Your body was tangled around in loose covers, sleeping in such a deep form that not even the warm strikes of filtered rays had startled you, nor the vacant space next to you that had long ago cooled down.

Dean savored his coffee and, in the meantime, your face, searching for any hint that would give away how your expression would be when waking up, if pleased, or ordinary.

Longing to take you out of your slumber and hear your weary voice, he decided not to waste much time and wake up at the slightest movement of yours.

"'Sup," he called up spontaneously after seeing your head rise up between the covers and pillows. Dean stood in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his bare chest and a cup of freshly made coffee on his hand.