He turned his head, watching her from across the mattress. His hair was damp, plastered to his forehead. The late afternoon sun cut through the window, casting everything in that golden, lazy light that made the whole room feel like a secret.

He reached out, fingers brushing her knee. A lazy, familiar gesture. They'd done this a hundred times. A thousand. But something about the way his eyes lingered was different.

He sat up, shifting onto his knees. His gaze traveled down her body, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch.