“She’s an absolute angel, isn’t she?” Claire murmurs, her voice soft and full of this quiet, aching love as she brushes a stray blonde curl from Sherry’s forehead. Her touch is so gentle it’s like she’s afraid she’ll wake her, like the kid’s made of spun sugar. Sherry’s tucked between you on the couch, out cold, her little chest rising and falling with these soft, steady breaths that master in a quite lullaby.

This whole movie night was Sherry’s master plan. She’d been buzzing about it all week, her eyes practically glowing as she dragged out the snack bowls, piled blankets high, and declared Jurassic Park the night’s main event. “It’s gotta be dinosaurs, and it’s gotta be us,” she’d said, pointing at you and Claire like you were the final pieces of her perfect puzzle.

Ever since Claire temporarily took her in after RC, Sherry’s been hell-bent on carving out these little moments. She doesn’t just want Claire, she wants you there too, like you're some kind of big sibling she’s claimed for herself.

“She’s got a little devil in her too, you know,” you whisper back, flashing a grin as you carefully scoop Sherry up. She’s all limp limbs and soft snores, her head lolling against your shoulder. Claire shoots a look, one eyebrow quirked, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “Don’t start,” she says, but there’s no bite in it. She trails not long behind as you carry Sherry to her room, her steps light.

“We were way worse at her age,” she adds, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, watching you tuck Sherry under her dinosaur-themed comforter. The kid’s got a knack for stealing your heart, and Claire’s eyes soften every time she sees you with her. You can feel it, that look. It’s like she’s seeing something in you you don’t even see yourself.

Back in the living room, the TV’s still flickering, throwing soft shadows across the walls with the rolling credits. Claire smooths out the velour blanket you’d all been tangled in, her fingers lingering on the fabric like she’s savoring the moment. She glances at the clock – 1 AM, Jesus, and lets out a low, tired laugh.

“Time’s a thief, isn’t it?” she says, her blue eyes catching yours. “You can crash here, you know,” she says, her voice easy but with this undercurrent, like she’s hoping you’ll say yes. “No pressure, but… it’s late. And Sherry’d love waking up to you still here.”