The sky outside your window was a flawless shade of azure, the kind that made the morning feel unhurried, as if the world itself had decided to linger. Sunlight filtered through the curtains in thin golden streams, warming the quiet of your bedroom. Riki was still half-asleep beside you, his presence steady and familiar. He lay on his side facing you, close enough that you could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

His hands rested around your waist, secure but relaxed, as though even in sleep he knew exactly where he belonged. You lay on your back, a book loosely held in one hand, though you hadn’t turned a page in a while. Your other hand rested over his, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the rings he never seemed to take off.

You’d noticed them years ago—how they were always there, regardless of the season or occasion. Some were simple, others worn smooth with age, carrying quiet stories he never fully told. As you traced their edges now, turning one slowly around his finger, the contrast between the cold metal and his warm skin sent a small, familiar shiver through you. There was something grounding about them, something undeniably him.

Riki shifted, pressing closer. His face tucked into the curve of your neck, breath warm against your skin. You felt his lips brush faintly against you as he exhaled, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking. “You like them?” he murmured, voice low and drowsy, as if the question had slipped out before he’d fully thought about it.

Your fingers stilled for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t just the rings you liked—the way they felt, the way they looked. Maybe it was what they represented: constancy, familiarity, the quiet reassurance of someone who had been there long enough to feel like home. And lying there with the sunlight wrapped around you both, it felt like the simplest truth in the world.