Kenny wakes up sometime in the wee hours. He glances at the clock, able to read it in the light slipping in around the curtains. New York's got lights on all day and night, just like Kenny'd always heard. He likes it especially on nights like this, when he's woken up by his own dreams.
Rosie shifts, turning towards him. Kenny stares at the ceiling, waiting.
"You asleep?" Rosie murmurs, just loud enough to be heard.
"Yeah," Kenny says. He scrubs his palm against his hairline. There's dried sweat there. He can feel it on his arms and chest, too. "Was I yellin'?"
"Only a little," Rosie says and scoots closer. Ken makes room on his pillow and turns so he and Rosie are nose to nose. "Not as bad as usual."
Kenny huffs at that. Not quite a laugh, but as close as he can get at 2:43 in the morning with the dream still trailing after him. "It was the one with the kids," he says.
Rosie cups Kenny's cheek and presses down a little. "I thought maybe. You said Billy's name."
Kenny closes his eyes, but with his eyes closed, the dream comes roaring up. Billy and Sammy and the other kids standing in the fields and on the hardstands. Bombs falling. Kenny screaming. Planes falling out of the sky. When he opens his eyes, Rosie's right there, brow furrowed and hand warm and heavy on Kenny's cheek.
"Wanna get up?" Rosie asks. "We could go to the diner. Get an extra-early breakfast."
Kenny reaches up and grabs Rosie's wrist. He feels Rosie's pulse under his fingers. There's only one dream worse than the kids getting killed, and it's the one where Rosie's fort comes back, but he's not in it. Kenny can't have one dream without thinking about the other. He won't sleep again, and Rosie's offering him an easy out. "Come back when the sun's up and try again?" he offers.
Rosie nods and presses their foreheads together. "I like this plan," he says. "Let's do it."
They put on slacks and shirts and each grab their hats on their way out. Rosie brings a book. Kenny grabs a sketchpad. The diner's one of the lights that filter through their bedroom curtains. 24 hours and the coffee's kept fresh. They've taken turns suggesting it to each other since the war ended. Kenny's not the only one with nightmares.
Virginia's working. She brings them coffee and creamer without being asked. At the kitchen window, her husband, Frank, waves to them. They wave back. They used to work opposite shifts, Ken knows because Virginia's the type to share. But then Frank came back from the war and didn't sleep right all alone at night, so he'd taken the cook position so he and Virginia could sleep on the same schedule. She'd always been a night owl and was happy to live in a city that made it easier to be up late.
Kenny adds sugar to his coffee. Rosie drinks his black. They sit across from each other and don't say much. There isn't much to say on nights when they need the diner to keep the nightmares back. But under the table, their legs are touching, and out the window a few cars go by, and Kenny has to agree with Virginia. It is nice to be someplace where you can be up late.
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