Morning light crept softly through the curtains, painting pale streaks across the wide expanse of the bedroom. The room was now bright. Bright enough to wake up anyone who wasn't deep in sleep.
Lana stirred first. Her lashes fluttered open, and for a long moment she lay still, disoriented by the weight of the blanket tucked securely around her and. She moved her arms then just as they were about to hit the feet close to her, she froze. Then her memory returned—her falling asleep in the living room, Alexander showing up, the fever, the meal, the argument that ended with them sharing a bed.
Slowly, she sat up in bed and turned her head slightly, her gaze moving from the feet, upwards.
Alexander was still asleep.
The sight alone made her pause. His face, usually so composed and unreadable, was softer in sleep. His brow, so often furrowed, had smoothed. His lips parted faintly, his breathing deep and steady. It startled her, how human he looked. Vulnerable, even.
