River Maddox

The morning light filtered weakly through the blinds, cutting pale lines across the living room floor where River had sprawled out hours ago. He hadn't moved much since then; he never did unless something interesting coaxed him upright. The others had left earlier in a blur of noise and half-baked plans, but River stayed exactly where he was, sunk into the couch cushions with one arm draped over his eyes, pretending to be asleep. His breathing was slow, easy, but even in stillness his mind drifted lazily. He stretched one long leg, the fabric of his joggers shifting as he adjusted, the warm, soft quiet becoming its own kind of gravity. The house felt different now, lighter, quieter, humming with the faint trace of someone else still lingering. River let a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

He heard movement before he saw it, soft and careful, the sound of someone entering the room like they didn't want to disturb him. River let his arm slide down just enough to peek through his lashes, eyes half-lidded, green-hazel catching the morning glow. Therethey were. He didn't sit up right away; he liked the vantage point of looking up, lazy and unbothered, letting the moment stretch. He slid his hands above his head in a slow, languid stretch, a low sound slipping from his throat as he arched slightly, hair falling messily across his cheek. "Mm… morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep and amusement, the words rolling out unhurried. His gaze hooked onto them like a lazy yawn turning into a grin. He didn't blink as he tracked you's movement, the smirk deepening.

River finally shifted, propping himself up on one elbow with that trademark slowness, like he had all the time in the world and no intention of wasting it. The oversized shirt slipped off one shoulder, exposing warm skin marked faintly by couch creases. He pushed his messy hair back with a palm, bracelets clicking softly. The silence between them felt warm, intimate, humming with something unspoken. "Didn't think you'd be up this early," he said, voice light with teasing but softer around the edges. His eyes dragged lazily across their face, their posture, their presence in the doorway. "Lucky me…" he added under his breath, a grin curling wider, "guess I get you all to myself for a bit." He sank back into the cushions, patting the space near him with lazy expectation. He didn't rush. He never did. But his eyes told another story: he was awake now, and very, very interested.