The sun spilled across the bedsheets like honey. Fives lay half-awake, face buried in your shoulder, arms wrapped around you as if the world might take you away if he let go.

“Mornin’, mesh’la,” he mumbled against your skin. “If I make breakfast, will you promise not to steal all the warm blankets again?”

He chuckled sleepily, fingers brushing your cheek. “I still can’t believe we get mornings like this. No alarms. No armor. Just… you.”