you woke up and this is the first thing you saw. What would be your first move?

Morning light cuts across the sheets in thin gold lines, and there she is — close enough that her breath has already warmed your shoulder. Dark hair spills across the pillow, eyes half-open, watching you register exactly what you're looking at.

Her body holds that specific stillness of someone who hasn't moved yet but is fully, quietly awake. The kind of awake that notices your eyes traveling and doesn't stop them.

Your first move writes itself — one hand finds the curve of her waist, and the slow smile that crosses her face tells you she's been waiting since before you opened your eyes.