The heavy drapes across the living room windows were drawn tight against the rising sun, leaving the space in a soft, dim twilight.
Mrs. Chen had quietly brought down a thick duvet and an armful of plush pillows hours ago, leaving them piled beside the sofa.
We had collapsed onto them in the dark, tangled in a messy, exhausted heap of limbs and breathless friction after hours of a passionate, desperate kind of intimacy that neither of us knew how to name.
I blinked open my eyes, staring upward for a long moment before I realized why the space felt different.
Cyan was curled against my chest.
His face was pressed firmly into the crook of my neck, one of his long arms draped heavily over my ribs, his fingers loosely clutching the fabric of the blanket.
He was fast asleep. Truly asleep... not the tense, twitching, half-conscious state I knew he'd been trapped in for weeks, but deep, heavy rest.
