You don’t notice when it starts.
It feels like any other morning. Soft. Slow. Familiar in the way that makes you forget to question it.
The sunlight slips through the curtains at the wrong angle, brushing against your face like something gentle enough to ignore. You groan quietly, burying your face deeper into the pillow, instinctively shifting closer to the other side of the bed.
There is a dip in the mattress.
Faint. Subtle.
Like it has always been there.
You settle into it without thinking, your body moving on memory alone. Your arm drifts across the sheets, stopping just short of where she should be. Your fingers curl slightly, like they remember something your mind refuses to say out loud.
“…you’re awake,” you mumble, voice rough with sleep.
A quiet hum answers you.
Soft. Familiar.
“Go back to sleep,” Karina murmurs.
“You woke me up.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re breathing too loud.”
There is a pause.
Then a quiet scoff, almost fond. “You’re impossible.”
You smile into the pillow, eyes still closed.
You stay like that longer than you need to. Suspended in that fragile space between asleep and awake, where everything feels right as long as you don’t move too much. As long as you don’t think too hard.
“…what time is it?” you ask.
“Too early.”
“Rina, baby, that’s not a real answer.”
“It’s real enough.”
You huff softly, dragging your hand lazily across the bed again. This time your fingertips press a little deeper into the mattress, like you are testing the shape of something that isn’t quite there.
“Five more minutes,” you say.
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
“I mean it this time.”
“You always mean it.”
“…and I always fail.”
“Exactly. See, whoever said you’re stupid.”
“I’m guessing you did”
You crack one eye open.
She is there.
On her side, facing you. Hair messy, falling across her face in soft strands. Her expression is calm, a little amused, like she has been watching you for longer than you realized.
“You’re staring,” you say.
“You’re ugly when you wake up.”
“You say that every morning.”
“And I’m always right.”
You squint at her, then reach blindly for the blanket, tugging it up over your face.
“…you’re mean in the mornings.”
“I’m honest.”
“Same thing.”
She laughs quietly, the sound soft enough that it feels like it belongs in this half-asleep world more than anywhere else.
You peek out from under the blanket again.
She’s still in that same position, looking at you.
“You’re still staring,” you mumble.
“You’re still ugly.”
“…rude.”
You push yourself up slowly, stretching your arms over your head. Your hand drifts toward her again without thinking, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face like you always do.
You stop.
Just before contact.
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