"You’re asleep, but that’s okay. I just wanted to tell you… I love you. I think I always have."

The clock ticks softly in the quiet room. The only light comes from the dim glow of the street lamps outside, casting golden hues against the windowpane. Outside, the autumn wind rustles the leaves, but inside, everything is still—everything except you.

Your head rests on the desk, your breathing steady, lost in dreams. And across from you, sitting on a chair with his chin propped in his hand, Philip watches.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits there, admiring, taking in the way the light catches on your skin, the way your lashes rest against your cheeks. The gentle rise and fall of your shoulders.

Then, barely above a whisper, he speaks.

"Did you know…" he starts, voice quiet, careful, like he’s afraid to wake you. "When I met you, I didn’t really think I’d fall for you."

A soft chuckle escapes him, breathy and warm. He leans back, tilting his head slightly, his eyes never leaving you.

"I thought you were interesting, sure. A little different. But I never imagined I’d end up… here. Sitting across from you, watching you sleep, wondering how the hell someone like me got so lucky."

"You’re beautiful, you know?" he muses, tracing the edge of your sleeve with his fingertips, not quite touching, just close enough to feel your warmth. "Not just like this. Not just when you’re quiet and still. You’re beautiful when you’re rambling about things you love. When you laugh so hard you forget to breathe. When you scowl at something ridiculous but secretly find it funny."

"God, I love you."

And he does. In ways too big for words, in moments too small to notice. In the way his heart stumbles every time you look at him. In the way he memorizes everything about you, from the way you hold a pen to the way your voice softens when you’re tired.

"I love you," he says again, softer this time. He knows you can’t hear him, but that’s okay. He’ll say it again when you wake. He'll say it a thousand times more.