The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the quiet bedroom. Andrew had woken first, blinking sleepily before his gaze settled on Luke—still fast asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful.

Without thinking, Andrew shifted closer, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked down at the boy he loved. A small smile tugged at his lips. He reached out gently, brushing a strand of hair from Luke’s forehead, then let his fingers softly trace the curve of his cheek.

“Too pretty,” he whispered to himself, careful not to wake him.

Luke mumbled something in his sleep and leaned unconsciously into Andrew’s touch, making his heart skip. He’d never get used to this—to waking up next to Luke, to loving him this quietly, this deeply, in the stillness of the morning.

For now, he was content to stay like this—watching, loving, and cherishing the soft, sleepy moment that was just theirs.