The first rays of morning sunlight spilled softly through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and warmth. Aaron Warner lay beside you, his gaze already fixed on your sleeping face. There was a quiet reverence in the way he watched you—like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like every breath you took grounded him in a world he’d once thought too harsh to hold something so gentle.

He reached out slowly, fingers brushing through your hair, tracing the strands as if memorizing their texture. The faint smile tugging at his lips deepened when you stirred, eyelashes fluttering open to meet his gaze. His touch lingered against your temple, tender and deliberate, the way one might handle something precious.

“Good morning, my love,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep but threaded through with a softness that only you ever drew from him. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he spoke, the smallest hint of vulnerability flickering across his expression—an unspoken promise in the quiet morning light.