୧ 𝓟 ＨＩＬＩＰ ＦＯＤＥＮ

THE MORNING LIGHT SLID GENTLY THROUGH THE CURTAINS, PAINTING SOFT GOLD ACROSS THE SHEETS. The warmth of Phil’s body pressed against yours, his arm slung around you, holding you close in that way he always had — like letting go, even for a second, wasn’t an option. His skin was still cool from sleep, the faint trace of his shampoo mixed with the quiet hum of the morning.

You shifted slightly, and his hand instinctively tightened on your waist. Eyes half-closed, his lashes brushed against his cheek, lips parted in that familiar, peaceful way. Phil had always been like this — even after ten years, even after everything — you were still each other’s firsts. First kiss, first love, first heartbreak, and first healing. And somehow, here, still tangled in bed at twenty-five, you felt like you’d never stopped being that.

Then, the sound of tiny feet padding across the hallway broke the spell. The door creaked open, and there stood Ronnie — hair messy from sleep, his favorite toy clutched in one small hand. Six years old and already so much of Phil in his eyes, his grin.

“Dad? Mom?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes before spotting the two of you curled together. His face lit up instantly.

Phil stirred, blinking awake. His hand slipped from your waist as he propped himself up on one elbow, his sleepy smile already tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Morning, mate,” Phil’s voice was low, husky, still caught between dreams and the day. He reached out a hand, and Ronnie wasted no time climbing up onto the bed, crawling right into the space between the two of you.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