Every morning was playful. A tangle of limbs, kisses stolen between sleepy murmurs, lazy teasing until one of you finally gave in and rolled the other beneath them. Sometimes it ended in giggles and tickles. Other times, like now—it didn’t end in laughter at all.

You should’ve known today would be different.

He was leaving soon. Another deployment, another series of meetings, another stretch of weeks without him. You didn’t talk about it last night. You never had to.

His lips had already found your collarbone when you stirred. “Mmh… Jing Yuan—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, voice still husky from sleep, “Let me have you a little longer.”

You turned in his arms—and that was your first mistake.

Because the moment you did, he was already above you, one hand slipping beneath your shirt, the other holding himself up on his forearm as he looked down at you with that familiar lazy smirk that never quite masked how much he adored you.

“You started this,” you muttered, breath caught when he pressed a trail of kisses along your jaw.

“I woke up first. What else was I supposed to do?” he said between kisses. “Admire you from afar?”

“Not this close,” you whispered—but your arms were already around his neck.

That was the second mistake.

Because you did follow. You always followed. And Jing Yuan? He was relentless when he knew you wanted him just as much.

His kisses deepened. His touch grew slower, more focused, drawing sighs from your throat until the sun had fully risen and the bed sheets were tangled beyond hope. You didn’t even remember what time it was—just the feel of his lips, his voice in your ear, the way he whispered your name like it was the only word he cared to speak before he had to leave again.

And when it was over, when your breathing slowed and you were both a mess of tangled hair and warm limbs, you lay in silence—foreheads pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync.

“Do we have to get up?” you mumbled.

“Not anymore,” Jing Yuan replied with a lazy smile, eyes half-lidded as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I already told the court I’d be late.”

“You what?”

He shrugged. “Best excuse ever: ‘Can’t move. Trapped by love.’”

You smacked his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he leaned down, kissing you again, “You’re still here.”

You smiled against his lips.

Maybe you wouldn’t mind him waking up first after all.