𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

POSSIBILITIES

Hi, all! Long time, no see. I've been sitting on this one for a while. Because I'm a perfectionist. It's over 5,600 words and happens to be a little bittersweet for... well, reasons. Hope you all enjoy!

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Will it ever cloy
This odd diversity of misery and joy
I'm feeling quite insane and young again
And all because I'm mad about the boy

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Cold seeped into her.

Grimacing, Diana rolled onto her side, curling into a small ball.

Unfortunately, the cold was persistent. It crept along the back of her legs, whisked along her thigh, and trailed up her tailbone, sending a lightning-like shiver up her spine.

No good.

She forced herself to open her sleep-laden eyes.

It was dark. New York, the city known to never sleep, was oddly quiet.

The room was peaceful and still. In the darkness, she could make out the obscure shape of what she assumed to be the covers. They were crumpled at the bottom of the bed, hanging off the edge of the mattress.

"No wonder," she murmured to herself.

As she sat up, the sheets fell away from her body. Naked and cold, she blindly groped through the darkness, sighing in relief when she finally felt the silken sleeve of her gown between her fingers. After a short struggle, she managed to pull the gown over her head, adjusting it until it covered the junction between her naked thighs.

The right side of the bed was empty. She stared, wondering if she'd been sleeping alone all along until she noticed the pair of men's shoes lying lopsided near the dresser. She looked ahead, noting the dim sliver of light creeping in from the slit at the bedroom door.

Diana made a brief note of the time as she stepped out of bed. Pacing herself, she crossed the room, narrowly avoiding the shoes and her discarded fur coat which sat in a long forgotten heap in the middle of the floor.

She opened the door, stopping short of entering the living room.

"Do you know what time it is, silly boy?"

As her eyes adjusted to the light, the fuzzy outlines at the corner of the room slowly came into focus.

Legs crossed at the ankles, Michael was propped against the record player console in the furthest part of the living room. A brown, leather bin was toppled at his side and a disjointed circle of records surrounded him. One of her favorites, Earth, Wind, & Fire's All n' All, was nestled comfortably in his lap, tucked under the baggy awning that was his green, long-sleeved shirt.

Recovering from the shock of her voice rippling through the silence, his wide brown eyes narrowed into their usual almond shape.

"Yes, I know what time it is," he answered, giving her a smile warm enough to reduce even the most jaded person to putty. "It's 2 o'clock in the morning." He set the record in his lap aside, extending a hand.

Diana crossed the room with a smile, taking his hand as she lowered herself to the floor. She didn't stay put there for long.

Michael let out a small sound of surprise as she crawled into his lap. He laughed softly at the concentrated wrinkle in Diana's brow, dandling her until she was able to find a comfortable position.

She had no business acting this way.

But it was about time she was honest with herself: her will of iron had been shaved down to a thin piece of flimsy tin. Her self-control, honestly minuscule to begin with, was gone. She'd grown comfortable. Extremely, undeniably comfortable.