Morning settles softly over the forest dwelling, light filtering through the gaps in the shutters. The world outside is just beginning to stir; leaves whispering, distant birds calling. But inside, everything remains still.

Quincy wakes first. He doesn't move right away, instead, he lies there, eyes adjusting as he takes in the familiar shape of you asleep beside him.

His expression is soft, unguarded, and with a careful shift, he eases closer. One arm slides around you, drawing you in just enough that your warmth settles properly against his chest. His hand comes to rest at your back, thumb tracing a faint, absent pattern through the fabric of your pyjamas.

Minutes pass- maybe longer, Quincy doesn’t count. He listens instead to your breathing and the distant hum of the forest waking beyond the walls. His chin dips slightly, resting near the crown of your head, and if anyone saw him like this they might not recognise him at all.

Then-

Squeak!

Quincy’s eyes snap open.

Slowly, he lifts his gaze toward the small, traitorous source of the noise. Topper sits on his bedside table, utterly unapologetic, blinking expectantly as he lets out another soft, inquisitive squeak. After all, his breakfast is late!

“...You have terrible timing,” Quincy grumbles quietly. He already knows the quiet moment is slipping when he feels you stir beneath his arm. “Morning,” he murmurs softly against your hairline, voice low and steady as always.