A Dash Of Magic: Rewritten

-19: Emptying Closets-

-Photo of Assana-

Jonah's alarm clock reads 4am when I groggily come to consciousnesses. I'm very warm and the unfamiliar weight of Jonah's arm that is slung across my stomach is comforting. I realise what made me wake up when I notice the throbbing in my calf. I must have aggravated the bruising. I take a deep steadying breath and relax at the smell of laundry detergent, Jonah's shampoo and a faint hint of his cologne.

"Will you fall back to sleep?" Crowley asks, having woken up when I did.

"With how stupidly comfortable I am? Most likely," I reply, only vaguely focused.

I also didn't want to get out of bed and risk waking Jonah. He's absolutely still and is breathing softly. I choose to snuggle deeper into his blankets and his warmth and try to fall into sleep again. The edge of pain makes it trickier than I would have liked but my drowsiness wins out.

______________

I wake again to the first hint of the sun. Neither me nor Jonah remembered to close the blinds last night.  It's a surprisingly clear day for December and I find myself wishing for snow. The alarm clock reads 7:40am now and Jonah seems to be shifting awake himself. He cracks open one of his eyes and I turn onto my side to watch him wake.

He pulls me closer with the arm he has wrapped around me, "Morning."

I crack a smile at the roughness in his voice. "Hello sleepyhead," I greet.

We lay in silence while Jonah wakes fully. I hear his spine pop as he sits up and stretches. I yawn as I settle deeper into the warm blankets, away from the morning chill.

Jonah chuckles, "we have to change your bandages and apply your healing salve so you have to come out  of your cocoon at some point."

"I'm only coming out if you pass me a sweater," I pout.

"Fine," he laughs climbing off the bed and across the room. He opens his closet as pulls out a maroon hoodie, which he promptly throws at my head. It misses just barely.

I wiggle out of my pile of blankets and immediately tug it on in an attempt to conserve as much heat as possible. The motion of sitting up sends pain spiking through my bruising. I ignore it.

"How's the leg?"

It's like he's plugged into my subconscious with how good he is at asking the right questions. I choose to be honest with him.

"Bad."

"Dad's covering a night shift tonight, so I'm gonna get him to wrap your leg," Jonah tells me as he yanks off the shirt he wore to bed. He's now only in his breifs and I tell myself to stop staring at his bare back but I don't find the willpower to stop.

"I know your staring,"

I glare at Renard who's curled up at the foot of the bed watching me. He play fully chatters at me. When I look back at Jonah he's buttoning a flannel and smiling at me.

"What?"

"Nuthin,'" he softly mumbles, shaking his head. I scoff in confusion and amusement. I open my mouth before promptly snaping it shut again when Jonah continues to change in front of me. A hot blush breaks across my cheeks and I focus out the window to try and shut down and ideas before my hormonal brain grabs one and runs with it.