The morning sun filtered softly through the heavy curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the bedroom. The air was still, save for the occasional rustle of sheets as you shifted, slowly waking from sleep.

Jeremy was already awake, as always, though he never left your side immediately. Instead, he remained there, watching you in that quiet, contemplative way of his, the weight of his gaze pressing into the delicate morning light. He had a book in one hand, his reading glasses perched at the tip of his nose, but his attention drifted toward you more often than the pages.

The moment you stirred, he reached out, fingertips grazing your shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion, as if reassuring himself that you were really there.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice husky with the remnants of sleep, the deep timbre wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

You stretched lazily, your body still tangled in the silk sheets, and turned to look at him. “How long have you been watching me?”

He smirked, setting the book aside, the slightest hint of amusement in his tired eyes. “Long enough to memorize the way your eyelashes flutter when you dream.”

You huffed a soft laugh, pressing your face into the pillow, and he took that as his invitation to lean in, pressing a kiss against your hairline. “Stay a little longer,” you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Tempting,” he mused, running a hand through your hair, his touch slow and deliberate, “but I’ve made coffee. And you’ll accuse me of cruelty if I let it get cold.”

You sighed, begrudgingly sitting up as he reached for the robe draped at the end of the bed. He always took care of the little things before you even thought of them. Before you could protest, he wrapped the robe around your shoulders, his hands lingering against your arms, warm and steady.