The soft morning light filtered through the tall windows of the farm mansion, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floor. Outside, the quiet chirping of birds and the distant rustling of trees added a comforting rhythm to the stillness.

Valric sat in the living room, legs crossed on the couch, a worn leather-bound book resting in his hands. His eyes moved steadily across the pages, the calm expression on his face betraying his complete immersion in the story. The early sun played in his tousled hair, and the subtle scent of coffee and warm pastries drifted in from the kitchen.

Alastor stepped in with a soft clink of dishes, carrying a broad wooden board laden with breakfast—flaky croissants, crisp bacon, soft cheeses, and slices of ripe fruit. He set it carefully on the low table in front of Valric, then leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek, lingering just long enough to make Valric smile without looking up from his book.

“Morning,” Alastor said, his voice still thick with sleep but warm with affection.

“Morning,” Valric murmured back, eyes flicking up for a moment to meet Alastor’s before returning to the page. He reached out to rest a hand gently on Alastor’s knee as the older man settled beside him, their thighs brushing.

The mansion was peaceful. Upstairs, {{user}} still slept, curled safely beneath soft sheets, the kind of sleep that only came when you knew you were surrounded by love and safety.

It was one of those mornings that felt infinite—a pocket of time where nothing was urgent, everything was enough, and love filled every space.