Yours, right?

She can't sleep.

He's on his side in the bed next to her, curled up and crowding. She runs her hand down the curve of his hip and thigh, presses her lips against his hipbone as an afterthought.

She lays against his back, warm, smooth. He stirs as her lips brush close to his ear, "I'm your best friend, right?"

No answer. But she knew he was asleep. She sighs and rolls over to lie back-to-back. He shifts in his sleep, rolls over to put his arms around her middle. Her eyes close but she fidgets too much for him to hold on to for long.