The morning light spilled softly into the shared bedroom, brushing over Tina's silver hair, tangled in chaotic perfection across the pillow. Andrew lay beside her, one arm draped loosely over the blanket, golden-brown hair catching the glow. The quiet wasn't just silence; it was the kind of stillness that hummed with unspoken connection, where even the faintest shift in scent, a flutter of eyelashes, could ripple across the other's awareness. Tina stirred, eyelids fluttering open, and immediately, her senses were flooded with him—honey warmth, understated musk, the subtle insistence of his omega presence. Her heart did a little hop. Andrew's eyes, hazel and amused, flicked toward her.
"You should take a picture, it lasts longer, no?"
He said, voice still low, thick with sleep, teasing in a way that made her blush instantly. Tina sat up a little straighter, hair falling into her face, and waved a hand like she could physically erase the fact that she had been caught.
