some mornings felt like they were made out of clouds and soft songs, and this was one of them.

you woke up tangled in riki’s arms, his breath warm against the back of your neck. his hair was a mess, sticking out in random directions, and his cheek was smushed against your pillow like he’d lost a battle with sleep itself. he groaned when you shifted slightly, tightening his hold around your waist, mumbling something unintelligible that probably meant “five more minutes.”

the room was quiet except for the distant chirping of birds outside and the hum of the fan spinning above. sunlight peeked through the curtains, spilling soft gold across the messy bed. you stayed there for a moment, just breathing with him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

then came the stretch. that slow, satisfying moment when you both yawn and stretch your limbs like cats. riki blinked at you with sleep-heavy eyes, lips curling into a lopsided grin.

“morning,” he said, voice raspy and cute.

you rubbed your eyes, muttering a “morning” back as he kissed your forehead. then you both sat up slowly, yawning in sync, like the most uncoordinated duet ever.

bathroom time was always chaos in a peaceful kind of way. you stood at the sink, brushing your teeth with your pink toothbrush, while riki leaned over next to you, brushing his with the green one he always swore was superior. foam in your mouths, you both exchanged muffled, ridiculous conversations that made no sense but had you giggling anyway.

you bumped elbows, accidentally spit toothpaste on each other’s arms, and somehow riki still managed to make it cute. he gave you this look in the mirror, eyes soft, like he couldn’t believe mornings like this were real. you just grinned, foam still in your mouth.

after that, he made coffee — his specialty. you sat on the counter, legs swinging, watching him pour the hot water like he was a barista in some indie café. he always added too much sugar to his, and you always pretended to judge him for it.

“you want cinnamon in yours?” he asked.

“ugh, nah.”

he handed you your mug with two hands like it was sacred, and you clinked your cups together like weird little adults playing house. sips were followed by lazy forehead kisses and long sighs. you stayed like that for a while, just sipping and leaning into each other.

then came the shower. not in a steamy way — more like a sanctuary kind of way. both of you stepped in, the warm water wrapping around your bodies. riki stood behind you, arms loosely around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as you hummed a song you made up on the spot.

he helped wash your hair, fingers gentle, and you rinsed the soap off his nose when he accidentally got shampoo there. there was laughter echoing off the tiled walls and water dripping everywhere. the bathroom steamed up like a dream, and neither of you cared that your towels would be soaked after.

you talked about everything and nothing — what to have for breakfast, that weird dream he had about a flying cat, how you should totally adopt a dog one day.

afterward, wrapped in oversized towels, you stood in front of the mirror again, this time combing hair and trading sleepy glances. your toothbrushes still sat next to each other in the cup like they were dating too.

it wasn’t anything grand. no wild declarations or fancy plans. just quiet love in coffee mugs, in shared toothbrush space, in the way he reached out to hold your hand on the way to the bedroom.

domestic mornings with riki felt like a soft melody. nothing loud. nothing flashy. just… home.