Raphael's POV
I woke up before she did.
It's not unusual. I'd always been an early riser, a habit built from years of being the first one up in houses where sleeping late meant missing things. But this morning I didn't reach for my phone or run through the day's agenda or do any of the things I normally did when I woke up.
I just lay still.
And looked at her.
She was on her side facing away from me, hair loose across the pillow. The city light through the floor-to-ceiling glass had shifted from last night's gold to the pale silver of early morning, catching the edge of her hair and the line of her shoulder and the slow steady rise and fall of her breathing.
She was deeply asleep.
Properly asleep, her face totally unguarded
I'd thought about her in my space before.
I Imagined it in
