RISK & REWARD

56 | 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥

I WAKE up to a calm, warm quiet. There's a golden outline a few feet away; the windows, I realize, almost swallowed up by the thick curtains and the edge of the duvet tucked up over my nose.

Breathe in. Cigarette smoke, gasoline. I shiver as my body wakes up; I can feel her, suddenly, breathing softly beneath me.

I roll, and through tired eyes I just look.

She's still asleep. Her eyes are shut; not squeezed shut, but gently shut, and her lips are just slightly parted, and it's a little too dark for me to count all seventy-three freckles but I can see them in my head. Her hair's a mess, strewn around her head like a black-and-white halo; she looks calm, peaceful. Soft. No frown on her mouth; just a content lack of expression, complete surrender to sleep.

And, oh, then she sighs in her sleep. Her body shifts; the arm over my back moves a little higher, catches up over my shoulder and pulls me closer. There's another arm over my waist; its fingers scrunch up, tickling my side briefly before it settles.

In punctuation, she wiggles her shoulders, turns her head towards me, and deflates as she settles back in.

Her lips brush my forehead with every breath, now, and...oh, that little tingle in my chest blooms through my body. Satisfaction, happiness. Euphoria, maybe.

What day is it? I don't know. Does it matter? No.

Breakfast can wait. Giddy smile on my face, I nose into her neck and let myself drift off.

Or, I try to.

A few minutes later, she stirs; I lift my head, just a little, and I find her looking at me with sleepy, liquid-green eyes.

She looks. Looks at my eyes till hers go vague; looks slowly over my face, breathes in slow rhythm beside me. Just looks and breathes and slowly, slowly, flushes a shade or two darker. She moves like she's in a dream; one hand comes around the back of my neck, rests there. Squeezes briefly before it comes down, tips my face up, returns to my nape and settles.

"Hi," I breathe into her mouth, voice quiet. She shivers, slightly; her lip twitches, touching mine before it settles. She hums, short, low; hi, she says, deep in her chest.

"Breakfast?" I ask, eyes drifting shut. The curious prod is useless; we both know that. She just hums again; hesitates. Scratches her nails once against my nape.

"What time's'it?"

"Clock's behind me."

"Mm."

Neither of us move. Just a little longer, just a little longer.

I move when I hear her stomach start to rumble emptily. Food. Right. She seems almost irritated by my motion; she groans as I shuffle up to my elbow, twist back over my shoulder and squint at the little digital clock.

"Seven-ten."

She groans again. The bed shifts; she's sprawled on her back across the middle of it, head turned to one side. Her arms appear over the edge of the duvet, stretch over her head; her fingers fix briefly around the headboard before she lets them fall, sighing as they come to rest on the mattress.

I roll back, sitting up rather than laying back down. One of us has to actually wake up — I don't know when they stop serving breakfast, but we're both starved — and so I decide I'll rouse myself rather than forcing her to get up.

She wets her lip, eyes closed. Her expression wrinkles; without really thinking, I reach over and fork a thick runaway chunk of black hair away from her eyes.