Morning arrives quicker than expected. The first to stir is Kyle, his eyes blinking open to unfamiliar weight pressing down on him.
It takes a moment to register Ashen's limbs are sprawled across him, an arm over his chest, a leg draped over his waist, his face buried somewhere near Kyle's shoulder. And he's out cold.
Kyle grimaces.
He shifts, trying to free himself, but Ashen is practically glued to him. With a frustrated sigh, Kyle pushes him off and slides out of bed.
Ashen rolls slightly but doesn't wake, still breathing evenly, as if completely unaware of Kyle's growing irritation.
Kyle leans over and gives his shoulder a shake.
"Get up. It's morning. Time to leave," he says flatly, voice low but firm.
Ashen doesn't stir. Not even a groan.
Kyle shakes him harder this time, patting his cheek, and even clapping his hands next to his ear. Nothing. The boy is in a coma-like sleep.
