𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

SOUL

It was the sound of rain that woke her.

It fell against the window in droves, filling the room with its noise, so soft and calm that her eyes, still heavy with sleep, nearly closed again. She remembered how the rain had sounded earlier, back when she and Michael, exhausted, dazed, and droopy-eyed, had fallen to the bed and sank into each other's arms.

It still didn't feel real.

But oddly, it was.

It was as real as her nakedness, as real as the rise and fall of his bare chest and the slight prickle of his hairs against her calf.

Diana hadn't remembered falling asleep this way, her facing him, head on his chest, thumb at his jaw as her hand rested at his nape, but there she was pressed against him, as vulnerable and nude as the day she'd been born.

Time was a mystery to her. She wasn't sure how long they'd been asleep, and as much as she tried, her body wouldn't allow her to turn and look at the clock on the nightstand.

She lifted her head, gazing out the window.

The sky was overcast, bleak and gray from the rain. Through the dark clouds, rays of light peeked through, faint enough that she would have otherwise missed them had she not been paying close attention.

It was Saturday, a new day.

She lied her head on his chest again, closing her eyes.

It still felt surreal, so she touched him. She took her hand away from his neck and ran it downward, gently touching his chest, then moved back up, tracing the lax muscles in his shoulder. She touched his forearm, grazed his elbow, and used her index finger to trace a delicate line in his palm.

This Michael was as hard of a sleeper as the one from all those months ago. He didn't flinch or so much as breathe differently when she took his fingers between her own and examined them, wondering for what seemed the millionth time how they'd managed to get so large. Gently, she released his hand, lowering it back to the bed.

They were in an odd space. She, someone he'd looked up to and confided in for years. And him, someone she'd cared for, doted over, and watched grow. Now, they were much more than that, a fizzling spark turned full-fledged flame overnight.

She tried not to think about how strongly or rapidly the flame was burning. For now, she would ask no questions, only acknowledge the sweetness of the fire's flicker.

Diana sat up slowly, bed shifting underneath her. He moaned in his sleep, brows pressing together. His body turned towards her, arms fanning out at her sides.

He was still very much asleep, but even in his dreams, he seemed to be searching for her. A warmness she couldn't explain blossomed in her chest.

After a few seconds of gentle twisting and turning, she finally managed to wriggle her way out of his arms without waking him.

Quietly, she headed to the bathroom. After showering and brushing her teeth, she slipped into a robe. She took a moment to grab an extra towel, cloth, and toothbrush for Michael before walking back into the bedroom.

The rain was still going steady and so was Michael's slumber. He was lying on his side now, blankets tossed over him, face buried in one of her satin pillows.

Diana eased herself onto the bed and brought her knuckle to his cheek, warmth spreading in her chest again. She gently stroked his cheek, rousing him out of his sleep.

"Morning," she whispered softly, watching as his face turned further into the pillow.

Michael mumbled something unintelligible and slowly opened his eyes. Although they were still heavy with sleep, they were no less piercing. The smile he gave her, languid and lopsided, made her heart skip a beat.