Ah, Sundays.

I had spent the previous day at the office, we both had - but today, today we didn't have anywhere to be. We had absolutely no intention of leaving the apartment at all until tomorrow morning, when duty would call upon us once again. But right now, that seemed like ages away.

The back of my hand brushed against his thigh, the hair tickling my wrist. Josh was warm and asleep; I could hear his laboured breathing next to me, slow and regular. Comforting, I always thought.

I considered getting up and fetching the papers that piled up everyday at the stoop of Josh's door, but the cotton of the sheets was too warm, the breeze from the window too fresh, the shadows on the ceiling too bright, the bedroom around us too silent. My foot dangled hesitantly to the hardwood floor, then retreated back into the folds of linen.

Later.

Later would be good.