She's leaning her back against the front of the chair, her head tipped back slightly against his thigh. One of his hands rests at the edge of the armrest, and her fingers are loosely curled around his, not quite holding, just resting.
She's asleep.
He's not. His eyes are open, still tracking the room. Still doing the job he's assigned himself. But the tension in his body is different from before, less coiled and more settled.
Like he can keep watch without needing to act as long as she's there. As long as he can see she's safe.
I look at them for a long moment.
At how she gravitated to him even in sleep or how he adjusted himself without waking her. That careful arrangement of himself around her, deliberate, precise, accounting for the difference in size and force.
"They orbit each other," I think.
I noticed it earlier when she touched his chest and everything in him changed. How he tracks her through rooms or how she always knows where he is without looking.
It doesn't sit wrong.
Those are the only words I have for it. It just doesn't sit wrong.
I go to the kitchen and accept the mug Finn hands me without asking what's in it.
"She's asleep against his chair," I say.
Finn looks up. "He's good for her."
"Yeah."
"And she's good for him." Finn wraps his hands around his own mug. "Did you see what she did earlier? When he was about to—"
"I saw."
"One hand. That's all it took."
I drink my tea.
"She figured him out faster than any of us did," I say.
Finn nods. "She's good at people. Always has been." He pauses. "She just hasn't had people who let her be good at them before."
The words sit between us.
I don't have anything to add to that.
***
I don't sleep.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around me.
Around two in the morning I hear movement downstairs.
I get up and move down the hall.
Rhys's door is open. His room is empty, his bed barely disturbed. I don't know if he slept at all or just lay there how he sometimes does, present without resting.
I find him in the hallway outside the living room.
He's standing with his back against the wall, arms crossed, looking through the doorway.
