The morning crept in slow, pale light spilling between the curtains.
The city was still half-asleep, the hum outside muted, like the world had agreed to grant them a little more time.
Luca stirred first.
He blinked against the brightness, then glanced down at the weight resting against his chest.
Noel was still there, hair mussed from the pillow, breathing steady, his arm draped heavy and sure across Luca's middle.
For a long moment, Luca didn't move.
He just watched—every rise and fall of Noel's chest, every quiet line of ease smoothed into his face.
The rare softness made Luca's lips curve into a smile he didn't bother to hide.
When Noel finally shifted, half-waking, Luca whispered, "Morning."
A low sound rumbled from Noel's throat—somewhere between a reply and a protest.
He buried his face against Luca's shoulder.
"Not a morning person, huh?" Luca teased gently, brushing a hand through his hair. "Good thing I am. I'll carry the conversation until you catch up."
