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John eased the blanket up to Sera's shoulders, tucking the edge just under the fall of her hair. The lamplight was low, it felt gentle as honey, and the window breathed a square of moon light onto the floorboards. The Bent Penny creaked its old, fond creaks —the kind that said you're safe for tonight— and the world downstairs was a wash of muffled laughter, the soft clink of cups, the occasional cat remark from the shed roof outside.
When John tried to stand up. Sera's hand found the back of his neck. She grabbed his neck with both hands. Hugging him like a little sloth hugging an older one.
Warmth, sure and careful. A soft press of her palm where his hair met skin, the place where nerves live close to the surface. His breath hitched. She was very bold and John felt awkward.
