It amazed me how Frankie could always have so much fun, I mean the smallest things and she had a blast. I watched as she ran playfully away from the bed, as she botched a pillow fluff and whacked me in the face. Ordinarily I would be furious, but this was different, she was different!...in a good way.

I stood up and ran across the room after her, pillow in hand. I tossed it at her, as she dodged it quickly. I scooped her up off he feet and playfully ran back towards the bed with her in my arms. Her hands partially blocking my view while she laughed. As I tossed her down on the bed, my laughing turned to pain as I stubbed my toe on the frame of the bed. I quickly fell half on the bed, half off while yelling out the pain.

"UGH FUCK!, DAMMIT WITH THIS FUCKING BED FRAME...WHERE IS FREDDIE'S MAGICAL POWDER!?".

Frankie was bursting out laughing. My pain subsided a little as I laid next to her staring at the ceiling. "Fuck that hurt!...UGH!" I then began to laugh at myself, as me and Frankie were now lying together. There was silence for a few moments.   

As their laughter subsided, Frankie stared at the ceiling in awkward silence. She was sore, full, and exhausted. And yet having him so near gave her an electric kind of rush that made her feel as though she might never sleep again. Sliding from the bed, she retrieved both pillows with a light blush and silently handed one to James, sliding the other between them like a safety net... their own Berlin Wall of down and fluff. Reaching across the bed, she flipped the small bedside lamp off with a small click and a soft sigh. Sliding under the sheets with her back to the pillow, she curled up and willed herself to get some sleep. 

Hugging the edge of the bed Frankie tried to make herself as small as she could in a pathetic attempt to put as much distance between them as she possibly could. She hoped it would make it easier to share a bed with him, but it didn't. The bed was warm, where she was used to empty space. She could smell the faint hint of his cologne. And as he shifted to his side, the soft rhythm of his breath stirred her curls against her neck; an agonizing reminder of the paper-thin space between them. For a long while, she laid there silently praying that sleep would steal away the pressing patter of her frantic pulse. But as the night wore on and her prayers went unanswered, her mind wandered and wondered against her consent. 

Was he awake too, pretending just like she was for the sake of pretense? Did he feel her warmth and sense the light scent of her curls straying onto his pillow? Was being this close as torturous for him as it felt to her? Did he feel the same unshakable pull to whisper her name... just to see if she replied? Was it all in her head? She laid there ruminating at the closet door for what must have been an hour before she finally gave in with a heavy sigh. Pulling her curls over her shoulder, she took a deep breath and rolled over as quietly and as lightly as she could, holding her robe tightly closed. It would eat her alive if she never knew. And if she was deluded, at least she could finally get some much needed rest.