Then he realized he was dreaming, and it was like a slap in the face, that cold rush of fear that he really had dreamed it all. He woke with a start, reaching out, certain he’d touch empty space. Then he felt her there, naked and nestled against him, and he lowered his head to the crook of her neck and inhaled, his arms tightening around her before he drifted off again.

When it happened again—the memories and then the fear—Gabriel woke a little more forcefully, a little more afraid, and he tightened his grip too much. Olivia half woke, enough to kiss him and touch him, her fingers running over his chest. They made love again, both still drowsy with sleep, not a word exchanged, as if this too was part of the dream.

After Olivia fell back to sleep, Gabriel lay there, reflecting on his own choice of words. Making love. He’d never thought of sex that way. It wasn’t deliberate avoidance of the term—it just seemed to him that “making love” was a euphemism not unlike “passed away.” A term used when one wanted to avoid acknowledging a biological fact of life by adorning it with a fancy bow. It was simply filling a biological need that was little different from eating or sleeping, but you didn’t call it sex or, worse, fucking, but “making love,” despite the fact that love was rarely involved. In his experience, the act required no emotion at all. It was pleasurable enough, but not unlike the need for food and sleep, something that had to be gotten out of the way lest it interfere with the forward motion of life.

With Olivia, he finally understood why they called it lovemaking, and he used the term automatically. It was the correct one. That was all.

When he slid back into sleep, he found what really did seem like an actual dream. He was kissing Olivia, and despite the darkness, he knew it must be her because he felt all the things he felt when he kissed her. It was a lovely kiss, sweet and deep, and yet while sparks of it reminded him of Olivia, it did not feel exactly the same. That was what made him think he might be having one of those anxiety dreams she’d mentioned.

But even when he mentally hesitated, his body kept kissing her as fervently as it had before, responding as quickly as it had before, that animal part of his brain urging haste before the logical part pushed it back, wanting to enjoy the lead-up. Except here, too, it was different. It felt as if he was struggling to squelch that physical arousal, needing to squelch it rather than enjoy the build.