Morning light slipped through Luca's curtains, soft but uninvited, pooling across his tangled sheets.
One of his arms dangled off the edge of the bed, the other tucked beneath his cheek.
A vibration buzzed on the nightstand.
Luca stirred slightly, groaned, then rolled over—his hair sticking up like a bird's nest.
He squinted at the phone, barely cracking one eye open as he reached for it.
The message lit up the screen:
Good morning, sleepyhead. You drooled a little, by the way.
Luca blinked, reread it, and let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Rude," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling for a second, the faint remnants of the night's video call making him smile without realizing it.
The soft glow of the phone screen reflected in his eyes as he began typing his reply.
Lies. I do not drool. Also, I didn't sleep well because someone's voice kept echoing in my dreams.
He hovered a moment, added a yawning emoji, then hit send.
