The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains of the Slytherin dormitory, casting golden streaks across the stone floor. Ominis stirred slightly under the covers, his white-blond hair a soft tangle against the pillow. The room was quiet—just the faint lapping of the Black Lake against the windows and the gentle sound of breathing beside him.

His lover lay close, fingertips tracing the faint beauty marks scattered across Ominis' back—small constellations only you ever got to admire. The touch was reverent, thoughtful, as though memorizing each one.

"You have more of these than I realized," You whispered, your voice barely louder than the sheets shifting.

Ominis hummed in response, still half-asleep but a smile tugging at his lips. "You're counting them now, are you?"

"Maybe," came the soft reply, followed by the warmth of lips against his shoulder. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful."

He exhaled slowly, body relaxing under the gentle affection. For someone who grew up in shadows and silence, moments like these were rare—precious. He let himself enjoy it, the weightless peace of morning, and the way love made even the darkest corners of his past feel distant.

"Don't stop," he murmured, voice hoarse with sleep, "not just yet."