It's a little thing.
His arm across the small of her back, fingers curled against her waist. Tucking her into his side. Just so that he knows she's there. Safe. His soft breathing feathers over her cheeks as she pulls her arm up between them. Her fingers trace over the lines of his jaw, the night of stubble growth scratching at the pad of her fingertips. They dip into the wrinkles that years of his laughter have left. His hair is flat in some spots, sticking up wildly in others. She tries to smooth the strands into order, giving up when they spring back up.
His eyes open slowly, blinking in the darkness until they focus on hers. Those laugh lines crinkle as she feels him smile under her palm.
"Morning," he whispers, voice rough with lingering sleep.
Waking up next to him is a little thing.
But sometimes little things are the biggest of all.