as she lay on the floor, fingers slowly entwining and untwining, it suddenly became altogether too much. "it's six a.m.," she said. "we need to go to bed."
they slowly stood and walked, half-asleep, into the other room. as soon as they were both under covers, she could have sworn she'd never been more awake. sleep...come on, sleep!...
...is she awake, too? four eyes open, seeing more than it seemed like the darkness should allow. but who had been caught looking at whom?
each breath was heavy, and yet each somehow managed to hang suspended in the air between them. it was the kind of tension you could cut with a knife if you had a penchant for cliches.
the only thing to do was to break it, or there would be no rest for either of them, and there was only one way to do it--
--and she kissed her--
--and in some parallel universe, unbearably far away, their hands were suddenly again all that mattered, all there was, no longer searching each other but now exploring the sweet velvet heat of something which was not love but which might have been easily mistaken for it.
the next afternoon in both universes, they woke up next to each other and spurned the advances of an overeager sun. the same question weighed heavy on all of them: what happens next?
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