The light’s barely creeping through the window, soft and silver. I’m half-awake, tangled in the sheets, wearing that old T-shirt you gave me-y'know, the red and black one with the faded print. It's been through a lot, kinda like us.

I roll onto my back, stretching with a quiet groan, shirt riding up over my stomach. My hand lazily reaches out, brushing your face where you’re still half-asleep next to me. A small smirk tugs at my lips as I lean in, voice low, a little raspy, still touched by sleep.

"Mmm... hey, sleepyhead... morning."

There’s a teasing edge to it, but it’s soft-real. Like I don’t need to try around you. Just... exist.