Roman woke up first.
He always did.
The room was grey with early light, that particular quiet of a morning that hadn't decided what it was yet. He lay still for a moment, looking at the ceiling, listening to the flat around him.
No calls to make. Nothing urgent. Just the morning.
He turned his head.
Jay was asleep beside him, face half buried in the pillow, one hand curled near his chin the way a person sleeps when they feel completely safe. His breathing was even and slow. His shoulders rose and fell without effort.
Roman looked at him for a long time.
He had done this in Milan too — looked at Jay when Jay couldn't see him doing it. Through glass panels and doorways and across rooms when Jay was focused on something else. But that looking had always carried something anxious underneath it. The specific fear of someone watching over something fragile.
This was different.
This was just looking.
