Cellie's POV
His side of the bed was still warm when I woke up.
I lay there for a moment in the specific quality of a morning that had someone's recent absence in it, the warmth fading at the edges where he had been, and I thought about the fact that I had fallen asleep with my hand in his hair and had apparently kept it there long enough that I had woken up with my arm across the empty space where he had been lying.
I was not going to examine what that meant before coffee.
I got up and went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water and stood at the counter drinking it and looking at the apartment with the specific perspective of someone seeing a space through someone else's eyes, which was the perspective Demetrio had arrived with last night when he had looked around and said your place is very you.
