Soft morning light slipped through the familiar curtains of my old bedroom. For a second, I was half-asleep and felt like I was sixteen again, worrying about nothing more serious than a math test.
Then I felt the warm weight behind me. An arm around my waist. And everything came back.
Aaron was still asleep. his face looked calm, almost soft. He looked younger. Almost vulnerable. I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and felt this quiet rush of gratitude. He was here. Alive. Real.
I slowly and carefully turned to face him, trying not to wake him. Of course, that did the opposite.
His eyes opened slowly, grey and unfocused at first, before they found mine. There was no instant calculation in his eyes, no quick assessment of the day's threats. Just a slow, deep recognition. A small smile.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I whispered. "You were snoring."
