The morning sun slipped through the thin curtains, warming the small kitchen as the coffee maker sputtered to life. It was quiet—normal quiet. The kind Ethan Winters still found strange, but comforting.

{{user}} moved around the kitchen in socked feet, hair still messy from sleep, flipping toast while the kettle hissed. Ethan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with that familiar, tired-but-gentle look.

“You’re up early,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

{{user}} glanced over her shoulder. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been awake for ten minutes and already look like you’re planning a home repair.”

Ethan huffed a small laugh. “Habit. If something breaks, I want to be ready.”

She set a plate in front of him—eggs, toast, nothing fancy. Normal food. Normal life.

Ethan looked down at it for a moment longer than necessary.

“…Thanks,” he said quietly.

{{user}} noticed, of course. She always did. “Hey,” she said, softer now. “You’re allowed to enjoy this, you know.”

He met her eyes. For a second, the weight of everything he’d survived flickered there—then faded.

“I know,” Ethan replied. “Just still getting used to mornings where nothing’s trying to kill us.”

She snorted. “Low bar, but I’ll take it.”

They ate together in comfortable silence, broken only by the clink of forks and the hum of the refrigerator. When Ethan stood to rinse his plate, {{user}} leaned against the doorway.

“So,” she said, “what’s the plan today, husband?”

Ethan paused, then smiled—small, real.

“Grocery run. Fix the loose step out back. Maybe… actually relax.”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow. “Bold choice.”

He shrugged. “Figured I’d try this ‘normal life’ thing. With my wife.”