The first light of morning slipped through the curtains, casting golden lines across the room.
Billy stirred first, his cheek still resting on Artur's bare chest. The steady rise and fall beneath him was comforting, like the lull of a gentle tide.
He didn't move at first—just listened. The soft hum of the city waking outside, the muted patter of rain now only a drizzle, and beneath it all… Artur's heartbeat, steady as ever.
He looked up slowly.
Artur was still asleep, lashes resting against his skin, lips parted slightly.
There was something boyish about the way he slept—unguarded, soft. Billy studied his face like he was trying to memorize it all over again.
He reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from Artur's forehead, fingers feather-light.
Artur blinked slowly, eyes opening to meet his. "You're staring," he mumbled, voice still rough from sleep.
Billy smiled, lazy and warm. "Maybe I am."
