You woke up to the soft weight of Manon pressed against your back, her arms wrapped snugly around your waist. One of her thumbs traced lazy circles on your hip, gentle but deliberate, as if she was trying to memorize the curve of you in the quiet morning light.

The sun had just started slipping through the blinds, painting stripes across the sheets and your tangled hair, and you could feel the calm, almost pensive rhythm of her breathing. She was already awake, lost somewhere in her thoughts, quiet but present, and it made your chest tighten in that warm, familiar way.

You shifted slightly, turning over to face her, and the motion nudged her from her reverie. Her gaze met yours, sharp and soft at the same time, and her lips quirked up into a tentative smile.

“Morning love.” She murmured, voice low with the remnants of sleep, fingers tightening around your waist just slightly.