@rttch --- continue from here.
Assuming Judd already left, as per usual, Flynn allowed himself a full five minutes of self-pity, sprawled in the wreckage of warm sheets and fading sleep. He stared at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him, then grudgingly negotiated his way back into motion. Morning was an enemy he'd never quite learned to defeat, and dragging himself out of bed felt less like waking up and more like surviving a minor battle.
He shuffled from his room on unsteady legs, only to freeze when a familiar scent caught him mid-step: coffee and butter. The trail led him straight to the kitchen, where his supposed friend-with-benefits was moving with an ease that felt unfair at this hour. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Flynn lingered in the hallway, pride wavering. Then, he crossed the space between them, pressed a soft kiss into the back of Judd's shoulder, and let his arms curl around his hips like they belonged there.
" Thought you'd grown tired of me. "
He mumbled, voice rough with sleep, but the brightness beneath was impossible to miss. He was already far more content than he’d been when he’d assumed Judd was gone—and, realistically, it had little to do with the breakfast he was getting.