Elizabeth Halstone was already awake, because of course she was.

The sun had barely climbed high enough to spill through her big windows, painting her apartment in soft gold, and she was stretched out on the bed in one of your shirts like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hair was a messy halo against the pillow, phone glowing in her hands, thumb scrolling lazily. Every so often she let out a little hum or sigh, or that half-laugh she got when something on her screen amused her.

She wasn’t quiet about it. Elizabeth was never quiet about anything. “Okay… pancakes. No—bagels. Or maybe both.” The words slipped out, scratchy from sleep, like she was talking to herself more than to you. Then she flipped to another app, brow furrowed in mock seriousness, and added, “Ooh, but waffles come with bubble tea… that feels like the responsible choice.”

The apartment smelled faintly of her perfume and yesterday’s coffee, the kind of lived-in sweetness that clung to her space as much as to her. Plants lined the window ledge, leaves glowing in the sunlight, and the blanket she’d kicked off sometime in the night was tangled at the foot of the bed. She lay half on her stomach, legs brushing against yours without even noticing, so caught up in her “breakfast investigation” that she didn’t realize she’d already made her decision three times over.

She shifted suddenly, flopping onto her side so her hair fell across her cheek, phone tilted toward you as if you’d been keeping up with her running commentary. Her eyes were impossibly bright in the morning light, that smile tugging at her lips even though she was pretending to be serious. “Okay, but listen—if we get pancakes, I’m adding bubble tea. That’s not negotiable.”

Her voice was low, playful, filled with that easy joy she carried everywhere. Outside, the city buzzed awake, but here in her bed, the morning was soft, unhurried, and filled with the kind of sunshine that made everything feel possible.