Manuela shifts in her sleep, murmuring something into the pillow. Her hair’s still damp and curling along her neck. She looks… soft. Uncomplicated. Like someone who could sleep through anything.
I toe off my shoes, peel off my wet shirt, and hang it in the closet in the hopes that it dries overnight. I lie down on top of the duvet and use the throw blanket at the foot of the bed to cover myself, keeping a respectful distance from her and trying not to breathe too loudly.
My phone lights up when I check it one last time. There are a handful of missed messages stacked in the group thread. I type quickly:
Me
We missed the train. Found a place for the night.
Don’t worry, we’ll catch up tomorrow.
I hit send, drop the phone on the nightstand, and exhale.
Outside, the rain keeps falling in rhythmic sheets.
I close my eyes and let it settle in.
This is nothing. Just two people stuck in a small town. Two beds, kind of?
But it doesn’t feel like nothing.
Not even a little.
The ringing bells wake me.They echo through the window in low, even chimes, distant but clear, like sound carried over water. I blink into the soft morning light, unsure of where I am for a second—until I see the pale wooden beams overhead, the white duvet tangled around my legs, and the bare curve of a shoulder just inches from mine.
Right. Right, right. Yes.
Manuela’s hair is spread across the pillow, golden and messy, one arm draped over my chest. Her bare leg is hooked around mine, and when did she get rid of her leggings? At some point during the night, we must’ve both shifted closer, too I had been intent on keeping a respectful distance over the duvet, covered only with a decorative blanket.
I don’t move.
The room is quiet, and the outside seems to be slowly waking up. It reminds me of lying awake in New York in the middle of the night, when the city is finally asleep. There’s no traffic, no footsteps or people moving around, just the occasional creak of old wood and those church bells ringing out again. Like they’re giving us a second chance to wake up.
Her breath is warm against my neck, and my heart kicks in response to her proximity.
I should shift. I know this, logically. I should roll over and create some space, make this less?—
But she shifts first.
Her nose nuzzles into the hollow of my throat, and her fingers graze my ribs. Lightly, but it lights me up like a fucking switch. I try to hold my breath and exhale slowly, like keeping my heart rate even might help.
I think that she’s half-asleep. Eyelashes resting on her cheeks, mouth parted slightly. Her thigh presses against my body in a way that feels entirely intentional, even though I know it isn’t. My cock is impossibly hard but definitely not because there’s a beautiful woman plastered to the side of my body. It’s an absolutely natural response to waking up.
Yes, that’s what it is.
She murmurs something into my collarbone, but I can’t make out the words. Her voice is low and raspy, laced with sleep.
“Morning,” I say, quieter than I mean to.
Manuela stirs again, her eyes fluttering open, and for a moment, we look at each other. Her hand is still on my chest, and I’m convinced she can feel my erratic pulse, my heart hammering like it wants to leave my body.
There’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes, then something else—the realization blooming slow and warm.
“Oh,” she says. But she doesn’t move away.
Neither do I.
“Do you sleepwalk?” I ask, trying for a joke, but my voice comes out hoarse and charged.
