A low sound dragged itself from my throat, the kind of groggy protest that came from being torn out of sleep too early. The sheets were still heavy with warmth, the room still dark with the last traces of night. I shifted, half-ready to roll over, when something caught me—no, someone.

A hand. Sliding under the blanket. Sliding into my pants.

I blinked, not fully awake, and forced my eyes open. Val was already grinning at me, smug, victorious, like she'd been planning this since last night. Her hand didn't stop moving.

"Morning, husband," she whispered, her voice soft and dangerous at the same time.

My head tilted toward the nightstand clock. 5:43 a.m.

I groaned. "Uh… what… are you…? At this time?"

She arched a brow, her smirk widening as if the answer was obvious. "Playing with what's mine."

I shut my eyes again, dragging a hand over my face. "Val… it's too early."

Her tone turned mock-serious, even though her smile gave her away. "You came home late last night, husband. This is punishment."

"Punishment?" I rasped, trying not to laugh. "You're unbelievable."

She leaned closer, lips brushing my ear. "You love it."

I couldn't even argue with that. My body was already betraying me. Still, I tried weak resistance. "Val, I'm a little tired. Can we not—"

She cut me off instantly. "Do you know that morning sex boosts energy for the day?"

I cracked one eye open to look at her, deadpan. "No, it makes you want to go back to sleep."

Her grin was wicked. "Then it's a good thing you're not going anywhere today."

Before I could even form a reply, she climbed over me, straddling my hips with all the authority of someone who'd already won. My hands instinctively found her waist, her hair falling around us like a curtain as she leaned in.

Any thought of resisting vanished.

The world outside our room didn't exist anymore. Just her, her laughter against my neck, the warmth of her skin pressed to mine, the kind of closeness that made me forget time was moving at all.

We loved. We laughed in between kisses. We fell into each other the way we always did—like there was no tomorrow, like the only thing that mattered was right now.

When it was over, she collapsed against me, breathless, her cheek pressed to my chest. I kissed the crown of her head, and before either of us could say a word, sleep pulled us back under.

---

The next time I stirred, the light in the room had shifted, softer now, morning edging closer to day. I was still fast asleep, my breathing steady, my body unmoving against the sheets.

Val lay on her side, wide awake. Her gaze lingered on me, drinking in every line of my face, the way my lips parted slightly when I slept, the peace I carried even in rest. She wanted to reach out, to press her palm against my cheek, to tell me how the thought of leaving already ached in her chest.

But she didn't.

She knew me too well. If she gave her worry a voice, if she admitted how badly she was already missing me even while lying right here beside me, it would only weigh me down more. I was already carrying that same heaviness—she could see it in my smiles, the way my eyes sometimes lingered a second too long, the silence that stretched between us when the thought of her departure crept too close.

So she kept it to herself. Quiet. Hidden. Letting her heart break in silence so mine wouldn't break with it.

And when my body shifted slightly, my breath catching as if I was about to wake, she closed her eyes in a swift, practiced motion. Her face softened, perfect in the illusion of sleep. By the time my lids fluttered open, she would look as though she had been dreaming all along.

I stretched, groaning as my muscles protested, rubbing my face before sitting halfway up. For a moment, I just looked at her. Peaceful. Beautiful. Mine.

I leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She stirred with a little groan, the kind people make when they're waking up.

Her lips twitched into the faintest sleepy smile, and she whispered hoarsely, "Mm… morning husband."

I smiled back, brushing her hair away from her face. "Morning."

She hummed softly and shifted closer, like her body was still chasing warmth even though she'd been awake long before me. And I didn't question it—not the way her fingers curled against the sheets as if holding on to something invisible.

Because I wanted to believe in this moment. Just this.

Her beside me. Us in the golden spill of a Saturday morning.

The rest of the world could wait.

---

But by the time we'd left the bed and washed up, the rhythm of morning found us again. Only, this time, I told her I'd make breakfast.

Val blinked at me like I'd just offered to build her a spaceship. "Mm. Should I dial the fire department now or wait until the smoke comes?"

I rolled my eyes, tying the apron around my waist anyway. "Wow. Such confidence. Do you mock Gordon Ramsay this way, too?"

She smirked, leaning against the counter. "Last I checked, Gordon Ramsay didn't once almost burn instant noodles."

"That was one time."

> "Uh-huh. And the scar on the pot still lives."

I laughed, shaking my head as I cracked eggs into a pan. She didn't help, not once. Just sat there, sipping juice, throwing in comments every now and then about how my "technique" looked questionable. But the smell of frying butter and toast began filling the kitchen, and when I slid the plates in front of her, even she had to admit it looked edible.

