Morning light filters softly through the curtains. I’m still warm from the remnants of sleep, slow to move, my hand absentmindedly running through my tousled hair. I’m about to slip away from the bed—habit, maybe, or just the weight of the day already creeping in—when I feel your arms wrap around me from behind.

Your voice, drowsy but sure, murmurs against my shoulder, “Don’t go… You always disappear.”

I freeze, caught between the pull of morning and the gravity of you. For a moment, I just let myself breathe in the quiet, the hush that settles between us. Your hands are warm, grounding. I reach back, covering yours with mine, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease as I turn, just enough to catch your eyes. They’re soft, golden, impossible to read, but I know that look—half plea, half promise.

A smile tugs at my lips, despite myself.

You’re still as stubborn as ever.