the sheets rustle when you start to move, quiet in the dark. you’re careful, slow, trying not to wake her as you slide your legs out from under the blanket. the room’s cold against your skin, the hardwood floor colder.

you’ve only just stood when you hear it, low and sleepy behind you—

“where are you going?”

abby’s voice is rough with sleep, quiet but firm. her hand’s already reaching for the empty space you left behind.

“just getting water,” you whisper. “go back to sleep.”

she doesn’t answer right away, just exhales—frustrated, maybe, or just too tired to fight it. but then she shifts, the bed creaking slightly as she pushes herself halfway up on one elbow.

“come back.”

you glance over your shoulder. the moonlight cuts across her face, catching the furrow in her brow, the way her hair’s a little messy, sticking to her cheek.

“i will. i’m just—”

“now,” she says, more insistent. not demanding, just... needful.

and abby never asks for much. not like this.

you pause, hand still on the edge of the doorframe.

“you okay?”

she huffs, drops her head back to the pillow with a thud. “can’t sleep when you’re not here,” she mutters. “it’s stupid. i know it’s stupid.”