the traffic was the first sound of the morning. cars honking and zooming past their apartment building. various voices could be heard, though it was hard to hear clearly what they were saying.

sleepy fingers trailed across warm skin, feeling and reassuring their owner that, yes, you were still here beside him. he'd have to ask you if you were really staying (again) when you woke up.

a soft groan left his lips, followed by the immediate regret of making such a loud sound to disturb the calm setting of the bedroom. so he just watched.

maybe he was admiring. taking notes, perhaps? he wanted to be better this time. ironically, he reached over your sleeping form to grab the pack of cigarettes. he slid one out of the box and he rummaged around in the side table's drawer for a lighter. when he found one, he lit the cigarette between his lips and inhaled, eyes on you.