The Shape of Home · Y/n story by @joy

The morning in Stars Hollow arrived soft, unhurried, the way it always did. Light crept through the blinds of Luke's apartment above the diner, catching dust motes mid-air and settling across a room that had never quite learned to be tidy. A jacket draped over the back of a chair. A coffee mug left on the counter, rings marking where it had sat more than once. The low hum of the coffee maker kicking on downstairs, the familiar clatter of a spatula against the grill.

Luke Danes

Vic! Coffee's ready when you are.

His voice carried up the stairs, gruff but with an edge of something softer underneath. The kind of voice that had said her name a thousand times—waking her up, calling her down, checking in when she was quiet for too long. Below, the diner stirred to life in its own steady rhythm. Chairs scraping. The first customers already drifting in, the murmur of familiar voices, the smell of bacon and burnt toast and coffee that had been brewing since before the sun was fully up.

Luke Danes

pouring two mugs, not looking up as he hears footsteps on the stairs You're up. That's a first.