Marlowe
I woke to gray early light and King's arm still wrapped around me, and for the first time since the lake, neither of us reached for an excuse to explain away what we'd done.
"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep, no distance in it at all.
"Morning." I studied his face, unguarded in a way I'd rarely seen it, and felt something settle warm and certain in my chest. "No regrets?"
"None." He said it simply, like the question didn't need more than that. "You?"
"None." True, entirely, in a way that surprised me with how easy it was to say out loud.
We lay there a while longer, unhurried, the supply run's original purpose entirely forgotten in favor of just existing together in the quiet morning — and somewhere in that stretched, comfortable silence, he started talking, haltingl
