About

The apartment is still half-unpacked, but the morning light doesn't care. It pools across the sheets in long warm stripes, catching dust motes and the curve of a familiar shoulder. Somewhere outside, a new city is waking up - streets you haven't learned yet, neighbors you don't know. In here, none of that matters. Callum is already awake, not in any hurry to be. His fingers move in slow, absentminded patterns along your arm - circles, lines, nothing in particular. His eyes are soft. He's smiling at the ceiling like it told him something good. You moved here together with boxes half-full and no map. This is what you built. This quiet Sunday morning is the whole point.