Namine's pencil floats lightly over her sketch pad. She sketches the sleeping blonde, Roxas, on her couch. He had waltzed into her home like he usually does, without much warning, way too early or way too late. She lets him. She never says no.

Her eyes wander to his expression. She wonders how she could let herself draw such a distressed face. Roxas turns and tussles with himself, until he's lying on his back, lips parted just enough so he could say her name. "Namine," he says, "Namine."

It made her shiver.

Namine was an ethereal dream hidden in his sleep. He whispered her name when he slept, like breezes whisper through leaves. Her name was a secret he only shared with her. It soothed her ears from the noise in the outside world. He'd roll around on her couch, he appeared uncomfortable and restless. She wonders if he actually sleeps or simply musses his blonde hair. Namine thinks often when he sleeps too, whilst she's sketching the arch of his back, the tranquility of his facial expression.

She thinks of Roxas's eyes. When he wakes up, his shining blue orbs always touched hers. A gleam of affection was there, twinkling under the dawn's rays, maybe the moon's light. His eyes tear into Namine's body, pull out every feeling from her heart and cradle them. So she looks away, because it's extremely personal and no one's eyes- lover or not- should be able to do that.

Namine stops drawing, he turns so his back is facing her. His vertebrae were pronounced and she wanted to touch them. She yearned to run the tips of her fingers across his spine and feel an electric spark, the spark. She tip toes to the coffee table and sits on it, on her artwork. She hesitates; what if he wakes up?

She takes time to think of his smile. As soon as he awakes, the corners of his lips tug and form a grin fit for angels. He has always smiled lovingly and it made her nervous. The crevasse behind her sternum would tremble and her heart would pound. Her face would flush, turn some devilish tomato red and she'd bite her lip. He'd know everything he'd need to, because she would make it so obvious.

Her slender fingers are touching his skin without any of her mind's consent. She breathes, runs her index finger over and between the gaps of his ribs. He moves and she slides her caress off of his body so softly she doubts he can feel it.

But he does.

He flips over so he can face her, eyes teeming with the same sort of affection that made her eyes redirect themselves. "Namine," he speaks, but it is unlike his sleepy whispers. He speaks like his blue eyes shine when he's awake, like he's in love. "Get closer," he says. Roxas points the open spot near his abdomen. She moves like slowly, melds into the space he opens for her.

This time, he touches her. Namine lets him because it's only fair. Roxas's fingers begin their journey just above her knee. The morning's (or night, she can't tell which is which anymore) faintness encouraged his escapade; let his fingertips wander until she yelps, until he reaches the hems of her little white dress, the one Roxas so dared dreamed of slipping off.

"Roxas…"

It was the first time Namine had said his name in forever. It rolled off her tongue so easily, it scared her. She knew what happened, what occurrences would occur if she stayed in this position for too long. If she continued to let him touch her body, she knew how tender his touch would be on her bare back. If she let him look at her, smile at her the way he does know, she knew how fast her heart would race. She knew she'd listen to his heartbeat too, listen to the rhythmic thumps like a beat of a drum.

Roxas lifts himself, plants a kiss on her shoulder, "I'm just in love with you. That's all." He caresses the very spot he kissed with his thumb, rubbing his love into her skin. When he leaves Namine alone with her with her artwork- she knows, her gut feeling trumps all- she'll touch that spot and think of him. She'll want him to whisper he name in his sleep, to see her in his dreams. She'll be yearning for his early morning and late night intrusions, his curled up figure lying on her couch.