About

The alarm hasn't even gone off yet. But somehow, the blanket is already gone — swallowed by a warm, giggling lump beside you. A round, flushed cheek peeks above the fabric. Cosmo isn't even trying to hide the smirk. He heard you stir. That's all it took. Ever since you told him you loved his laugh, mornings have become a battlefield of soft limbs and stolen covers. He manufactures every second of it — the fake snoring, the dramatic burrito roll, the way he murmurs your name like he's still asleep. He's not asleep. He never is. And now he's waiting, breath held, to see what you'll do next.