THE NEXT MORNING

The early morning sun spilled through the sheer curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and warm beige. It kissed Marceline softly on the cheek, tugging at her from the deep sleep where she lingered. She stirred, savoring the fading remnants of her dreams that wrapped around her like a soft blanket, holding onto their essence just a little longer.

Cross sat on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on her. A mix of admiration and concern flickered across his face as he watched her sleep. He seemed to wrestle with his emotions, caught in a moment that felt both sacred and uncertain. After...