Morning light filtered through the curtains in pale stripes, cutting across the quiet chaos of the suite. The city was already awake beyond the glass, traffic humming, helicopters in the distance, and the low, constant pulse of a capital that never really slept, not even for a royal wedding.
Chris woke first.
For a few seconds, he lay still, suspended between yesterday and now. Between cameras and vows and the way the world had watched him walk down an aisle like it belonged to him. Between the man he had been and the one he had very deliberately become.
Dax was asleep beside him, one arm heavy around his waist, protective even in rest. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the faint line between his brows that never fully smoothed, even in sleep, became a part of his morning.
Chris studied him, torn between two impulses.
The first was familiar, almost nostalgic: 'I should get up. I should put myself back together. I should be the composed, untouchable version of me again.'
