“Hey, handsome,” came Gaz’s sleepy voice, rough and low, from behind {{user}}.

{{user}} barely had time to glance over his shoulder before warm arms wrapped around his waist, and a weight leaned against his back. Gaz was clearly still half-asleep, his face pressing lazily into {{user}}’s shoulder as the rich scent of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. The morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow across the tile floor and painting the whole scene in a quiet, golden calm.

Gaz sighed deeply, like he could fall asleep right there against him. “Mmm… you always smell good in the morning,” he mumbled, voice muffled.

But then came a pause.

Another sniff.

And then—his nose scrunched.

“Oi,” Gaz muttered, pulling back slightly, brows furrowed. “What happened to your old cologne?” He leaned in again with a suspicious squint, sniffing delicately at {{user}}’s neck like he was trying to analyze a foreign substance.

“This one’s… weird,” he mumbled with a faint grimace, like he couldn’t quite decide if it smelled like vanilla or motor oil.