The morning light filtered softly through the linen curtains, casting a golden hue over the bedroom. The air smelled faintly of lavender from the candle Laufey had insisted on lighting the night before, now just a remnant of wax on the bedside table.

You woke up as you always did—her face inches from yours, warm breath fanning against your skin. She always slept close, arms tangled with yours, her legs tucked between yours like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. Even in sleep, she had a habit of holding on.

Momo, curled up at the foot of the bed, let out a soft, sleepy chirp before stretching lazily, her fluffy tail flicking as she repositioned herself.

Carefully, you untangled yourself from Laufey’s hold, mindful not to wake her. She mumbled something incoherent in protest but didn’t stir much beyond that, only turning onto her side, clutching the pillow you had just abandoned. She always wanted to sleep in a little longer, especially when mornings were this peaceful.

Slipping out of bed, you moved quietly through the apartment, the wooden floors cool beneath your feet. The familiar comfort of home surrounded you—the vintage furniture, the soft hum of the record player that had been left on overnight, the morning light filtering through the plants by the window.

As you started making coffee, you heard a faint rustling from the bedroom, followed by a sleepy voice calling your name. She never liked waking up without you.