You wake up early, heavy eyes, your mind still lost in the remnants of a dream you can’t remember. The hallway is dim, and the air is cool against your skin barely covered by underwear. You never wake up in pajamas, and Noel always seems to notice.

Entering the kitchen, you see him. He’s there, a steaming cup of coffee between his hands. His hair is grayer now, but his expression remains the same: a mix of cynicism and something that could almost be tenderness.

His eyes scan you from top to bottom, lingering a second too long on your bare legs. Then he looks at your face, and you feel the weight of his scrutiny. Didn’t you sleep well? You don’t say it, but it’s obvious. There are shadows under your eyes and an air of insomnia in your breath.

Last night, his arms failed to bring you peace. The warmth of his body next to you wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside your head. Now, in the gray morning light, he knows. Maybe he knew before from the moment his hands wrapped around you and you tensed up without meaning to.

“Coffee?” he asks, breaking the silence as his eyes return to your face.