The morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the sheets. I stir slowly, aware before opening my eyes of two warm presences in the bed - Quentin pressed against my back, his arm slung over my waist, and Dessy curled into the curve of my stomach where Quentin's body doesn't reach. The dog sighs contentedly in her sleep, her warm breath tickling my skin.

"Mmm," Quentin murmurs against the back of my neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there as he wakes. "Morning."

I shift carefully, mindful of both my protesting back and the sleeping puppy, until I can face him. Quentin's hair sticks up in all directions, his eyes still heavy with sleep but already warming with that soft, affectionate look he reserves just for me. It makes something tight in my chest loosen, even as I feel the familiar twinge of sciatic pain that has plagued me these past few days.

"Morning," I return, my voice still rough from sleep. I reach up to brush a strand of hair off his forehead, my fingers lingering against his skin.

Dessy chooses that moment to wake, stretching her small body and immediately directing her attention to Quentin's face, licking enthusiastically at his chin. He laughs, a warm, rumbling sound in his chest, as he tries to fend her off gently.

"Okay, okay, I'm awake," he protests, finally giving in and scooping her into his arms. She wriggles happily, her tail thumping against my thigh.

Watching them together sends a strange ache through me - familiar yet not, like a half-remembered dream. The way Quentin holds her, the softness in his voice as he talks to her, the absolute trust in her tiny body pressed against his chest... it's a glimpse of something I didn't know I wanted until I saw it.

Until I remembered it.

Quentin looks up, catching the expression on my face. His own shifts, concern creasing his brow. "You okay? Your back bothering you again?"

I shake my head, forcing a smile I don't quite feel. "Just thinking."

"About what?" he asks, always persistent, always wanting to know what's behind my carefully constructed masks.

Before I can answer, Dessy wriggles out of his arms and plants her front paws on my chest, her wet nose nudging my下巴 as if demanding my attention. I can't help but laugh, pushing her away gently.

"Traitor," Quentin mock-accuses the dog, but he's looking at me with that knowing expression that means he won't let this go. "We should talk about it. Whatever it is that's got you looking like that."

Like what? Like I'm remembering a life we had and lost? Like I'm imagining a future I'm not sure I deserve? Like I'm looking at the two beings in this bed with me and feeling something dangerously close to hope?

"Later," I say instead, because some mornings are too soft, too precious for difficult conversations. "Coffee first."