Morning unfolded quietly.
Sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in soft bands, catching on the edge of the countertop, the curve of a mug, the sharp line of Noel's profile as he sliced fruit with practiced precision.
The kettle hummed low. A knife scraped rhythmically against the cutting board. Eggs met heat with a gentle sizzle that filled the air with warmth.
Luca moved around him, barefoot, half-awake, pulling mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside the coffee machine.
His hair was still slightly mussed, shirt unbuttoned.
They worked around each other without needing words.
Luca reached for the sugar.
Noel slid it closer without looking.
Noel reached for the pan.
Luca shifted aside, hip brushing the counter.
Their shoulders touched. Fingers grazed as Noel handed him a spoon. Small collisions that carried comfort instead of urgency.
"You're quiet," Luca said, pouring coffee. Steam curled upward, catching the light.
