it was a quarter past two in the morning and she knocked on the cold, hand-painted door three times.
she often went for a 5-mile run in the never-silent urban night; interrupting the halogen darkness, ambulance calls were foremost, then police sirens, then the dual blast of fire alarms.
he answered the door almost immediately. inside, turning the door knob, he was as asleep as she was iced in sweat. their eyes met and a each exchanged a sweet quarter smile. she placed her fingertips on the small of his back and guided him back to the bedroom, toward the bed.
she watched him, rough and childlike, throw the duvet covers aside, climb in with his knees, rip the blankets back over his small body. he was asleep, again.