A question pulsed between us. Soft. Hopeful. Hesitant. That kiss in the alley remained in my memory, a fire that wouldn’t stop burning. I wanted to talk to him about it, to ask if he wanted to kiss like that again. But other than a few gentle touches and one soft kiss good night, there’d been nothing.

Then the moment passed, because neither of us was brave enough to give the question voice. Not when everything felt weighed down with expectations and unreadiness. Instead, I said, “You’ve been speaking aloud a lot more.”

He pulled back, brow wrinkling. “Have I?”

I let out a soft breath of a laugh. A couple of decans ago, he wouldn’t have even asked that in quiet code. He’d have let his expression—or lack of one, rather—do all the communication.

“Is it funny?” He took my hand again. ::Is it wrong?::

Another laugh bubbled up, and I tapped against his palm. ::I like it. You have a nice voice.::

He ducked his face. “It’s just like any other.”

“No.” I leaned close again, until I could feel his breath against my lips. “It’s special. It’s yours.”

His mouth curled into the sweetest smile, and I couldn’t help myself anymore. I kissed him.

It was just soft. Brief. But he gasped, and then gently his arms slipped around my body, while I braced myself against the bed with one hand and let the other explore the lines of his neck and shoulder and ribs.

“Mira,” he whispered against my lips.

“Yes.”

He smiled. “You didn’t even let me ask the question.”

“Ask, then. But the answer will be yes.”

He touched my cheek. “Do you want to share tonight? Bed, I mean. Not to— Not for anything except sleeping. But I want to be close to you. If that’s all right.”

My heart squeezed up at his nervousness, his sweetness. “We’ll have to be really close. These beds are tiny.”

“If it’s too much—”

“But my answer is still yes.”

Tension flowed out of his shoulders, and then wound back up again as though reality had just caught up with him. We’d be squeezed together all night—or what there was left of the night.

I was about to offer to let him take the question back, but he reached across the space and grabbed my pillow and settled it beside his. Then, carefully, we scooted next to each other and turned onto our sides, his chest to my back. His breath came rapid against my temple as he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me tight against him.

“You’re warm,” he whispered.

“It’s about to get warmer,” I said, listening to the rustling that came from LaLa’s basket. Then her head popped out and she peered at us, eyes wide. “Get the light first, lizard.”

She chirruped and flew to the last light sigil, bumped it with her nose, and came to settle in the curve of my shoulder and neck, careful of her sharp scales against my skin.