After a long while, when the room had settled into the hush of slow breathing and the whisper of rain against the windows, Andy shifted just enough to look down at her. His hand brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Summer," he said, voice low and careful, "can I use your shower?"

  For a second she just blinked at him, the question so normal it caught her off guard after everything that had passed between them. Then she nodded, a small shy smile tugging at her mouth. "Yes," she said, voice a little rough from disuse. "Of course. It's just down the hall."

  Andy kissed her forehead gently before sitting up, the sheets slipping down his back. He hesitated a moment, looking at her with something like awe, as if he was committing this vision of her — tangled hair, flushed cheeks, dreamy eyes — to memory before he rose fully and padded out of the room, completely unselfconscious in his bare skin.

  Steam curled around Andy as he stepped under the hot spray, letting it sluice over him, rinsing away sweat and rain and the last of the night's tension. His hands braced against the cool tile for a moment as he just breathed.

  After a while, he turned off the water and stepped out, dragging a towel from the nearby rack. The small bathroom mirror was fogged up; he swiped a hand across it, clearing just enough to see himself. He stared at his reflection, dripping, half-shivering, half-burning still from the way Summer had touched him, the way she had looked at him — not like a patron, not like someone purchasing a fantasy.

  There was fear in her eyes sometimes, but there was also trust. Real trust. He didn't know what to do with that. Andy tilted his head slightly, studying the face in the mirror like it might reveal answers. He hadn't been with someone who wanted him for himself in... years. Maybe longer than he wanted to admit. Maybe ever.

  And now here was this woman, blushing and shy and fierce all at once, offering him her battered heart with trembling hands. He found himself hoping. He wasn't quite sure for what, yet. But he knew one thing: he wanted to find out.

  Andy paused in the doorway, towel slung low around his hips, watching Summer fidget with the hem of her soft nightshirt. She looked up at him, then quickly back down, tugging at the fabric like it might somehow shield her from how vulnerable she felt.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The room was thick with unspoken things. Andy felt it pressing against his ribs — the want, the fear, the fragile thread of hope. She sat curled up in the center of the bed, knees drawn to her chest under the nightshirt, her unbraided hair a streaming red river over her shoulders. He didn't want to go. And he could see, in the way she bit her lower lip, that she didn't want him to either. But neither of them seemed able to bridge that small, aching gap.

  Andy dried his hair roughly with the towel to buy himself a second to think. Then he crossed the room, slow and careful, and sat on the edge of the bed. His hand found hers — small, delicate fingers peeking out from under the hem of her nightshirt — and he gave them a gentle squeeze. "Summer," he said, voice low, "do you want me to stay?"

  She nodded almost immediately, quick and sharp, but her voice when it came was a shy, wrecked whisper. "Please?"

  Something in Andy loosened at that, the tension slipping from his shoulders. He smiled — not his smirk, not the polished mask he wore for patrons, but something warm and real — and lifted the covers, slipping under them beside her. Summer hesitated just a breath, then scooted close, tucking herself against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Andy wrapped an arm around her, feeling her settle with a soft sigh against him. Neither of them said anything more.

  Summer reached out and turned off the bedside lamp with a soft click. Darkness poured in like velvet, wrapping the room in hush and shadow. For a few moments, there was only the sound of their breathing — slow, uneven, close.

  His hand brushed lightly along her upper arm, his thumb tracing an absent, comforting line over her skin. In the quiet, his voice came low, almost hesitant. "I've never... " he began, then paused, searching for the right words. "I've never stayed after. Slept, I mean. Not with... anyone who contracted me."

  Summer stirred against him, just a little, tilting her face up toward the sound of his voice even though she couldn't see him clearly in the dark. "This is new," Andy said. He sounded as if he was confessing a secret, something fragile he was afraid might break if he said it too loud.

  Summer's fingers curled lightly against his chest, seeking some kind of anchor, some proof that he really was still there. She didn't know what to say, so she just nodded against him, the movement small and sure.

  Andy tightened his arm around her, tucking her even closer. Outside, rain still whispered against the windows. Inside, in the dark, two people tried very hard to believe in something fragile and miraculous.