The soft golden light of morning filtered gently through the windows, stretching long shadows across the floorboards. The house stood still, wrapped in the hush only early mornings understood. On the couch, tangled in the warmth of a shared blanket, Billy stirred first.
His lashes fluttered open slowly, a sleepy haze still clouding his eyes. The first thing he felt wasn't the light, or the stiffness in his legs — it was Artur, his head nestled against Billy's chest, arms loosely wrapped around his waist, breathing slow and even.
Billy didn't move.
A slow smile curled on his lips, the kind that came without thought, just feeling. He tilted his head, letting his chin rest atop Artur's hair. The blanket slipped a little, revealing the edge of Artur's collarbone, the way his hair flopped messily over his forehead. It was peaceful — impossibly peaceful — the kind of moment he never thought he'd get to live.
