He hears it all right -- the doze is only light -- and at once he opens his eyes and gives the attic room a wary glance. Everything in front of him is where it should be, as it was last night and the nights before. It takes hearing his name again for him to realise he didn't dream it.

Um. Huh.

John is a wooly hot water bottle in the bed beside him. Charlie breathes quietly, watching, not wanting to wake him. It's a rare privilege to get to see him asleep.

The way his name was said has made his eyebrows ride a little high. A secret, freakish part of him is waiting for John to say it again -- only to ascertain whether Charlie misread the tone the first two times, of course.