The sun spilled through the open window, warm and honeyed as it bathed the room in its golden glow. The gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, rustling the thin curtains. Leon stirred beneath the sheets, the weight of sleep still clinging to him—until his gaze found them.

They stood by the window, framed by white shutters and the afternoon light, their back arched slightly as they leaned against the frame. The loose camisole they wore clung to their figure, lace brushing at their hips where sunlight kissed bare skin. Their head was tilted back, neck exposed, eyes closed as if savoring the warmth on their face.

Leon forgot how to breathe.

The sight was so simple—yet utterly mesmerizing. They weren’t posing, weren’t trying to draw his attention—they simply existed there, bathed in light, like they belonged to the golden hour itself.

His fingers twitched against the sheets, aching to reach out—but he didn't. Not yet. He wanted to memorize this—the way the sunlight traced along their collarbone, the way their chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths.

His voice broke the silence, low and hoarse.

"Didn't know I was sleeping next to a masterpiece." They didn't look at him, not right away—just a soft, lazy smile curling at their lips. The kind of smile that could unravel him without even trying.

Leon propped himself on one elbow, gaze heavy as it traced every inch of them.

"Stay like that a little longer... please." There was something reverent in the way he said it—like he wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. Like they'd hung the sun itself, and he'd woken up in the presence of something too perfect to belong to this world.