When she hears her name in his low voice, said so soft and reverent, she thinks she must have imagined it. This lasts for only a moment before she registers the thrum of their open bond under her skin.

Her eyes flutter open and she turns her head to look at him, feeling her cheeks flush when she's suddenly confronted by the long line of him at her side, in her bed. His chest is bare and winter pale, aside from the dark moles that dot his skin, like someone flicked a paintbrush across canvas.

It isn't the first time she's seen him without a shirt but it's the first time she decided to actually look, letting her eyes sweep along his torso before landing on his face. His dark hair spills across his forehead and she nearly pulls the blankets up over herself, but the urge quickly fades.

He's seen the deepest, darkest parts of her mind. He's seen the very worst of her, so he can see this too.

"Ben," she finally says, feeling the corners of her mouth lift into a shy smile. "You can't sleep either?"