[charlie]

For a very short time, Sabrina considers avoiding Charlie.

He's going to read her unhappiness as easily as ever, and then she's going to have to talk about it, this thing that she feels like she's only a breath away from ruining. Only it would hurt them both to do it, and he'd figure that much out too.

It still seems like some kind of betrayal, to carry these feelings, to consider pouring out her griefs about others to Charlie. Some part of her insists she doesn't deserve the comfort, that part that always belongs to the Night, that part that whispers just like him that she ought to let what hurts her keep giving pain and to grow strong off of it.

Sabrina hates how much she can't tell who the idea really belongs to.

She waits until dark, and then she sneaks in through Charlie's window even if she doesn't have to, kicking off her shoes and crawling into his bed.