For a moment Will contemplated asking if Molly wanted a shower before they got under the covers, unsure if the idea of their sweaty, sticky bodies in her sheets would bother her. He thought about his own bed, the idea of Molly in his sheets, the scent of her left behind, and he changed his mind; they had so much in common, it would shock him to learn she didn't think of that the same way he did.

"I'll stay," he said, as if there had ever been a chance he wouldn't. When he moved away from her to tug the bedclothes down on his side of the bed, he did it carefully, not wanting her to think he was sending mixed signals. As he did so, she sat, and they maneuvered themselves until they were under the blankets. Will stayed close to the middle of the mattress, opening his arm for Molly to lay against him, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close once she did, tucking the covers up around her.

It was nice, warm and comfortable, and Will felt sated and content. Their breathing had slowed and had synchronized, their chests rising and pressing with each inhalation, their heartbeats running in time. "Goodnight, Molly," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the smell of her, committing every detail to memory.