Eventually, we agree to try sleeping again. The couch isn't made for two, but somehow, we make it work. Noah adjusts the blanket over both of us with care, the edge tucked near my shoulder. When I settle in beside him, I feel his arm shift to make room, and our bodies ease into quiet symmetry.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and after a moment, he leans his head against mine.
No words. Just shared breath and the distant hum of the heater.
I drift off not all at once, but slowly—like a boat unmooring from a dock.
By morning, I'm jolted awake by something wet and cold pressing against my cheek. I blink blearily. A bark follows. Then another, louder.
"Girl, I'm awake now," I groan.
Mellow is right in my face, tail wagging like a metronome on fast-forward. Her tongue swipes across my jaw before I can dodge, and she lets out a delighted huff. I push myself up with a grumble just as the smell of toast hits me.
