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“I can’t seem to keep my hands or mouth to myself where you’re concerned, Sam. And you’re injured. You need rest. I apologize for my earlier less-than-noble intentions.”
Sam’s pout was touching as Magdalene chuckled and moved around the room to tidy up various odds and ends and prepare her own clothes for tomorrow. Considering what was left of her possessions, she’d need a trip to the mainland posthaste. How was a woman supposed to live in a single pair of Louboutins?
When she finally turned back, Sam’s pout had grown rather comical. Magdalene kissed her on the nose, thoroughly charmed by her ridiculousness, and proceeded to the bathroom to remove what little makeup she was wearing.
Examining her face in the mirror as she cleaned it and applied moisturizer, her fingers running under her eyes, to the beginnings of crow’s feet and then up and down her neck, she cataloged the recent changes time had inflicted there. Candace had always said the neck was the first place to show signs of aging. Would Sam notice? Would Sam care?
Hair pulled back, in Sam’s gray hoodie and a pair of boxer shorts, Magdalene emerged from the bathroom and decided she was being absurd. Sam wouldn’t notice and Sam wouldn’t care. Neither about her wrinkles, nor her neck, or really anything, if her current reaction was to go by.
Pout completely abandoned, Sam gaped. Magdalene’s knees went a little weak and she choked up on her own vulnerability and on being so in love. It was ridiculous just how deeply in love.
“These are comfortable to sleep in, Sam. Stop staring, it’s not polite.”
She softened her rebuke by climbing into bed beside Sam and spooning her closely. She felt more than heard Sam grumble.
“This is just wrong. I’m the big spoon.”
“Sure, darling. But right now you’re the injured spoon.” Magdalene snuggled closer and snaked her hand along Sam’s abdomen. Sam threaded their fingers together, touching the band-aids covering Magdalene’s digits and wrist. She held her breath as Sam raised the injured hand to her mouth and placed gentle kisses on each wound.
“You’re injured too.”
Magdalene inhaled sharply to keep the tears at bay.
“Nonsense. Sir Willoughby is far worse than I am, and he’s already back to full speed.” She snuggled closer and felt a shiver run down her lover’s spine.
“His full speed isn’t exactly an indicator. He’s not all that quick.”
“How dare you?” Amused but very much in character, Magdalene leaned closer and bit Sam’s earlobe none too gently. The shivers intensified.
Excellent.
“He already got into a fight with some tom who dared come up from town to inspect all the kerfuffle. Our boy staunchly defended his territory. And here you are bad-mouthing him.”
Sam laughed, and they laid in silence for a longer moment until suddenly, Magdalene felt a tug on her top’s gray, ragged sleeve.
“I remember this…”
Magdalene scoffed and made a half-hearted attempt to pull her arm away, but Sam held on, impeding her retreat.
“I have no idea what you could possibly mean.” Magdalene tried for feigned indifference.
“You thief, this is my hoodie. I thought I lost it in Connecticut or something. And you stole it!” Since Sam was still gently holding her hand, it was clear that the outrage in her tone was exaggerated.
“I didn’t steal it. I chose to take it. Call it appropriate distribution of resources. You don’t treat your clothes well, anyway. Before it all burned down, half your things couldn’t even be called clothing anymore, maybe a ragged collection of threads.”
Sam’s shoulder shook as she obviously tried not to laugh, playing the injured party.
“Ah, so you were saving my hoodie from myself?”
And now it was Magdalene who lost her fight with the giggles that had been trying to surface ever since Sam had mentioned the sweatshirt, and she let out a delighted peel of laughter. Sam joined in, holding her snugly.
“Speaking of saving. How do you even have it? We lost almost everything in the fire. I barely got my wallet and laptop out as we evacuated the dorms.”
Magdalene sighed, warmth and contentment spreading across her limbs, and placed her cheek on Sam’s back, smelling detergent, remnants of smoke—which were all over the place these days—and just Sam, that scent that she’d recognize everywhere.
“It was Willoughby. As we were running around the dormitories, checking that all faculty were implementing the evacuation plan, he must’ve dragged this out of my apartment and was quite comfortably laying on it in the middle of the quad, waiting for me to finish. You know how he detests sleeping on hard surfaces.”
She lifted herself on one elbow and saw Sam smile at her story. When her face relaxed in amusement, her tired eyes began to droop, slumber overtaking her. Magdalene sighed again as Sam unsuccessfully tried to mask a yawn. She laid her head down against Sam’s back, feeling her breathe, safe and steady.
