The early hours of dawn wrapped the room in a tranquil stillness, save for the faint rustle of the curtains stirred by the soft night breeze. I stirred awake, feeling the familiar warmth of an arm draped around my waist. My sleep-heavy eyes blinked open as a soft voice, low and comforting, whispered close to my ear.

"Hi."

A smile crept across my lips, unbidden but welcome. There was no mistaking that voice, a mix of tenderness and exhaustion. Fuse. I relaxed into his embrace, feeling his arm tighten around me. His presence was like a balm, chasing away the loneliness of the past few days.

He nuzzled into the crook of my neck, his breath warm and steady against my skin. The faint scent of his cologne lingered, soothing in its familiarity.

"Rough day?" I murmured, my voice hoarse from sleep.

"Mmm," he replied, his voice already thick with drowsiness.

"What time is it?" I asked, though part of me didn't want to know. Time always felt fleeting when we were together, and knowing how late—or early—it was would only remind me of how brief this moment might be.

"2 a.m.," he groggily answered.

I sighed softly, adjusting my position so I could press my back against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat lull me. Being a doctor left Fuse with an unpredictable schedule. Sometimes, days would pass without us crossing paths. But even then, he always made sure to show up when it mattered. This was one of those stolen moments, a fragile pocket of time where we could just be.

"How did you get in? Was Tata Lino still awake?" I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that rumbled against my neck. "Nope. I climbed through your window."

I stifled a laugh. "You're ridiculous. I leave it unlocked for you, but one day Tata's going to catch you and make you regret it."

He hummed softly in response, his grip on me tightening slightly as sleep started to claim him. "Worth it," he mumbled, and I couldn't help but smile at his persistence.

When I woke up the next morning, the sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. I instinctively reached out, but the space beside me was empty. The sheets were cool to the touch, and my heart sank. Fuse must have left early again.

Suppressing a sigh, I slipped out of bed, brushing my hair out of my face as I made my way downstairs. The faint clatter of dishes and the low hum of voices drifted from the kitchen.

The morning light streamed through the kitchen window, casting a golden glow over the modest yet cozy space. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and something savory—I could smell bacon. It was a heartwarming fragrance, one that reminded me of quiet, peaceful mornings where nothing else mattered except the moment.

I stood at the entrance for a while, watching them. Fuse sat comfortably at the table, his shirt slightly rumpled but still managing to look effortlessly composed. A steaming mug of coffee was cradled in his hands, and he was saying something to Tata Lino, whose eyes peeked over the top of his newspaper. Tata had that slight squint he always wore when someone was trying to convince him of something.

"Good morning," Fuse said, spotting me in the doorway. His smile was instant, warm enough to melt away the remnants of my sleepiness. "Breakfast is ready. I cooked."

I walked into the kitchen, the sight of him still there filling me with relief. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders from behind, I leaned in close. "I thought you'd left already," I said, my voice tinged with a pout.

He tilted his head to meet my gaze, his smile softening. "Not today," he said, his tone light but steady. "Today, I'm all yours."

His words struck a chord in me, and I smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his temple before pulling away to take my seat beside him. On the table was an impressive spread—a stack of pancakes drizzled with syrup, perfectly golden eggs, crisp bacon, and a platter of sliced fruit.

"Did you cook all this yourself?" I teased, eyeing the food. Fuse's culinary skills were sporadic at best—either extraordinary or a disaster with no in-between.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "What do you think?" he asked, raising a brow.

Tata Lino, who had been watching us with a quiet smile, chimed in, "I supervised. Didn't want the kitchen burned down."

"Hey!" Fuse protested, though his laugh gave him away. "I've gotten better, haven't I?"

"Better than the time you almost set the toaster on fire," I said with a smirk, reaching for a pancake.

"That was years ago," he replied, rolling his eyes, but the grin on his face betrayed his amusement.

As I plated my food, Tata set down his newspaper and leaned back in his chair, regarding us with that thoughtful look of his. "It's nice to see you like this, ija," he said, his voice warm.

"Like what?" I asked, though I already knew.

"Happy," Tata replied simply, his smile soft but meaningful.

I glanced at Fuse, who was now busy cutting into his pancake with the precision of a surgeon. A quiet warmth spread through me, and I reached for his hand under the table, our fingers naturally intertwining. His grip was firm yet comforting, as if to remind me he was there, always.

As we ate, the conversation flowed easily. Tata shared anecdotes about his plants and the birds that visited his garden, and Fuse chimed in with stories from his hospital—funny, touching, and sometimes absurd. I listened, laughing when Fuse described an intern who mistook a patient's chart for their dinner menu.

"Tata," Fuse said suddenly, setting his fork down. "Do you think we should plant herbs in the garden? NM keeps saying we should cook with fresh ones."

"Herbs?" Tata raised a brow. "You don't even cook enough to need fresh herbs."

"I'm working on it," Fuse replied with a mock pout, nudging me lightly with his elbow.

"Well," Tata said thoughtfully, tapping his chin, "if you're serious about it, I can help you set up a small plot. But you'll have to take care of it. I'm not adding it to my list of chores."

"I'll take care of it," Fuse promised, glancing at me with a grin. "See? I'm thinking long-term."

I laughed, shaking my head. "We'll see how long that lasts."

After breakfast, as we lingered over coffee, Tata excused himself to check on his plants in the garden. Fuse and I stayed at the table, savoring the last of the quiet morning.

"Thanks for breakfast," I said, resting my chin on my hand as I looked at him.

He reached across the table to take my free hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "You're welcome. It's been a while since we had a morning like this."

"Too long," I agreed softly.

His gaze softened, his eyes holding mine as if he wanted to freeze this moment in time. "I'm trying, NM. I know I'm not around as much as I should be, but I'm trying."

I squeezed his hand, shaking my head. "You're doing more than enough, Fuse. Don't think for a second that I don't see it."

He smiled, the kind of smile that was just for me, and in that moment, I felt the world fall away.

Tata turned his attention back to his newspaper, but I didn't miss the slight smile that lingered on his face. He had been my rock for the past decade, the father figure I had needed when my own family felt like a distant memory. Knowing that he approved of Fuse, that he found peace in my happiness, meant the world to me.

As I sat there, surrounded by the warmth of the two people who mattered most to me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. After all the heartache, the wandering, and the uncertainty, this—this quiet, ordinary morning—felt like the life I had been waiting for all along.