you don’t know what time it is, but it’s still dark out. charlie’s arm is draped over your side, hand balled up against your thigh, forehead resting against the top of your back. he’s close, but not close enough. not for the night. it’s when most of your fears tend to creep to the forefront of your mind - faces in the wallpaper, whispers riding the distant roar of city traffic, blood oozing through the gaps in the wooden floors.

“are you asleep?” you ask out into the dark, voice quivering, knowing that the answer is ‘yes’ but hoping desperately that it won’t be. charlie shuffles behind you, his arm pulling tight against your chest. you grip his hand with both of yours, eyes welling with relief. you try to pretend that you hadn’t been panicking, but you don’t know why. this isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.

“no,” he lies, groggily, pulling you back against him. you bend your knees to slide your cold feet between his shins and he groans. “you’re cold.”

“you’re warm.” you used to joke that you kept him around so you didn’t have to buy a hot water bottle. then he got you one for your birthday and you were forced to admit that wasn’t the real reason you shared your bed with him at all – it’s more to do with the fact that you just want him there. you sort of need him there. you are, as it turns out, in love with him being there. in love with him.

you stand in the kitchen where you are supposed to be paying very close attention to the microwave (lest you have another burned popcorn incident in atticus’ flat), but you’ve been pretty distracted watching him lounging on the sofa. atticus gets one side, you get the other, and your heads meet in the corner - it’s a solid system honed over many movie nights. you can’t actually remember how long it’s been now. you’d have to count the months back in your mind.

“you’ll tell me if i ever get annoying, right?” you ask.

“you’re annoying,” he calls back to you, without diverting his gaze from the screen. you huff, and he reluctantly props himself up on one elbow to look back at you.

“i’m being serious!”

atticus rolls his eyes and gets to his feet like he has just been asked to perform a very tedious chore, looping around the sofa to join you. you’d started pacing, but he plants his hands firmly on your shoulders to put a stop to that.

“you can’t get annoying. you’ve always been annoying.” he tells you, but he looks at you in a way you aren’t sure you’ve noticed before as he says it. then he cups your face in both hands and kisses you firmly, the kind that makes you feel like you’re featherlight and drifting away. he kisses you like he sees you – knows who you are and wants you all the same, will keep wanting you.

when you break apart, his blue eyes meet yours steadily, brows knitted together in a little frown. you aren’t sure what he sees – but then he kisses you again, and this one’s different. it’s soft and gentle, quizzical even. he sees you. do you see him?