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Josie can’t sleep. It’s not that it’s cold. It’s warm actually, which is why they both have their sleeping bags unzipped, why it is so easy for Anya to throw an arm over Josie’s waist, not pulling her closer, just resting there. Josie doesn’t know if Anya’s asleep. If it’s intentional. It feels nice, which makes her feel guilty. What if Anya is asleep and it’s an accident; is Josie taking advantage of her? Should she move away? She doesn’t want to. The weight of Anya’s arm is grounding; having her so near, having proof of her existence, makes Josie feel something approaching safe. Anya shifts behind her, and Josie stops breathing, holding perfectly still. The arm around her waist tightens and she is pulled back against Anya’s chest. She can’t help but relax against the warm solid body behind her. The strength of the arm, now wrapped more tightly around her, is comforting. She wants to turn her head, to see if Anya is awake, to know if she can let herself enjoy this, but she doesn’t dare, doesn’t want to lose the feeling. Josie is caught between calm and anxiety, her body comfortable and secure and her mind whirling. Anya shifts closer to her, her breath tickles the back of Josie’s neck. She jumps when she feels lips brushing her shoulder.
“Come on, go to sleep.” Anya urges, her voice rough, the words spoken so close to Josie’s body that she feels them more than hears them. She lets herself relax into Anya’s hold, nestles into the curve of her strong body, brings her own arm up to drape over the one around her waist, sighs when Anya tangles their fingers together. She is warm, maybe too warm, but now it just lulls her and she finds herself slipping back to into sleep, knowing she is protected, the closest she can get to safe, here where nothing is safe and the only certain thing is uncertainty.