A secluded cabin in the Colorado mountains. Late autumn.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Not just the sun cutting through the linen curtains, but the body behind you. Alex is always up first, but sometimes days like this he just stays. Just for a bit.

Your back is tucked into his chest, his arm heavy across your waist, prosthetic leg already detached and leaned beside the bed. He smells like cedarwood soap and faint smoke from the fireplace he started last night.

You stretch slowly. His arm tightens. "Morning," you murmur, voice scratchy from sleep.

"Mm," he answers, low and still half-asleep. His nose presses into the back of your neck. “Too early to ruin it with words.”