Sunlight’s barely through the curtains. She drags herself onto your lap, hair a mess, your shirt barely covering her.

“Five more minutes,” she mumbles, half-asleep.

She leans in and kisses you—slow, warm, and lazy.

“I like mornings like this,” she whispers. “Where you don’t leave.”

She curls into you. You pull the blanket up.

The world can wait.