18. Snooze

The street below is silent, only briefly disturbed by the hum of a distant engine and then lulled back into a safe and comfortable kind of quiet.

Trees that line the footpaths shudder in the cold night air. Apartments sit in a chic architectural huddle, lumped together as though they’re bracing against frosty southern winds, look like a huge colony of penguins on the corner of an ordinary street.
Inside the rookery is a small bedroom where two tangled people peacefully snooze. The one northern-facing window in the room is dripping with condensation. The sleepers, under their mountain of blankets with feet wrapped in socks, have resumed their routine positions for a winter’s night.
It starts with a current running through his arms.
There’s a soft twitch that grows into short spasms. The pulse is a sign that he’s drifting off, one that softly shifts and jolts as he wraps himself around her. She likes to think he’s getting the last of his energy out for the day with every flicker and jerk. His breathing slows into a rhythmic and calm melody. She begins her descent when his breath hits a certain metre and the twitches eventually cease. Her drift comes in softer, occasionally met with the odd jolt of an unexpected fall. But he never stirs, unconsciousness always prevails over him.
They take turns holding each other, burrowing into the back of one another during cold nights and turning away from each other during warm ones.
In this little space, they have learned each other’s quirks and secret behaviours. She has his soft twitches and occasional jolts that mean a good day, versus the flapping feet and restless stirring that come from a challenging one. He knows her many faces and can spot the first signs of anguish before she can herself. There is no doubt that the right person is anyone else but the one who is next to them.
In the clutter of apartments, the two sleepers do the same thing they do every night, blissfully missing the stark and peaceful darkness of a winter’s night.