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Edited at March 31, 2026 09:09 PM by Rose Thorn Manor
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Isla watched him divide the bed with an almost methodical care — the line of pillows, the heavier blanket nudged toward her side, the lighter one kept without complaint. All small gestures, all quietly telling. None of which she let reach her expression. When he slipped into his half of the bed, giving her space as if she were made of tripwires, Isla remained standing for a few beats longer, assessing. Not him — the situation. The door. The lamps. The angle at which the bathroom mirror caught the window. Only when she’d mapped every shadow did she finally ease down onto her side of the mattress. He yawned out a “Night,” soft around the edges, and flicked off the light. Darkness settled, warm and close. Isla lay rigid at first, eyes open, adjusting. This was not the first time she'd shared a bed with a stranger, let alone an operative with questionable allegiance — but it was the first time one of them insisted on giving her the thicker blanket. A rustle beside her drew her attention. She turned her head just slightly — enough to see, in the faint glow from the streetlights outside, Adrien curled around his pillow like it was a person. A quiet, unexpected ache threaded through her chest. Not pity — she didn’t do pity — but recognition. Loneliness was a familiar currency in her world. Seeing it mirrored so plainly was… disarming. She exhaled slowly, letting some of her tension bleed out into the mattress. “Calder,” she murmured into the dark, voice low but not sharp, “you’re going to suffocate that pillow.” A pause. “And for the record… I wasn’t worried about you snoring.” Another beat — because honesty wasn’t a habit, but she forced it anyway. “I was worried you’d talk in your sleep.” She turned onto her side, facing away, tugged the blanket up to her shoulder. “Good night.” |
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Edited at March 31, 2026 09:09 PM by Rose Thorn Manor
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Isla let out a soft breath at his answer, the unconvincing edge of his lie warming her more than irritating her. It was oddly humanizing—this man who moved like steel and strategy clinging to a pillow the way lonely people did. She didn’t tease him again, though; something about the way he said just a habit told her to leave it be. “Alright… James,” she murmured, settling under the heavier blanket he’d left for her. The bed dipped slightly where he lay, the row of pillows between them feeling more like a suggestion than an actual barrier. In the darkness, she stared up at the ceiling for a moment before turning onto her side, facing away from him but aware—acutely—of his presence behind her. “Good night,” she whispered back, soft enough that it could be mistaken for a drifting thought rather than words. And despite everything—danger, false names, uncertainty—sleep came easier than she expected. |
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Edited at March 31, 2026 09:09 PM by Rose Thorn Manor
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Isla woke to the quiet clink of a mug being set down, the faint bitterness of brewing coffee drifting through the room. For a moment she stayed still, eyes half-open, watching James—Adrien, though she didn’t know that—move with practiced, silent efficiency. He looked like someone who’d been awake for hours, not minutes. Someone who didn’t get the luxury of deep sleep. She pushed herself up slowly, the heavier blanket sliding from her shoulder. “You’re up early,” she murmured, voice still soft with sleep. Then she noticed the second mug, the little row of creamers and sugar packets arranged neatly beside it. The care in such a small gesture. Her chest warmed—unexpected, inconvenient. “Thanks,” she said, rising and padding over to the counter. She fixed her coffee lightly sweetened, the way she preferred, and took a small sip. “You didn’t have to do all that.” But she appreciated that he had. More than she intended to let on. Isla glanced at him over the rim of her mug. He looked tired—more than tired, really. The kind of worn that didn’t come from one bad night, but from years. “You sleep alright?” she asked quietly. Not prying—just… noticing. |
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Edited at March 31, 2026 09:11 PM by Rose Thorn Manor
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Isla watched him retreat to the chair, the soft thunk of the mug against the table sounding far heavier than it should have. His answers were too quick, too practiced—the kind built from habit, not honesty. “Mm,” she murmured, letting him keep his half-truths. She wasn’t ready to press him. She leaned against the counter, hands wrapped around her warm mug. “I was fine,” she replied, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. “Warmer than I expected, actually. So… thanks.” Her gaze flicked to the pillow he’d clung to last night, still faintly indented. Something in her tightened at the memory of it—how he’d hugged it like it was the only thing keeping him anchored. “But you don’t have to take the lighter blanket next time,” she added, tone mild but pointed. “I won’t freeze to death.” A beat passed. She studied him over her coffee, head tilting slightly. “You look tired,” she said softly—not accusing, not prying. Just observing. “Normal or not… it doesn’t look good on you.” |
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Edited at March 31, 2026 09:11 PM by Rose Thorn Manor
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Isla watched him over the rim of her mug, the faint steam softening the edges of her expression. He lied again—she caught the tiny hesitation, the way his shoulders shaped themselves around the fib—but she let it pass. They weren’t close enough for her to call him on it. Not yet. “Mm,” she murmured, pretending to accept his explanation about being a “warm sleeper,” though the flimsy blanket on his side of the bed had said otherwise. When he yawned and dismissed his exhaustion as a decade-long norm, something in her chest pinched—quiet, irritated sympathy. She hid it behind another sip. “Just because you’ve been like that for a decade doesn’t mean you should stay like that,” she muttered under her breath, more to her coffee than to him. At his question, she straightened slightly, business settling back over her like a familiar coat. “After breakfast,” Isla decided, setting her mug down. She paused, studying him again—really studying him. “And you should eat something,” she added. “Caffeine and chronic insomnia aren’t a personality.” |
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Morning Snow followed by Sunshine
