The morning stretched on, slow and indulgent, the kind of lazy, golden-lit moment I rarely allowed myself to have. But it was easy to stay here, wrapped in the sheets' warmth and Mark's.
We worked through the breakfast tray at a leisurely pace, the coffee rich, the pastries flaking apart beneath our fingertips. Mark, ever composed, ate with the same effortless grace he did everything else, while I took my time, savouring each bite. It wasn't about the food, not really. It was about the way the morning felt.
Unrushed.
Uncomplicated… Or, at least, that was what we were both pretending.
I reached for another piece of fruit, popping a berry into my mouth as Mark leaned back against the pillows, his gaze drifting toward the window. The sunlight filtering through the curtains cast soft, golden shadows over his face, his sharp features relaxed, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
For once, he looked… content. At ease in a way I wasn't sure I'd ever seen before.
