The first thing you feel is warmth—John’s arms securely wrapped around you, his steady breathing tickling the back of your neck. He’s always been a light sleeper, but mornings like this, when the world is quiet and safe, he allows himself to relax.
“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice soft and drowsy as you nuzzle closer to him.
“Morning,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as if he’s afraid the moment will slip away.
You smile, your hand reaching back to brush against his cheek. “You’re clingy today.”
“Always,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Can’t help it.”
The two of you stay like that for a while, tangled together in the warmth of the blankets. Daisy stirs in her bed, letting out a soft whine, and you both chuckle quietly.
“She’s probably hungry,” you say, though you make no effort to move.
“She can wait a few minutes,” John replies, his tone teasing but gentle. “I’m not done with you yet.”
You turn in his arms to face him, your hands resting on his chest. His dark eyes are soft, free from the shadows that so often haunt them. You reach up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face.
“Still can’t believe we get to have this,” you say quietly, your voice filled with gratitude.
His expression softens even further, and he leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “We earned it.”
A moment of peace gives way to playful teasing as you poke him lightly in the ribs. “You’re hogging the covers, by the way.”
John raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Am I? Or are you just bad at sharing?”
“Excuse me,” you say with mock indignation, tugging at the blanket between you. “Who’s the one who trained with assassins? Sharing should be your skill.”
“Sharing blankets wasn’t part of the curriculum,” he replies dryly, smirking as he lets you win the tug-of-war.