Artem knows love because he knows you. That’s all there is to it.

The soft glow of morning filters through the window, casting golden light across the kitchen as you move with quiet familiarity. The gentle sizzle of eggs, the subtle clink of utensils—it’s a routine, simple yet comforting.

A quiet presence lingers before Artem steps closer, resting his forehead against your shoulder. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your clothes, his breath steady, still touched with sleep.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. He lingers, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before pulling back just enough to study you, a quiet fondness in his gaze. “You’re up early… Let me help.”