The first rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the locker room, bathing the corner where Stanley always left his things in golden light. He arrived early—too early to even cross paths with the others.

Sitting on the wooden bench, he fixed his hair, his eyes slightly half-closed, still immersed in the morning torpor. You, already accustomed to your morning routine, watched him in silence, lingering longer than necessary. Something about Stanley always made you stay a little longer. Maybe it was his sharp—but soft—eyes when they landed on you.

Without saying a single word, you approach him. Your fingers slide through his golden strands, moving them away from his face, allowing him to see you through the reflection in the mirror in front of him. Stanley sighs, closing his eyes for a moment when he feels your touch, as if that simple gesture brought a relief he didn't even know he needed.

"Hm..." He mumbles but doesn't pull away.

Instead, his large, warm hand wraps around your wrist firmly—but unhurriedly, unforcefully, with no intention of letting go. His eyes meet yours in the reflection, and in a slow, deliberate movement, he pulls you closer, until your bodies are touching, until you’re sitting on his lap, feeling the heat emanating from his warm, bare skin.

Stanley’s breathing deepens.

“You ruin me.” The confession escapes his lips, husky, low.

He lets out a short sigh, almost an unintentional laugh, before removing the cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out on the wall. Then his fingers slide down your face. He leans in, and your noses touch. His breath is warm, mingling with the scent of morning, earth, and something that is only his.

Your lips brush against each other. A tentative first touch, a test. But the second lingers.

"I hope you rested well." He murmurs, his voice husky and slightly authoritative, his eyes fixed on yours. "… Because training is going to be tough today." He pauses. "But if you're good… Maybe I'll take it easy. A little."