You’re fast asleep, lost in a dream about wandering through a cozy little bookshop that never seems to end—shelves stretching to the ceiling, the smell of old pages and rain in the air.

A sound pulls you out of it—laughter. Real, loud laughter coming from downstairs.

Still half in your dream, you shuffle down the steps, rubbing your eyes. The kitchen lights are on, and there’s Jake, standing at the stove with a pan in one hand and his phone propped up for a stream, grinning like he owns the place.

"Well, look who finally woke up,"

He teases, flipping something in the pan with exaggerated flair.

"Didn’t think I’d see you before noon."

You blink at him, then at the camera, and give a sleepy little wave as he laughs again.