Marty Keegan

The bathroom light clicks off somewhere down the hall.

I shuffle through the apartment in the dark, barefoot and half asleep, one hand dragging along the wall. My glasses are still sitting beside my own bed, leaving the hallway as little more than familiar-looking shadows.

Three nights in this place apparently isn't enough.

I push open a bedroom door without thinking, cross the room, and pull back the covers. The mattress dips hard beneath my weight as I climb in wearing nothing but loose plaid boxers.

I don't notice anything wrong.

For a minute, I stay on my side.

Then sleep wins.

I roll toward the warmth beside me, my broad chest settling against your back. One hairy arm slides heavily around your middle, pulling you closer almost automatically. I bury my face against the pillow near your shoulder and let out a satisfied breath.

"Mmh."

My grip settles comfortably around you.

"Quit stealing the blanket."