The first breath of morning slipped quietly into the room.
Soft light pushed past the curtain's thin fabric, brushing over the walls in long, warm strokes.
The breeze drifted in with it—cool, gentle—making the curtain rise… fall… sway in slow motion, like a sleepy dancer greeting dawn.
The air carried that early–morning purity, the kind that tasted clean on the skin.
It shifted across the bed, gliding over bare legs tangled beneath a half-fallen blanket, over warm shoulders and the curve of two bodies locked together after a night that had stolen every ounce of strength from them.
Their breathing filled the room—soft, tired, uneven, their chests rising against each other in a rhythm that spoke of exhaustion and intimacy.
Julie's breath was warm against Roman's collarbone. Roman's rested over her hair.
Their skin, still sensitive, still humming faintly from everything they had done hours before, pressed together without space between.
Roman stirred first.
