Avery pressed her hands to the wall. Tonight, sleep was elusive.
She slipped through the door without a sound, tiptoeing a precarious path through discarded papers that littered the floor. The moonlight illuminated a half started, half finished, masterpiece upon the wall; Isaac never drew the curtains. The paint was fresh enough that the smell still lingered in the cool air.
She crept closer as he rolled over, eyes opening. Silently, he held open the covers, inviting her in.
Warm arms enveloped her, drawing her in tight with a satisfied sigh, as if he slept better with her in his embrace. Immediately, he was asleep once more as she lay there, tracing the shape of his arms, shoulders, neck.
She longed for home. For little sister's with endless questions. For parents with bemused expressions. For her bed. But what was it without him? Tomorrow night she would have everything she missed and no one to share it with.
A sob rose in her chest. Isaac stirred.
"I'll forget," she whispered. "I'll forget how you feel beside me."
He nodded, his eyes awake now. "And then you'll remember."
She tucked her head into the curve of his neck and handed over her insomnia. He lay awake all night, memorising in preparation to forget.
With the sun rose a desperation that felt like a tightening in his chest. So many mornings he had awoken and count the days he had left, never letting himself think of the day when his time would run out.