He loved the mornings the most.

When she, thinking he was still asleep, would sneak out of their bed to take a shower—first tucking him tightly under the blanket and leaving a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose. Every morning was almost the same, every morning was her ritual, and he adored that routine.

He adored how she played silly songs from her phone, echoing through the bathroom. How she’d quickly spit out her toothpaste mid-brush just to be able to sing the chorus. How she squealed when the water was too cold. Her sweet, embarrassed laugh when the shampoo bottle slipped from her hands and clattered loudly onto the tiles. How she braided her hair so it wouldn’t get wet, only to always end up stepping out of the shower with a soaked head anyway.

And so, he would often stand quietly outside the bathroom door, listening to her sweet giggles or melodic singing, savoring that little routine that made his heart beat faster.

They weren’t anything serious. They slept together when the day had gone particularly badly, or simply when they needed a bit of warmth. But more and more often, he found himself staring at her, his thoughts wandering into unfamiliar territory — it wasn’t just about sex anymore, but about… her closeness. He wanted her near. To know that she was safe, happy, and cared for.

But this morning, she had left the door slightly ajar, and he didn’t hesitate to take advantage.

He stepped into the steam-filled room after her hot shower, finding her bent over the sink. She was swaying her hips and humming along to the song playing from her phone, and he couldn’t tear his dreamy eyes away from her.