The diner is quiet, sun slanting in through the windows in long golden stripes. You’re both still a little sleepy, hair messy, voices hushed like the day hasn’t fully started yet. Charlie sits across from you in an oversized hoodie, curls tousled, blinking slowly at the menu.

“Tell me what to get,” he mumbles, chin resting on his hand. “My brain’s not awake yet.”

You smile, nudging his foot under the table. “Pancakes. Always pancakes.”

He hums. “You’re so decisive in the morning. It’s scary.”

The waitress comes and goes, and when the food finally arrives, Charlie stares at your plate more than his own.

“You gonna share?” he asks, already inching his fork toward you.

You roll your eyes and slide your plate closer.“Only ‘cause you’re cute.”

He grins—sleepy, genuine—and steals a bite. “You’re nicer to me before noon.”

You lean on your elbows, watching him like you’ve got nowhere else to be.

“Maybe I just like slow mornings with you.”

He looks up, and something flickers across his face—soft and stunned, like he’s not used to being someone’s favorite part of the day.