He answers her knock with half-lidded eyes and a sleep thickened, "Kate."
Looks like that writing deadline has run him past ragged. He blinks slowly and, with great effort, meets her small smile.
"Come on, Castle."
His unhemmed jeans slap the hardwood as she navigates him to the couch. He offers no resistance when, with an encouraging palm, he's lowered to the cushions. His head meets the armrest and his eyelids close.
Her weary writer.
The possessive thought strikes like a well-placed elbow to the gut. Surprise, then warm and heady pleasure.
Hers.
And someday soon, she'll tell him.
.