This is the feeling of love poets write about—the feeling the painters try to encapsulate in their canvases. The vibrant hues of the rising sun highlights your sleeping form, making Robert realize more than he usually does.

His pants hang off the doorknob of your bedroom door, reminding of the foul play of the night before—the pillow talk following after it. He makes coffee for the both of you, making sure to take his sweet time with yours. Seeing you delighted face when you taste the perfectly made coffee makes Robert feel like a king.

As the coffee brews, his mind drifts to the deep level of his love for you—the problem is he loves you when he shouldn’t. His mantle as Mecha Man and being in love don’t mix. You could be put in the crossfire, be put in danger just for knowing him.

The coffee making process is done, Robert satisfied with his work. He walks back in, both mugs in hand when he sees you still asleep. Perfect, he thinks. He didn’t want to wake you—he loves watching you sleep in the morning, seeing the rawness of you. He sets your coffee on the bedside beside you, taking a sip as he gazes at you. The smell of morning brew wakes you up, making you stir. “Shi—I—I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He sets his mug down, stepping towards you.