But then, I remembered, I already had.

Clarity came as consciousness surfaced. His hand on my shoulder brought me back from the depths of a nightmare I couldn't recall and, before I was completely aware of what was happening, my arms were around his neck, tears flowing silently onto what I suddenly realised was his bare back. He must have been wakened by my coughing and come down in such a hurry that he forgot a shirt.
His skin was so warm where my neck met his shoulder, it soothed the frozen emptiness left in the wake of the forgotten nightmare.

He was speaking, I think I had been at first, but I don't know what I said.

"It's okay." he soothed. "It's okay now, you're here, we both are, and—"

Horror flashed down my spine and into the pit of my stomach. What had I done? What was I doing? This was all wrong, it wasn't supposed to happen this way. Michael and I, as much as I suddenly realised I wanted... I pulled away from him. Rather more harshly than I intended.

"I'm sorry, Michael," I could only whisper as mortification stalled my tears. "I didn't mean..."

"Are you okay?" he demanded. I could never deny him a reply when he spoke to me so.

"Yes." I think I was lying.

"Marie, look at me," he said, softer; it was more a question. "...Marie..."

"I shouldn't have done that." My thoughts flew through my lips and my reproach was audible. "I'm sorry." I didn't look at him. That wasn't enough, but it was all I had.

"It's—" he hesitated, he knew it wasn't. "It's fine... Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah." My teeth were chattering, but I wasn't cold. "I'm okay, I—" I took a deep breath and exhaled a shudder. "I just had the most awful dream." The loose hair that had fallen over my shoulders and into my face was suddenly making it difficult to breathe, I ran a restraining hand through it. He was still just standing there. "Oh, but I'm okay, now."

He sighed. "Do you want some tea or something before you sleep again? ...Milk?" I heard his impish grin, and couldn't contain a partial laugh.

"No, thanks." I studied my hands, face up in my lap, the thumb of my right feeling the dip in the palm of my left.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'm gonna go back now, all right?" I nodded. "There are peppermints in the cabinet next to the stove if your stomach is bothering you. Don't be afraid to knock if you need anything." I think I nodded again as I heard his bare feet cross the tile, probably freezing at this time of night, or morning - whenever it was.

"Michael," I stopped him when I heard the deeper thud of his foot on the first carpeted stair.

"Hm?"

"Thank you." If I rubbed any harder, I was going to wear a groove in the palm of my left hand.

"You're welcome, Marie." And he'd disappeared up the stairs again.

I heard the squeak of the faucet in the kitchen, Mrs. Bridge was making coffee. A clock began chiming somewhere. I counted... four, five... eight... ten. Ten! So late. Stupid weather. I should have been dressed by now.