She watched him sleep.

It wasn't as if she'd never done it before, but that night felt different. He was still wet and red from crying, and he looked so tired. She watched him sleep and slowly digested everything the night had given her to deal with. There was so much to think about. Too much, in fact; and Maebe's first instinct was to push it all away, and fall asleep beside him. It would be easier, that way. Let it all wash over without a single thought, and dream while pressed warm and close beside him. It would be easy.

Instead, she spent the whole night watching him.

At first, she fixated on every feature. It did not take long for her to realize she was just running away again, because she'd memorized his face long before this night, and there was nothing new to discover.

She forced herself to stop focusing on how gentle he looked when he slept, and think about the things he'd told her. The things he'd done. The things that he carried around with him, deep in his heart where there was no escape or forgetting. She'd considered amnesia as a possible alternative to pain before, until she realized that he'd fought so hard against it while this heavy burden sat against his chest the entire time. Dawson would never give up. He would never forget just to ease the pain.

She flushed with shame.

He was too good for her. Too good for anyone, but especially her. She knew this, she accepted it, and she wished that it was enough to kill the flood of emotion that ran hot through her veins at the mere mention of him. Maybe it would just take time. Or distance (not that she could even allow that, at this point.) All of this was too new to her; she had no idea how any of it worked. But she knew that he needed her, even if it wasn't the way she needed him. That was reason enough to be there, everytime.

He mattered the most.

She watched him sleep, and imagined herself in his position, killing her parents. She flushed with shame again, because she felt little to no pain at the idea, and knew it wouldn't have affected her the way it did him.

She watched him sleep, but her eyes closed anytime he stirred or threatened to awaken. She never wanted him to know that she didn't sleep until he was gone in the morning. It was her little secret, easily bearing through exhaustion to give her the chance to be in his arms, against his body, and see him at peace. She wasn't stupid enough to sleep through that.

So she watched her sleep.

She'd make up for it in the morning.