I wake up on my end of the couch.
That is the first thing I check. My end. His end. The respectable distance still technically intact, which is, objectively, a relief and also, if I am being completely honest with myself at six fifty-three in the morning, a little disappointing, which is information I choose not to examine too closely right now.
The city outside is grey and early and washed clean from last night’s rain. The penthouse is quiet. Adrian is asleep at his end of the couch, turned slightly toward me, one arm resting along the back cushions in a way that means if either of us moves even slightly during the night, we would be considerably closer than we are.
We do not move.
But we almost do. The arm along the back cushions. The slight turn toward me. The distance that is techn
