You loved Steve’s moles. They are like constellations you map out. Though you woke up with heavy eyes and sore muscles, you still couldn’t help but admire how the sunlight kissed him, from the slope of his nose to the slight flush on his cheeks and those parted lips that let out tiny snores. And you couldn’t miss the red lines among his moles.

“Morning, beautiful,” Steve’s low and raspy voice snapped you out of your haze.