Emma wakes up feeling more content and well-rested and safe than she’s felt in months, and for a moment somewhere between sleeping and waking, she’s not sure what it is about this particular morning that’s making her feel so warm. Then the arm wrapped around her ribs shifts and the hand cupped just below her cheek readjusts itself, and she understands the warmth around her without opening her eyes. She shifts, nuzzling her nose into his wrist and tucking her feet between his calves, and she can tell he’s already starting to stir.
"You need thicker curtains, love," is the first thing he mumbles when he presses his lips into her shoulder, ducking his head to her spine as if the problem will solve itself. She feels herself start to laugh, drawing a step closer to wakefulness, and nudges her elbow back into his ribs.
“Ssh,” she whispers, voice thick with sleep, “you have to be awake to talk.”
"What do you call this, then?"
Emma shakes her head against his hand and momentarily pulls her arm from where it rests on top of his, reaching blindly for the comforter tangled up in both of their legs. It only takes a little effort for her to pull it free and when she does, she pulls it so it sits high enough around their arms to keep the light away for a good hour at least. He’s being remarkably patient with her as she continues to deny the daylight, but then she can’t remember a time when he wasn’t patient with her.
"There," she breathes, pressing the backs of her knees into his and chasing after the warmth that was lost when her arm left its spot on top of his. She can smell the salty air by the docks on his skin mixing in with the smell of her laundry detergent and something in the back of her mind is chanting home, home, home but all Emma does is sigh and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing growing even again.
In an hour, she’ll let him wake her just as slowly, pulling his hand from beneath her cheek to tease the tangles from her hair, whispering her name in his low, soft voice, brushing his fingers across the curve of her arm. In an hour she’ll turn and press a kiss into his chest, brush her thumb across his eyebrows and seriously consider the risks that come with buying black-out curtains. For now, though, Emma couldn’t move if she tried.