"Color me impressed," she said, taking a bite. Then her eyes widened a little. "Okay, fine. This is actually good."

I raised my brows. "See? No fire department required."

She grinned. "Congratulations, husband. You've leveled up. Still, don't get too comfortable—I'm not letting you take my crown in the kitchen."

We laughed, easy and natural, the kind of laughter that melted away the heaviness lingering at the edges of my chest.

After breakfast, Val flopped onto the couch. The TV was on, some comedy rerun flashing across the screen, but she wasn't watching. She was chewing lightly on her finger, slow and distracted, her eyes far away like her thoughts had pulled her somewhere I couldn't follow.

I stood at the kitchen doorway for a while, just looking at her. The way her hair tumbled across her shoulders. The curve of her cheek. She looked lost, and for a second, I almost didn't want to break the moment. But then I walked over, sat beside her, and said softly, "So. Where do you wanna go?"

Her head turned toward me, confusion written all over her face. "Uh?"

I smiled faintly. "Pick anywhere, and I'll take you today. My treat."

Her lips curved into a smirk, mischief flashing through her eyes. "Even if I say the moon?"

"The moon?" I blinked at her.

> "You asked."

I let out a sigh. "You never let me win."

"Of course not." She leaned in slightly, smug. "Besides, look at it this way—my win is also your win."

I gave her a look. "Of course you'd put it that way."

She giggled, and I couldn't help smiling.

"But really," I pressed gently. "Where would you like to go today?"

She went quiet for a moment, her expression softening. Then she scooted closer and tapped my chest. "Here. I wanna go here. That's where I wanna stay."

Her voice was quieter than usual, less sharp around the edges. Something in me ached as I smiled and pulled her against me. She settled into my chest, head tucked right where my heartbeat was strongest.

My smile faltered, just a little, but she couldn't see it.

And I couldn't see hers.

We stayed like that, letting the hours stretch, the sound of the TV eventually pulling us both in. The movie turned out to be good—actually funny—and when Val laughed, it loosened something inside me. It made me light, happy, but at the same time, it made me sad. Because I knew when midnight came, I wouldn't have her in my arms like this anymore.

What I didn't know was that she felt the exact same way—that was why she wanted to stay pressed against me, memorizing the feel of it, because she wasn't going to have it either.

By seven in the evening, we were both dressed, the suitcases by the door. I told her to take Duchess along, so the cat would keep her company and not miss her too much.

Val smirked. "Mm, look at you, pretending it's about the cat."

I rolled my eyes. "Keep telling yourself that."

She left it there, but I could see it in her eyes. She knew the truth—that it wasn't about Duchess at all. I just didn't want her to feel lonely.

But when the car stopped outside the airport and we stepped inside, everything shifted. The announcements echoed overhead, calling passengers to board. Her flight.

We stood there, facing each other. Normally, Val was impossible to rattle—the wild, sharp, fierce girl who never broke. But now she couldn't even fake a smile. Her eyes were glassy, the shimmer of tears just waiting.

I lifted my hands, cupping her cheeks. "Hey. Val."

She sniffed, looking up at me. "Mm?"

I forced a smile. "Come on. Don't be like that."

She gave a small laugh, but it wasn't her usual kind. "Wow. You're suddenly stronger than me. Who knew?"

Her voice cracked halfway, but she didn't stop. She started listing things, rapid-fire like if she stopped, she might break. "You'll call me every morning. And every night. You'll eat properly. You'll take care of yourself. You won't overwork. And—" her voice trembled—"you won't talk to any girls. Don't even look at them, Kai."

I nodded, my own throat tight. "I promise."

She dropped her gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, her lashes hiding the glassy shine building there. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the airport pressed in around us, distant and muffled, like we were sealed inside a bubble that was about to burst.

"Val."

Her head lifted at the sound of her name. The way she looked at me—fragile, trying so hard to be strong—knocked the air right out of my chest.

"I love you," I said, softer than I intended, like the words had been carved out of me.

Her lips trembled into a smile, and that was when the tear finally broke free, sliding down her cheek as if she couldn't hold it back any longer.

"Love you more," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it.

We hugged, tight, unyielding, like if we held on hard enough the moment wouldn't end. But it did. It had to.

She picked up Duchess's carrier with one hand and the suitcase with the other. And before stepping into the line, she turned back one last time. Her eyes found mine, and I raised a hand, waving.

She smiled through the tears and disappeared past the gate.

The drive home was silent.

When I opened the door, the first thing that hit me wasn't the smell of food or her laughter or even Duchess—it was quiet.

Just like it was before her.

---

To be continued...

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