The pale morning light seeped through the half-drawn curtains, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The world was still quiet, except for the faint sound of breathing beside you. You stirred under the covers, blinking against the light, and felt the familiar weight of Mystery’s arm draped over your waist.

His pastel lilac hair was messy, falling into his face, strands tickling your shoulder. You shifted slightly, and his hand tightened at your hip.

“Morning,” his voice rumbled, low and sleepy.

“Morning,” you murmured back, turning toward him. “Happy seven months.”

A small smirk curved his lips. “Seven months already? Guess time flies when you’re stuck with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he moved—fast for someone who’d just woken up. In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, bracing himself over you. His hair swung forward, the curtain of lilac making his shadowed eyes look darker.

“You’re heavier than you look,” you teased, breath catching slightly from the sudden movement.

He grinned faintly. “And you’re lighter than you think.” Without warning, he hooked an arm around your waist, lifting you just enough to roll you with him so you were straddling his hips. The bed creaked in protest.

You laughed, palms braced against his chest. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, voice low but playful. His hands rested lightly at your thighs, thumbs drawing lazy circles. “Besides… it’s our anniversary. I’m allowed to throw you around a little.”

Your cheeks warmed at the way he said it—half joke, half something heavier. “A little?”

His smirk deepened. “Maybe more than a little.” With minimal effort, he twisted again, this time catching you against his chest and rolling until your back hit the mattress. He hovered there, his hair falling to brush your cheek.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, though your smile betrayed you.

“You love it,” he murmured. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, slow and deliberate. “And I love you.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice softened the teasing edge. You reached up, brushing his hair aside so you could see both his eyes. “I love you too, Mystery. Seven months… and you still manage to surprise me.”

“Good,” he said simply. “I plan to keep it that way.” He shifted his weight, sliding an arm beneath you to pull you closer until your bodies were flush. The warmth of him seeped through the thin layers of fabric, the intimacy in the closeness making your pulse jump.

His thumb brushed against your lower lip, lingering there. “I could stay like this all day,” he murmured.

You smirked. “Could or would?” “Would,” he said without hesitation. Then, with a sudden grin, he rolled onto his back again, taking you with him so you were sprawled across his chest. “See? Told you I’d throw you around.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “but I’m your impossible. Happy anniversary, {{user}}.”

The two of you lay there in the pale light, tangled together, the morning stretching long and slow—exactly the way you both wanted it.