4:30AM on a Tuesday

He saw her by the fading light of the old refrigerator, standing against the door frame, light t-shirt clinging her to moist skin.  She was watching him, the quietest thing in the room, bare feet soaking up the cold from the tile floor.

"You're up," he said, voice croaking, but left the door open.  He needed the cool air.

"I heard you leave," she said. "Are you hungry?"

He smiled, swung the fridge open more to get a better look at his options.  Nothing seemed right.  Milk, beer, yoghurt.

"I...