small feet are cold against the tile, one hand grasping a stuffed dinosaur and the other grips the sheets to pull himself onto the bed. she's barely awake and groans in frustration. he tries his best to be quiet and curl up next to her, yearning for some sort of comfort. he mumbles to her about having a bad dream and she mumbles back about wanting to be asleep. he whines when she rolls over and eventually she gives in, turning back and gently pulling him closer to her. he settles, staring up at the ceiling fan and making out its motions in the dark while he listens to the soft beating of her heart. he begins to fall asleep and she begins to wake, running thin fingers through his hair which is still soft and feathery, showing her that despite what one has been through he is still a kid. it is these quiet moments in between the days, she doesn't put up a front nor does she mock him or teaseā€”it is these moments; where everything is still - listening to the gentle sound of his breathing, that she cherishes and sometimes wonders if this is what it's always supposed to be like.