The morning light that filtered through the curtains of the master bedroom felt different than it had for weeks. It was not the thin, grey light of a city struggling under a weight, but the bright, clear light of a day that belonged entirely to them. Fang stretched, feeling the ache of a body that had finally begun to relax, and found himself smiling at the ceiling.
Ren was already awake, propped up against the pillows with a book he had been meaning to read for months. He looked entirely at ease, the sharp edge of his tactical focus replaced by a soft, domestic contentment. He set the book aside the moment he saw Fang stir, his golden eyes immediately tracking Fang's movement with that familiar, possessive warmth.
"Good morning," Ren said, his voice smooth as honey.
Fang rolled over, burying his face in the crook of Ren's neck. "Is it morning?"
"It is nearly mid-morning. You slept as if the world were ending, which, to be fair, it was."
