the fan buzzed, spinning damp heat uselessly around the vague light of the room.
i felt the weight of your body pressing into the mattress next to me but the blades whirling near the ceiling were louder than your breathing and you hardly moved.
catching myself, i drew my eyes away from the rise of your shoulder. of course you were still breathing. if i turned away and imagined an otherwise empty bed, i may have been shocked to remember you lying there, so unimposing.
but my brain whirred, tempted by the pattern of the fan.
you know how i get when i'm alone.
my body, tense with awareness, felt the presence of inevitability.
like you had been prescribed to me.
dozing in and out of early morning sleep, the subtle smell of drinks from the night before rose from the furnace of your skin. your closed eyes flickered, resting contentedly, as if this routine belonged to only us.
i could feel my own skin contradicting yours, cool, tense, awake.
the thin sheets stretched across the small bed, tempting to pull us together somewhere in the squishy middle. i had already spent an hour here, pressing myself in the other direction, wary of the glow that lingered in between but aware of the immanence of sleep.
i woke to the heated curve of your back pressed against my chest.
i blinked once.
your hand reached for mine and i fell again – this time without hesitation – into the weight of warmth.
into a place where no contradictions remained. there was only softness: pliable and led onward by the gentle pull of what had always been.