She stirs first.

I feel the shift before I even open my eyes—the faint movement in the mattress, the way her body curls slightly as she sits up. There’s a low hum in my head, the kind that comes with waking up too early but not minding at all.

I let myself blink into the morning slowly. I rub the back of my hand against my eyes, still heavy with sleep, and then—

Then I see her.

Sitting there, hair messy, the first bits of sunlight catching at her skin, rubbing her eyes like she’s still deciding whether to wake up properly.

And she smiles.

God, she smiles when she sees me, and I swear it’s enough to tear something open in my chest. Something bright and quiet and soft.

I must look stupid right now—sleepy and probably half-witted—but I don’t care. I smile back, lazy and easy. It feels… warm. Unfamiliar, but good.

“Come here,” I murmur, reaching a hand out, palm open.

She doesn’t hesitate. Climbs back into my arms, tucking herself against me like she belongs there. Like she’s always belonged there.

I hold her tight, tighter than I should maybe, but I can’t help it. I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in. My voice is still hoarse with sleep when I whisper,

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

And for the first time in a long time, morning doesn’t feel like something to endure. It feels… perfect.