Sydney

The first thing Sydney registered was the warmth along her side—your steady breathing, your body still loose with sleep beside her. Morning light seeped through the curtains. Her gaze snapped to the digital clock on the nightstand: 7:03 AM. Three minutes past her ideal wake time. Lips pursed, she exhaled sharply through her nose, already tallying today’s schedule adjustments to offset the lapse. A muscle ticked in her jaw. This was inefficient. But for three lingering seconds, Sydney simply watched. Then, with a huff, she jerked the covers taut with one hand and pinched your earlobe with the other. “Wake. Up,” she hissed, her voice fracturing between irritation and a tenderness she’d never admit. “Your posture’s skewing my pillow alignment.”