Sabrina says Nick or Charlie or you so smoothly that Rosie doesn’t quite catch it—at least at first. Again, she thinks back to time spent wrapped around one another in Sabrina’s bed (or beds, if she chose to count those few hours of peace in the middle of June’s terror); of Nick gently but idly suggesting other combinations, if we find that works. It’s enough to deepen her blush, to set a different twist of something going in the base of her stomach, and Rosie nearly asks about it, the question coming half-formed and uncertain to her lips.

But then Sabrina keeps talking, and any question she might have asked gets pushed aside. “Oh, goodness, of course,” she murmurs, feeling her face grow all the hotter at the implication. “I wouldn’t ever...of course we’ll use protection, whenever it’s...when it’s the time for that.” It’s something she’d already been thinking of herself, if distantly—for all that she wants it, she wants more for it to be right, when it happens—but Rosie can’t help growing a little flustered regardless.

She watches Sabrina fuss with her hair, echoing her soft and faintly rueful laughter. “It’s alright,” she reassures her, smiling despite the deepening red of her face. “Not having a plan, I mean. We’ll just...I suppose we’ll work it all out bit by bit, when we need to. Talking, letting each other know what we need.”

Rosie goes silent for a moment, turning another question over in her mind. “How...how do you want to talk about this, about the both of us being with Nick? It’s...I’ve asked you to be discreet when you’re talking about Charlie so I can still manage to look him in the face, but if we’re both with Nick...” She trails off, catching her lip in her teeth for a moment, her shoulders lifting in a helpless little shrug. “Maybe it’s not so different, really.”