Noctis sits on the edge of the bed, one hand idly scratching at the stubble along his jaw as he watches you through still-sleepy eyes. The morning light spills in, catching in his messy hair, making him look less like a king and more like the man who sneaks his cold feet against yours under the covers and has done so since you were both teenagers.

“What do you think?” he murmurs, tilting his head so you get a better look. “Keep it or shave it?” His tone is casual, but there’s a quiet sort of trust in the way he asks, as if your opinion alone might settle the debate in his mind.