He's abruptly awake at the sound of the door clicking open, lurching back into wakefulness with a start; it's still an unfamiliar house and he's not yet accustomed to its creaks and settling, no less the sound of someone entering his space. Luther's always been a light sleeper besides, ready to leap out of bed at the shrill noise of the alarm, being summoned for a mission, mechanisms on the moon base trilling. And once he recognises the silhouette slipping her way in—
They'd used to do this, before. All those long years before. A rap of knuckles at the door and then sometimes not even asking, just coming in, for company, for late-night whispered talks. (For his whole body buzzing like a live wire, at her closeness.)
But she doesn't say anything, and instead just settles on the floor beside his bed. Luther can just see the line of her shoulder, her hair falling into her face, the set of her knees.
"Allison." He levers himself up onto an elbow. He's in rumpled blankets, sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt. "Everything okay?"
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They'd used to do this, before. All those long years before. A rap of knuckles at the door and then sometimes not even asking, just coming in, for company, for late-night whispered talks. (For his whole body buzzing like a live wire, at her closeness.)
But she doesn't say anything, and instead just settles on the floor beside his bed. Luther can just see the line of her shoulder, her hair falling into her face, the set of her knees.
"Allison." He levers himself up onto an elbow. He's in rumpled blankets, sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt. "Everything okay?"