I'm awake but I refuse to open my eyes. Not yet.

I grasp at the last fragments of my dream in vain. I thought too much and lost them. I think it was a nice dream, though. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to remember anything about the dream. Maybe then I'll be able to get on the track to remembering it-or, at least, part of it.

The bed beneath me is rough, distracting me. As I drift further into consciousness, it occurs to me that this is not my bed. I open my eyes, blinking rapidly to clear away sleep and try to force my eyes to focus on my surroundings. Trying to register the view in front of me, I blink more rapidly.

"Are you okay?" His voice is rough from sleep. How long ago did he wake up? Julian Devorak is watching me.

"What?" I ask, brain struggling to keep up. "Yes? Yes. I'm fine..." I remember, then, last night. A mask, falling into a red river. Julian's raven, whose name I always forget (I briefly wonder if he pays the raven to help with his emo look), screaming about the guards. Mazelinka's crushed flowers, squirming in agony. Julian's hand, brushing mine as he went to bed. Me, trailing after him. No kisses. Not this time. He's facing away from the light and his eyes are a dull, muddy brown, still somehow captivating. I realize I'm staring. His face is flushed and I know mine is, too. "Just... trying to recall a dream. It didn't work, though."

"That's always annoying, especially if the dream is interesting," he says, closing his eyes. I imagine it's a substitute for looking away. His movements are restricted due to my head resting on his outstretched arm. Which was probably why he was watching me sleep. Thinking about him not wanting to wake me up is heartwarming. How is this guy a murderer? There's no way he killed Count Lucio. Besides, no one would want to directly hurt Nadia. She's got to be a real goddess.

"Yes. I think it was a nice dream, too." The feeling of the dream is fading, so I'm not so sure.

The conversation fades off, neither of us having anything else to say. At first, it feels awkward and I try to think of something to fill the silence settling in. Then I realize, it doesn't have to be awkward. I struggle to let the feeling go, like trying to send off a reluctant messenger bird. I close my eyes, finally managing to send the bird off. Anxiety is really annoying. I turn my head slightly, nuzzling into his shoulder, trying to dispel the anxiety I'd seen mirrored in his eyes during the silence.

I try to think of stuff people normally say to others in the morning. 'Good morning'? It's too late for that. 'How did you sleep?' sounded more logical, given the previous conversation. I don't quite feel like saying anything just yet, though, sleep still threatening to take me back. The blanket traps our warmth and I can feel that Julian's sweating. This is somewhat comforting and I feel less self-conscious about my own horrible state. It'd been cold last night but, apparently, not quite cold enough to keep us comfortably warm. Still, neither of us seemed to be in any hurry to get up.

I feel him shift in the bed, his warm breath ruffling my hair as he presses his lips to my forehead. He stays like that, breathing into my hair, for so long, I think he's fallen asleep.

It's a perfect moment and I feel myself drifting to sleep. Not despite our clothes clinging to us with sweat, or the stench of our breath from keeping our mouths closed all night (or, in his case, half open, releasing soft snoring into the room), or how using his arm as a pillow is not really all that comfortable due to the muscularity of his arms (and the fact that I have no idea what happened to the pillow as neither of us are using it) but, perhaps, because of it.

He half-sneezes in my hair but doesn't seem to wake up. I stifle laughter and snuggle closer into his chest, imagining my hair tickling his nose because he made the mistake of falling asleep during a forehead kiss. The arm wrapped over my waist tugs me closer and I imagine him being awake after all, face red with embarrassment, as sleep pulls me back under.