Chapter Text
Warmth.
That’s the first thing Lucy registers as she drifts into consciousness—soft, steady, and all-consuming.
Sunlight spills gently through the curtains, painting gold strokes across the room. But it’s the heat pressed against her back that truly anchors her.
Tim.
One strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her close even in sleep. Their legs are a tangled mess beneath the sheets, instinctively reaching for each other.
His breath fans over the back of her neck—slow, warm, rhythmic. Like the ocean at low tide. Safe. Familiar. Steady.
Her human furnace. Her own personal heater. Wrapped around her like a second blanket.
She once called him that, half-asleep, and he’d grumbled in protest even as he pulled her closer. The memory still makes her stomach flutter with butterflies… and lately, something more. Something deeper.
Some mornings, she still can’t quite believe this is real. That despite everything—the heartbreak, the distance, the pain—they ended up here. Together. Closer than ever.
Making sergeant.
Moving in.
Seven months of engagement.
Almost a year of marriage.
And now… this quiet shift between them. Unspoken, but always there. In every glance. Every touch.
And this?
This is her favorite way to wake up now.
No blaring alarms. No uniform. No frantic rush out the door. Just peace. Just the quiet chirping of birds, the strong thrum of Tim’s heartbeat, and him wrapped around her like he’s afraid she’ll slip away if he lets go.
He clings like a sloth, she thinks, biting back a laugh. A very warm, very large sloth.
It’s ridiculous.
Yet perfect.
She lets the moment stretch out, memorizing everything—the heat of his chest at her back, the rise and fall of each breath, the warmth of his hand seeping through her t-shirt. His palm resting low, just below her stomach.
That part always makes her pause.
He started doing it a few days ago—like his body knew before either of them fully did. And now, even in sleep, his hand finds its way there. Protective. Anchoring. Quietly aware.
She raised her hand to rest over his. She closes her eyes for a beat. Her fingers lazy brush over his knuckles, and she breathes in deep.
Time slows. The world fades. Right now, nothing else matters. Only this. Only him .
But eventually, she finds herself missing his stupidly handsome face.
Slowly, she shifts in his arms, moving carefully, trying not to wake him.
As she turns, his grip loosens… but only for a second. As if even in sleep, some part of him senses the shift and can’t bear the space it creates—he instinctively tightens his hold. Barely noticeable, but it’s there. Pulling her a little closer.
She smiles softly.
Of course he does.
Now facing him, Lucy takes a quiet moment just to look at him.
His face is so soft in sleep. So relaxed. Free of the tension he usually wears during the day. Lashes resting against his cheeks, features unguarded… gentle in a way almost no one ever sees.
He always looks so serious. Always alert. Focused.
But like this, he’s all calm. Carefree. Unburdened. Young, even.
Her fingers lift to his face, brushing his sleep-tousled hair away from his forehead. Her hand drops to cradle his cheek, thumb softly caressing the day-old stubble, tracing the familiar line of his jaw in slow, careful strokes—knowing it always lulls him to sleep.
This is her favorite version of him, she thinks.
Not because it’s quiet or easy, but because it’s vulnerable. Walls down. Unmasked. Unguarded. Real, in a way the world rarely lets him be.
And he lets her see it.
Which, for Tim, is… rare .
That alone sends a rush of warmth through her chest, so fierce it nearly steals her breath. Her love for him—raw and overwhelming—swells inside her, too deep to put into words, and too certain to ever question.
It’s been doing that a lot lately.
Like her heart is stretching to make room.. for all of it. Him. Them. Whatever’s quietly blooming inside her now, changing everything in slow, subtle ways.
He stirs a little, brow twitching faintly at her touch. Slowly, his eyes flutter open—blurry, dazed, confused. It takes him a second, but then his gaze clears, landing on her face just inches from his.
And instantly, his eyes soften in a way reserved only for her.
The furrow in his brow melts.
His tired eyes twinkle with quiet joy, and his mouth curves into a sleepy smile, the creases at the corners deepening.
“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep—low and warm, like everything else in this bed.
“Hey,” she whispers back, voice thick with affection and awe.
His hand glides up her back, pulling her even closer until there’s no space left at all.
Tilting his head slightly downward, eyes barely open, he mumbles, “You’re staring again.”
A smile curls at the edges of his mouth.
“Can you blame me?” she says—teasing, but not really.
He chuckles, the sound low and muffled. His thumb resumes its gentle circles on her waist, a habit he’s picked up since she moved in. But this time, it drifts lower. A quiet, wordless gesture that lands like a secret passed between them.
Her breath catches.
Not because it surprises her. But because it says so much.
His eyes drift closed again, heavy with exhaustion. He gives in, pulling her in tighter, burying his face in her neck.
“Just give me five more minutes,” he mumbles.
She smiles to herself, wrapping her arms around him, fingers stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck—soothing. Steady.
“Take all the time you want,” she whispers.
And she means it.
Because there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
Sometime later, she stirs again with a soft groan, blinking groggily. Wait—what?
She must’ve drifted off again, curled up beside Tim. It’s been happening a lot lately which… honestly, tracks.
Still half-asleep, she reaches out instinctively, fingers seeking the familiar heat of him.
But her hand was only met with cool sheets.
She frowns, eyes still closed, and groans—quiet, frustrated. Too tired to move… but missing him too much.
With a sigh, she rolls onto her back, draping an arm over her face to block out the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.
The exhaustion clings like a second skin, heavy and relentless. But it’s worth it. Every yawn, every extra nap, every struggle—it’s all worth it.
A tired smile tugs at her lips.
She should probably get up. Even though she can’t find a reason why staying in bed would be a bad idea..
With a sigh, she throws the covers back, the movement releasing a puff of cool air that makes her instantly regret it. She plants her feet on the floor, wincing at the contrast between the warm sheets and the cold wood.
She scrubs a hand down her face, blinking slowly. A yawn slips out before she can stop it. She glances at the bathroom door, looking for any sign of Tim there. But there is none.
Where is he?
Almost immediately, the sound of the bedroom door opening draws her attention.
She lifts her head—and there he is.
Tim. Framed by the soft morning light, balancing a tray in both hands, moving carefully towards her with the stubborn determination he puts into everything. Not wanting to spill or wake her too abruptly.
His hair is damp at the ends—he must’ve showered—and he’s already dressed in the gray t-shirt she loves. The one that really brings out the beautiful ocean blue color of his eyes.
He looks surprised to find her already awake. “Oh—hey,” he says, voice low and gentle.
Lucy blinks at the tray, the plate, the mug and the bowl and—oh.
Her lips part, but the words take a second to catch up. “H–hey… um… what’s… what’s all that?”
He steps closer, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast for m’lady ,” he says, drawing out the last word with exaggerated teasing affection.
Lucy’s eyes slightly tear up—blaming them immediately on the hormones.
“Tim… you didn’t have to,” she says, a little breathless.
“I know,” he replies, quiet and earnest. “But I wanted to.”
She starts to rise, wanting to reach him.
“Nu-uh,” he says, pointing at her with a mock sternness. “Back in bed.”
She laughs and doesn’t hesitate. She settles back comfortably against the headboard. The grin on her face is impossible to hide.
Tim sets the tray on the bedside table and lowers himself next to her, knees brushing hers. His eyes drink her in for a second before his hand reaches for her—cradling the side of her head with a tenderness that makes her tingle with love.
She leans into the touch automatically. His other hand finds her shoulder, stroking slow and steady down her arm.
Then, with a quiet exhale, he pulls her forward—resting his forehead gently against hers.
“Mornin’ again, sleepyhead,” he teases, voice brushing her lips.
Lucy rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her. She presses a soft quick kiss to his mouth, foreheads still touching when she pulls back.
“Mornin’,” she murmurs.
Their eyes closes for a beat, the world quiets around them. Peaceful. Comfortable.
When Tim pulls away, his hand find her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze to grab her attention. Her eyes flutter right open.
“You need to eat,” he says, already reaching for the tray and settling it across her lap.
“Pancakes with honey and some fruit on the side,” he explains, tapping his finger absentmindedly against the plate—Suddenly a bit anxious. It’s so new.. he doesn’t know exactly what’s he doing.
“Thought you might want something light… easy on your stomach.”
His eyes flicker—just briefly—toward her lower belly. A glance so fleeting, so careful, it might have gone unnoticed. But Lucy catches it. Feels it. The quiet acknowledgment of something new growing between them. Unspoken, but not unseen.
She internally melts from the immense care and thought he’s put into this. Each detail, every quiet intention speaking louder than words ever could. Her throat tightens, voice cracking slightly as she murmurs, “Thank you.”
And when she looks at him—her eyes are full. Overflowing with the love, appreciation, and gratitude she still doesn’t know how to express. Not fully. But she hopes he feels it anyway.
He does.
They stay like that for a long, suspended moment. Eyes locked. Hearts completely bare. No words. Just love radiating between them in slow, quiet waves.
Eventually, Tim glances away, clears his throat. That look she gives him—it still does something to him. Even after all this time. Years in, and her gaze can still shake him to his core. He doesn’t know how to explain it.
“You’re welcome,” he says softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
He reaches for her hand, cradling it in both of his. His thumb moves absentmindedly over her knuckles. He doesn’t want to let go. Not yet.
He lifts her hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to her skin, gentle and lingering. Then he looks at her again, the warmth in his eyes tinged with dread.
“I have to head into work,” he says, the disappointment unmistakable in his tone.
Her fingers tighten around his instinctively, grounding them both.
“I’ll see you later then,” she says, offering him a soft smile. But then her expression shifts—serious. “Oh—and don’t forget, we have the—”
“—appointment at seven,” he finishes for her, already nodding. “Don’t worry. That’s one thing I won’t forget.”
There’s a flicker of excitement in his voice, tainted slightly with nerves. Whatever they’ll find out today, is important. It’s real. And big. Life changing. And they both feel it.
Lucy tilts her head, admiration glowing behind her smile. “Okay then... You head out, don’t want you being late. And I’ll see you later,” she says quietly, giving his hand one last, firm squeeze.
“Yeah,” Tim whispers, reluctant as he lets her go. He stands, hesitates—then leans down again.
His kiss lands softly on her forehead, long and full of feeling. His palm rests against her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin softly.
She closes her eyes at the contact, soaking it in.
Before he can fully pull away, her hand comes up to cover his, holding it there. Her voice is soft with a new weight behind it when she whispers, “Be safe.”
There’s a tremble beneath her words, subtle but enough. A quiet urgency that wasn’t there before.
Tim hears it instantly. Feels it.
They have more to lose now. More to fight for. More than just each other.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans in, forehead resting against hers again, his hand sliding from her cheek and down—coming to settle over the curve of her lower stomach. Protective. Present. Anchored.
“Always,” he whispers, the promise heavy with meaning.
And for a few seconds more, they stay there. Wrapped in the hush of their own private world. Breathing each other in. Holding tight to this moment, this quiet morning, this love.
Because once they step outside… Nothing is certain.