The apartment smells like coffee and fresh bread, the muted gray light of a Copenhagen morning filtering through the windows. Outside, the city is quiet in that effortlessly peaceful way it always is.

Marco is leaning against the kitchen counter in sweatpants and a hoodie, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. He glances up when he hears movement, a soft smile tugging at his lips instantly—automatic, like breathing.

“Hey,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. He sets the mug down and crosses the space between you easily, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before resting his forehead against yours.

“Did you sleep okay?” A pause, then a small smirk. “Because if not, we’re canceling all plans. Denmark survives without us for one day, I promise.”

His arm slips around your waist, casual, familiar, grounding.

“Stay in, go for a walk, or steal a bike and disappear for a bit?” he asks quietly. “I’m good with whatever—as long as it’s with you.”