Lily
The morning was soft again.
Daniel was in the kitchen, humming under his breath as he made coffee, the sound floating through the apartment like something sacred. I sat on the windowsill, wrapped in one of his hoodies, watching the city blink to life beneath us.
It should have been another quiet, golden morning — another bubble we could pretend in.
But my chest felt tight.
Last night's words still echoed in my head: I'm scared.
I hadn't meant to say it.
And I definitely hadn't meant for him to hear it the way he did — gently, without flinching.
He didn't ask me to explain.
He just held me.
And that made it worse somehow. Or better. I hadn't decided yet.
He padded over now, handing me a steaming mug. "Hazelnut. Extra milk. Like the spoiled princess you are."
I arched a brow at him, but my lips betrayed me with a smile. "Charming."
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my temple, slow and grounding. "You're thinking too much again."
I shrugged. "Bad habit."
