Marlowe
I woke to sunlight and the particular, familiar sound of King arguing with the thermostat under his breath, and understood, lying there half-asleep and smiling into the pillow, that we'd apparently, finally earned a morning with nothing more dramatic on the agenda than temperature control.
"It's sixty-eight," I said, without opening my eyes. "You know the rule."
"I'm reconsidering the rule." He crossed the room and settled back onto the bed beside me anyway, defeated by his own stubborn affection rather than any actual argument. "Rook thinks I should just accept losing this particular battle permanently."
"Rook has good instincts."
"Rook has opinions about everything lately." King pulled me closer, warm and unhurried, and I felt the last of the previous night's tension finally
