Follows "Not Too Much"


You look like shit.

I let myself in, when you didn't answer my knock. The door was unlocked anyway, so you were expecting me.

Gaunt cheeks, deep bruised hollows beneath your eyes, and clothes too wrinkly. You've been harder on you than I've been on me.

I want desperately to wake you up, so that I can explain to you everything. But I don't dare. You need the sleep, if you're so exhausted that you can fall asleep leaning over a pillow in your lap.

I leave the cookies on the kitchen table. They're wrapped up in plastic, so they'll stay good for a while.

Now what do I do?

This is more of a second chance than I'd imagined. I lug you into your bedroom and tuck you into bed--again--and then hesitate.

Sleeping, you squeeze your pillow, frowning vaguely.

My hand reaches out, smoothes the curve of your cheek... you move your face, following my hand. Would it be presumptuous of me to stay?

Maybe it would be. Maybe I'll only end up ruining my second chance too, but my instincts are telling me that I should stay. I didn't listen to them before, which was a mistake.

I kick off my shoes and crawl under the covers with you, laying my head against your shoulder and draping an arm across your chest. I don't plan on letting you go anywhere... not till we've had our talk.

Breathing in the scent of your shampoo, I fall asleep.


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