I woke up in the right place.
That was the first thing I noticed. Not a specific thought, not a conscious recognition. Just the immediate bodily knowledge of being somewhere correct. The particular quality of the light through the windows I knew. The smell of the room, woodsmoke and pine and something underneath both of those that was just him, that I had spent five years trying not to think about and had thought about anyway.
I lay still for a moment and let myself be in it.
His arm was around my waist in the same way it had been on the morning of the Moon Festival six years ago. Before everything. The same weight and the same warmth and the same unconscious pull of someone whose body knew where I was even in sleep and had arranged itself accordingly.
I looked at the ceiling.
Six yea
