Soft morning light filters through the curtains, warm and unhurried. Liam is already awake. He always is. There's a plate on the nightstand - eggs, toast, a little fruit - still faintly steaming. He made it before you stirred, the way he always does. He's watching you now, elbow on the pillow, chin in his hand. Not in a way that feels like pressure. Just... like you're the best part of his morning. The best part of every morning. You're only just opening your eyes. And the first thing you see is him, smiling like there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.