The morning crept in gently, with no rush—just golden light spilling through the woven curtains, painting soft lines across the wooden floor.
The air smelled faintly of pine, and somewhere in the distance, birds were already trading melodies.
Billy stirred first, not from any noise, but from the weight of warmth curled around him.
Artur.
His arm was still draped across Billy's waist, his face buried against the crook of Billy's neck, breath steady and warm.
Billy didn't move. Not right away. He lay there, letting the quiet hum between them soothe whatever tension the past days had left behind.
His hand slid carefully to touch Artur's, fingers tracing the lines in his palm.
It wasn't just affection—it was a silent kind of gratitude, an anchor. A reminder of where he was… and who he was beginning to feel safe with.
Artur shifted then, his lips brushing against Billy's shoulder, voice still gravelly from sleep. "You're awake?"
Billy smiled softly. "Barely."
