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Emily wakes up alone. The comforter is bunched up around her ears, and her leg is stretched out to the other side of the bed. Aaron’s—empty, cold.
She blinks the sleep from her eyes. Pats the cold sheets, sits up. In the dark, it’s hard to discern the time, but it’s clearly too late for any of them to be awake. She throws the covers back and gets out of bed, rubbing her eyes as she shoulders past the open crack in the door.
The hallway is dark, Jack’s bedroom door tightly shut. She looks in anyway, gently turning the knob and sticking her head through. He’s fast asleep and loosely hugging his stuffed orca, Sergio sprawled at the foot of his bed.
Emily closes the door and pads to the living room. Her socks—Aaron’s, stolen—slide on the floor, muffling the sound of her footsteps.
He doesn’t turn when she walks in. She can see the outline of his body, stretched out on the couch, a blanket up to his hips. The TV light paints him in a harsh glow, flickering and flashing with the sitcom rerun that plays silently.
Emily rounds the side of the couch and he looks up, lashes sweeping shadows over his cheeks.
“Hey,” she rasps. He opens up the edge of the blanket over him and she sneaks in, knees and elbows knocking into his chest and thighs as she fits herself into the space. Aaron shifts back against the cushions and her head settles on the pillow beneath his head.
“Hey.” He murmurs. She can feel the frayed thread of his voice; it always gets rougher when he has one of his nights, ragged and lower than usual. “Did I wake you?” He pulls the blanket up to her shoulder, then tugs it so that it halfway drapes over her ear.
“No. But I told you to.” Her tone isn’t chiding—really, she knew he’d never. She wouldn’t, either, though he’d offered when their roles were reversed.
They still haven’t learned to be selfish with each other.
Emily takes his hand. It’s warm, slight traces of a chill clinging to the pads of his fingers.
“You looked comfortable.” Aaron says as she covers his hand with both of hers. His lashes flutter when she presses her lips to the ridges of his knuckles, thumb stroking down the back of his hand. “We haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”
No, they haven’t. Between ruthless cases and moving house, sleep was all but wishful thinking. It started to settle down a few days ago, but sometimes their bodies don’t get the memo.
Emily fits his hand under her chin. “How long have you been up?” She asks, her foot worming its way between his ankles.
Aaron breathes out something like a laugh, shaking his head as he makes yet more room for her. “I don’t know, what time’s it?” His free arm wraps around her back, tugging her flush to his chest.
Emily shrugs.
“It’s been a while.” He admits.
“It’s not the house, is it?” She asks, her words warping around a yawn.
Aaron shakes his head; they’re no strangers to new places. “Go to sleep, honey.” He murmurs, mouthing a kiss to her brow.
“I’m okay.” Emily says. She knows how isolating they are, nights like these. Everyone else trapped under the safe bubble of sleep and her hovering just at the edge of it, barred entrance. She could never get herself to shatter their bubble, ask for company—because what would it do, anyway? She’s never known how to help herself. It’s unlikely that anyone else would.
Though Aaron’s company she doesn’t mind. He’s not always able to put her to sleep, but she’s less on edge when he’s awake with her, the midnight hours slipping through their fingers. Sometimes her guilt wages war with her relief, but most times she’s too burnt out to feel anything other than grateful.
She can only hope she’s the same for him.
“Are you?” She murmurs, letting go of his hand and cupping the back of his neck. “Okay?” Her fingers comb through the short hair at his nape.
Aaron gives her a wan smile. The TV glow illuminates his eye bags, angry red blood vessels webbing through his sclera and outlining his irises in hazy pink.
“I’m okay, Em. Just…”
His hand squeezes over her shirt. She tugs his head down into her chest, shifting so his neck doesn’t crane.
Aaron exhales a long breath; it warms her skin, easing through the fabric of her pajamas and fogging over her sternum.
“Can you talk?” He mumbles.
“That’s vague.” She says softly, running her fingers through his hair. “Be more specific, handsome.”
A short noise vibrates through her chest. “Don’t know. You always seem to have something to say.”
Emily smiles against his temple. “I’m assuming you don’t want to let me go grab a book or something.”
He shakes his head.
She exhales, swirling his hair around her fingers. “Uh, well…let’s see.” A drag of her nails over his scalp, and more of his weight distributes over her. “Okay. Así que he estado pensando…”
She switches to Spanish on instinct, not wanting him to follow with her mindless ramble. He’s always hyper vigilant when she speaks. Some way of overcompensating, she supposes, and while it does turn out in her favor more often than not, she wants him to turn that off now. Her fingers sift through his hair as she talks about the new house, the way the hum of the fridge echoes through the kitchen and how this laundry room absorbs more humidity than their previous one and the new quiet that comes with owning a villa that’s theirs, compared to the constant noise in an apartment complex.
Emily feels it when he gets drowsier, the pull of sleep starting to drag him under. His grip on her goes loose, his breaths elongating and growing deeper, more of his weight pressing down on her. Emily shifts her legs from under his and he stirs.
“Aaron,” she says quietly, “hey honey, c’mon, let’s go to bed. Your back is gonna kill you in the morning.”
He leans back into the couch, his head half falling off her shoulder. “I’m good.” He mumbles.
“I know we don’t abide by gender roles in this house, but I really can’t carry you out of here.”
“S’okay. Love you.”
Emily sighs, kissing his hair. “Love you too.”
“Go up to bed.”
“No,” she says, winding tighter around him, “I think I’m good.”