Author's note : Had to get this one out of my mind. Who needs sleep anyway ? Rated T, bordering on M, you've been warned :-).
Disclaimer : not mine !

The first time she enters his bedroom, he's fast asleep on his back. She slips underneath the sheets but she's careful not to touch him. It's only later in the night that he realizes he's not alone anymore. She's curled up on her side, facing him, asleep. His heart beats faster but he doesn't know what to do. So he goes back to sleep. Morning will come soon enough. The next time he wakes up it's because his bedroom door is closing. He glances at the clock. 6:36. He sighs and rolls to where she just slept. He knows it's creepy but he can't help it. He buries his nose in the pillow she used. It smells like cherry.

She has been staying at the loft for a few weeks now. Not being alone and living in a safe place were the conditions of her release from the hospital. The break up with Josh and the fact that her dad had to work, just like her friends, limited her choices.

She is fine now. Physically at least, she's doing better. Emotionally... She's still working on that. The therapist isn't helping much. Especially with the nightmares. But last night, she found something that works. She's just not sure if it's a good idea.

The second time she enters his room, it's already a few days later. Like the first time, he doesn't wake. Once underneath the sheets, she looks at him. He looks younger in his sleep. He seems to always sleep on his back, since he is in the same position. She's cold and wants to snuggle against him. She doesn't dare. Instead, she inches closer and lays her forehead against his bicep. She falls asleep.

He wakes up because there is movement against him. His left arm felt warm, it's suddenly cold. He sees, through heavy-from-sleep eyelids, her retreating form. Once she's gone, he sighs and curses himself for not waking up sooner. He debates the idea to get up and write, it's already 6:36.

In the morning, they don't talk about it. She appears for breakfast from the guest room as if she never left it during the night. He follows her lead. Mostly because he's not sure she knows he knows she was there.

The third time she comes, he's awake. But he fakes sleep. She's shaken by her nightmare, more than usual. She needs to reassure herself that he's here. This time, she sneaks into the bed and go directly to lay against him. She put her hand on top of his, her torso flushed against his arm, her legs against his left one. She doesn't care if he wakes up. Her head is against his bare shoulder. It takes a little longer for her to fall back to sleep.

He freezes when he feels her. His body is reacting to her proximity in all kind of ways. To tame his arousal, he concentrates on his schedule for tomorrow : lame and boring meetings at his publisher's offices. Eventually, he's asleep again. He wakes when she leaves. It's 6:36 again.

She doesn't come for two weeks after that. The nightmares didn't stop. But she scared herself. She liked her nights with him too much.

The fourth time she steps inside his room, he's wide awake. And this time he looks at her. She looks at him. He doesn't talk, just holds the sheet up so she can slip in. She settles herself against him. His left arm encircles her, she lays her head down on his chest. They fall asleep in silence. He stirs when she leaves. He doesn't need to see the clock. He knows it's 6:36.

She comes to him and he waits for her for the rest of the week. Suddenly, one night she doesn't come anymore, nor the next, nor the one after that. They still don't talk about it. She mentions this tacit arrangement to her therapist. He doesn't react. She drops the subject.

The ninth time, she comes because she saw him dead in her nightmare. She cracks the door open slowly. He's not awake and she's disappointed. For once, he's sleeping on his side, facing away from the door. She climbs in the bed and wraps herself around his back. Her arms sneak to his chest. She feels him stir. He's vaguely aware that's she's spooning him. He would smile if he weren't so worried about her. With one hand he readjusts his pillow, with the other he intertwines his fingers with hers. He stays awake until he feels her breathing deepens and slows down, then let go.

He turns around when his back feels cold. It's 6:36 and she's leaving without looking back. He's frustrated and aroused. And frustrated that he is aroused when he should be worried about her. He is concerned, but at this moment, his foggy brain is mostly thinking that he spent the night in her arms.

He's finding it harder and harder not to say or do something during the day. He had the urge to kiss her before. Numerous times. But now, he has to fight against it even more. Only because he knows what it feels like to have her against him in his bed. Even if nothing happened. Living together doesn't help. Especially since it seems that she's touching him more. Light, innocent touches that drive him crazy.

The twelfth time she crosses his threshold, she didn't have a nightmare. She just woke up needing to be close to him. He appears to be asleep, on his side, facing away. His breath his erratic. He's dreaming. She slips carefully between the sheets. Once again her arms slide around his mid section. One pretty high under his neck, the other pretty low, just above the waist band of his pajama pants. She senses when he wakes up. He tenses up a little and grabs her hand laying at his waist to bring it on his stomach. She inches higher in the bed so her mouth is in front of his neck. She presses kisses to it while slowly letting her hand come down again. He gasps. He remains still as one of her fingers slips inside the waistband. Suddenly unsure, her hand travels up again. He whimpers, making her change her mind. She cups him through the fabric. He hisses her name and it's the first word uttered between them in here.

"Turn around", she whispers in his ear, placing a kiss there.

He does and she nearly drowns in his eyes. They are dark blue, lust clearly visible. He swallows hard when he sees her flushed cheeks. He wants to kiss her but he's afraid to move. She's the one initiating the kiss. It's sloppy and hungry, tongues colliding, teeth clashing. They don't care, it doesn't have to be perfect.

Later she's gasping for air and calling his name. He's repeating hers again and again in her ear. He's about to collapse onto her when he remembers her injury. He rolls over instead taking her with him. They snuggle in each other arms, silent as they catch their breath. He's about to say something when he realizes she fell asleep. He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, she's still asleep in his arms. He looks at the clock and smiles. It's 9:12.

The end.