Ashen doesn't wake for a long while, long enough that Kyle almost reaches out to wake him.
His fingers twitch with the urge, hovering, pausing just inches away from brushing against Ashen's arm.
But something in him says to hold on. So he does. He lets the quiet stretch, letting time do what it wants as long as Ashen stays like that, peaceful, close, and real.
Instead, he leans back in the chair and opens his phone.
He scrolls back to the photos he took of Ashen just moments ago, the peaceful way his head rests on his arms, the slight parting of his lips, how his lashes fall dark over his cheeks, softened in sleep.
It should be illegal to look that soft and still be the same person who sassed him just hours ago.
Without fully thinking about it, Kyle presses down on the image, sets it as his wallpaper.
