he just stands there dejectedly, pillow clutched to his chest. she pulls the covers back and scoots over. come here, is all she says, patting the mattress. he does.

It is, he later thinks, the roll of her hips and the line of her back, something Sam knew so well. Her hair is loose gold curls that brush past her shoulders and he is suddenly struck with the memory of that hair tangled in his fingers and it hurts.