Somebody was poking him in the face.
Jin cracked one eye open. The sun was high and bright overhead, far too bright, and there were at least six faces hanging over him, blocking it out. Every single one of them was staring.
"He's awake," someone whispered.
"He's not awake. His eye's just open."
"That's what awake means, Taesung."
Jin groaned and threw an arm over his face. "What time is it?"
"Almost noon," said Mina. "You've been asleep up here all morning. We found you when Byung-ho came up to hang the laundry."
"I almost stepped on you," Byung-ho said from somewhere behind her, sounding a little offended.
Jin lowered his arm and pushed himself up onto his elbows. His whole body ached. His back had molded itself to the shape of the concrete roof, and his neck felt like someone had tied it in a knot. Mirim's warmth was still working quietly underneath it all, but it clearly had its limits.
