By some blessing from a god that he surely doesn’t deserve, when he opens the door to his apartment she’s still there. She’s awake and dressed in the shirt he had unceremoniously taken off her moments after she’d put it on. She’s still on his bed, but she’s tucked into a fort of pillows against the window, a book propped against her knees. Her skin seems to soak up every ounce of sun that dares to touch her, taking on that same golden hue that had nearly stopped his heart this morning. She takes a sip of her coffee as he crosses the apartment. 