Amelia Clarke felt a tickling sensation in her belly as she drifted in and out of sleep, half-dreaming that she was scratching it herself. The sensation felt surreal until she noticed a hand gently rubbing her stomach, cool to the touch and slightly rough.
The itch on her belly gradually faded, but the sensation of the hand rubbing became clearer and felt more real.
As her consciousness returned, she opened her bleary eyes. Only a wall lamp was on in the room, casting a warm, dim light. Owen Moreland sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed and his brow slightly furrowed, exuding patience and a hint of heartache.
His hair wasn't as neatly styled as it was during the day; the soft, loose strands fell over his forehead, adding a touch of sunniness to his otherwise stern and serious features.
Amelia just quietly watched him, filled with deep emotion and touch.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, Owen glanced at her, his voice deep yet soft, "Does it still itch?"
