She had settled herself at the foot of the bed, and so she can hear him rustling the sheets before she can see him move. He kept things very dark in his room, even in the daytime; at night, she has really no chance to react until the moment before he touches her. Not that she would move away, but as he pulls her toward him, she obliges, settling herself against him. She notices her heart racing when she hears his moving much more slowly. It wasn't that she was nervous or anything, but maybe the dream had stressed her out more than she'd like to say. There was definitely something different about it – how she wasn't really herself but it definitely wasn't anyone else.
Hearing his voice, she leans her head back against his shoulder, closing her eyes. She can barely see anything anyway, although she wouldn't complain to him about it. “Depends,” she begins softly, sleep still in her voice, “What was I doing?”