The sunlight slipped through the blinds like it had nowhere else to be but here, on our bed, casting stripes across her bare shoulder. She was still asleep—messy hair, lips slightly parted, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how calm she looks in the morning, like the whole world pauses just for her to breathe a little softer.

I stretched quietly, careful not to wake her, but the creak of the mattress gave me away.

“Mmm…” she murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re staring again.”

“I am not,” I said, grinning like an idiot.

“You are. Creeper.” She opened one eye and gave me this sleepy smile that could melt concrete.

“Only a little,” I admitted, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “You looked peaceful. Like... dream-world peaceful.”

She reached out, looping her arm around my waist, pulling me closer until our noses nearly touched. “And what about now?”

“Now?” I whispered. “Now you’re even better.”

It was the kind of moment we never planned. No grand gestures. No cameras. Just us, tangled in sheets and soft breathing, the smell of her shampoo on the pillow, and the low hum of the city far beyond our window. I could’ve stayed like that forever.

But of course, my stomach had other plans. It growled like an animal in protest.

She giggled. “Alright, I’ll make the coffee and breakfast.”

“Nooo,” I whined, dragging the blanket over her. “You stay. I’ll make it.”

“You?” she raised an eyebrow. “You’ll burn water.”

“Not true. I’ve improved. I watched a YouTube video and everything.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, but let me go. “Fine. Impress me, Norris.”

I kissed her forehead, then her lips. “Challenge accepted.”

As I padded barefoot to the kitchen, humming under my breath, I realized how ridiculously lucky I was. Races came and went, podiums rose and fell, but this—her, our mornings, the tiny rituals of just being—this was gold.

And if the coffee and breakfast turned out terribly? Well... she’d still drink and eat it. Probably.