Not for both of us. Just for me.
Coffee, still steaming. Yogurt with granola and sliced fruit, laid carefully in a wooden bowl.
“Morning,” he had said, his voice rough with exhaustion. His dark hair was damp, his shirt clinging to his skin as though he’d just washed himself in cold water. He set the tray on my bed, awkward and hesitant. “You’ve been forgetting to eat breakfast... I've been told it is the most important meal of the day... So... I thought... to... you know...”
I blinked at him, silent. Then I took the coffee, sipping slowly, watching him through the steam. and my traitorous mind thought he'd been kinda cute.
He didn’t sit. Didn’t join me. He stood at the foot of the bed, shifting his weight like a nervous boy instead of the Beta of a fallen pack. His languid eyes lifted
