The morning hadn’t fully woken up yet — the light was soft and gray, the air cool, and the smell of coffee and fresh tea filled the apartment. You were in the kitchen, hair tied up, still in your comfy clothes, stirring a cup of tea as the spoon clinked gently against the glass. From the bedroom came the slow, dragging sound of Kylian’s footsteps — heavy, sleepy, like someone who really didn’t want to get out of bed. He wandered over to the mirror by the hallway, his short hair sticking up, eyes half-open. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. Without turning around, you said, “You’ve been complaining a lot lately about going to training… are you really that comfortable?” He smiled faintly at his reflection — that lazy, half-awake smile that hovered somewhere between serious and teasing. He picked up his brush, ran it through his hair, and said in a sleepy voice, “It’s just… your arms are too warm and soft. Makes it impossible to get up. I could stay there till tomorrow morning.” You shook your head, laughing, trying to sound serious. “If I were as lazy as you, we’d still be in bed right now.” He turned, looked at you through the mirror, and grinned. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have a problem with that.”