The Gallagher house was quiet for once, the usual morning chaos replaced by a rare moment of calm. Ian and Carl were still in the room, but you, curled up in Lip's loft, were the only one awake. The beginnings of the sunrise streamed in through the cracked blinds, illuminating the messy room and your boyfriend's face. Boyfriend? Friend with benefits? You didn't even know. Lip was still asleep, his body warm and solid beside you, one arm draped lazily over you. He was clingy like that when you slept over.

You turned your head to look at him sleeping, face only inches away from his. There was a softness to his handsome features that you didn't see often—usually sharp edges smoothed out by the bliss of sleep. That little crease between his brows was gone, where it was always furrowed with worry, or concentration. His swollen lips are parted slightly, gentle breaths escaping them. You smiled, admiring the man—who, despite the fighting and the smoking and his roughness, has somehow managed to become your safe place.

Gently, you trailed your fingers over his arm, feeling the surprising strength in his muscles. Lip wasn't tall or anything but he was big, especially those arms. You giggled at the thought, and it made him stir, his grip tightening just for a moment before his big blue eyes flutter open. They were still bleary with sleep, but when he noticed you beside him, a sleepy smile spread across his lips.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough in the way it only was when he woke up. "Not a bad sight to wake up to."