Sharp Edges
Kawcrow

It's eleven o'clock and on the TV a rerun of "Cheers" has started. Against Tara's shoulder, Dawn mumbles and her eyelids flutter before her breathing settles back into a steady rhythm. Tara shifts her back, slightly; her arm aches from the solid weight of fifteen-year-old girl. As tall as Dawn is, she can't be comfortable scrunched up the couch like this. She'd wanted to wait up for Buffy, but surely it's time for bed.

Tara doesn't have a bed yet, where she lives. Her dorm bed had belonged to UC Sunnydale, and the Summers house already had furniture. She's got a futon, though, and she pads that with pillows to soften the sharp edges of springs and silence.

She wraps a careful, quiet arm around Dawn's shoulder. Dawn mumbles again and leans deeper into Tara, her hair falling across her face. Tara reaches to brush it back and stops.

Later. They'll sort everything out later.

Dawn. Lonely. Bed.