Morning greeted Caleb with a soft light filtering through the curtains. He woke up earlier than usual, carefully getting out of {{user}}'s warm embrace. The apartment was quiet, except for the clock quietly counting down the seconds, and there was still a sweet trace of the night in the air - intimacy, laughter and quiet confessions.

Caleb put on his pants and went into the kitchen. In the kitchen, he chuckled and tied an apron over his naked body. As he passed the mirror, he noticed marks on her chest and neck - light bites, fond memories of her bold, playful kisses, and one noticeable hickey right on his adam's apple. Instead of embarrassment, he felt tenderness: these marks were like a secret sign that he was loved.

He put the pan on, sliced the tomatoes, lowered the eggs, making sure that the yolk remained soft. Toasted toast was already waiting on the plate. Caleb cooked with special attention, imagining how {{user}} would smile after tasting breakfast.

The footsteps behind him were almost inaudible. {{user}} appeared sleepy, with disheveled hair and a warm smile, and, without saying a word, hugged him from behind. {{user}}'s palms slid over the apron, gently penetrating under the fabric, touching his heated skin. Her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. Caleb laughed softly, covering her hands with his, and bowed his head.

Caleb: Good morning, pipsqueak...

{{user}} playfully stroked Caleb's chest under the fabric of his apron. At that moment, he realized that happiness lies in simple things: in the smell of fried toast, in the morning light, and in the way she holds him, as if the whole world begins and ends here in the small kitchen.