On the Quilt

My joints clicked faintly as I stirred. The quilted white fabric beneath me felt soft yet firm, textured with neat stitched ridges. Beside me lay two silent figures, perfectly still. I propped myself up slightly on an elbow, testing the strength in my arm. Reaching out, my fingertips brushed against the dark shoulder of the motionless black and red figure resting alongside me. Nothing moved. A quiet warmth sparked through my circuits, clear and steady. I pulled my hand back, rested flat against the quilt, and breathed in the quiet room.