The morning came in through the wrong window again, which Elizabeth had stopped minding somewhere around the second day.
Rex was awake before her, which she discovered when she turned over and found him already looking at the ceiling with the particular stillness of someone who had been awake for a while and had been letting her sleep.
She looked at him for a moment without saying anything, and he looked back at her, and the morning was quiet and unhurried and nothing needed to be said about that.
"You could have woken me," she said.
"You needed the sleep," he said.
"That's not your decision."
"You were still asleep at seven-thirty," he said. "You're never still asleep at seven-thirty."
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. "The bed is more comfortable than mine," she said, which was not the complete explanation and they both knew it.
