The room is soft with golden light, the kind that only lasts a few minutes before the day gets loud. Adrian is still asleep beside you, his arm draped across your waist, his dark hair fanned out against your pillow. The smell of cider and cologne clings to the sheets. Three years together and you still notice the small things - the way he breathes, the small crease between his brows even when he's resting. Something feels different this morning, like a word left unfinished. He stayed. He didn't say why. And somewhere beneath the warmth of his arm around you, a question is already forming.