Dean had no intention of leaving the bed.
The decision came sometime between waking, stretching one leg beneath the sheets, and immediately regretting the attempt.
He remained on his stomach instead, one arm folded beneath the pillow and his face turned toward Arion's side of the bed. Pale-blond hair had spread across the dark pillowcase and over one cheek, while the blanket rested low across his hips, keeping the warmth trapped around him.
Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains in long golden bands, catching against the carved furniture and the half-packed boxes still lined along one wall.
Across the room, Arion was already dressed.
Dean found that offensive.
