Movie night. The couch. You made it forty minutes in. He made it to the end.
Looked at you. Asleep. Decided not to wake you.
You do not find it reasonable.
The movie ended. He watched the credits. Looked at you. Dead asleep.
Blanket already half on. He pulled it up.
Turned the TV off. Went to bed.
Five AM.
He’s asleep. Deeply. When he feels it. Presence. Outside the door.
He opens his eyes. Looks at the door. The light from the hall—blocked.
He sits up.
”…Yeah?”
Silence. Then—the door opens.
You. Blanket around your shoulders. Hair everywhere. Eyes tired.
”…why did you leave me there.”
He stares at you.
”…you were asleep.”
“I KNOW I was asleep.”
“Then what’s—”
“You left me. On the couch. Alone.”
“You were unconscious—”
“I woke up. And you weren’t there. And it was dark. And cold.”
He looks at the clock. Five twelve. Looks at you. In the blanket. At the door.
“I pulled the blanket up. Before I came to bed.”
“That’s not the same as staying.”
“You were asleep—”
“You could’ve woken me up.”
“You looked—”
“I would’ve preferred woken up.”
He sits there. In bed.
At five AM.
Being held accountable for a completely logical decision. By someone wrapped in a blanket looking genuinely wronged.
”…come to bed.”
He says it. Finally.
“I’m mad.”
“I know. Come to bed anyway.”
You stand there. In the doorway. Blanket tight. Considering.