The two had talked themselves to sleep, he curled up in the over-sized armchair while she was sprawled across the couch. The television was loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to be talked over without speaking over little more than a whisper. She had a blanket wrapped tightly around her, he had none.
The large front-window displayed the snow coming down in flurries, the moon peeking out from behind fast-moving clouds every once in a while. The wind could be heard as it whipped past the house, through the trees, and on through the backyard.
She dreamt all night of silly things in bright colors, music playing softly in her mind. He didn't dream at all, though his sleep was comparatively more peaceful. She talked all night long while she slept; great, nonsensical monologues that invaded his sleep and he would catch a glimpse of her bared soul in his unconcious mind.
Early the next morning, when the weak, gray winter sun was just taking its place in the sky, he ruffled her hair with a soft "wake up." Her bleary eyes peered into his tired eyes and tangled hair and she smiled at him as he shook her ankle and pleaded with her to get up.
"Good morning to you, too," she said, her voice rough with sleep. He beamed back at her.