His bare feet hit the floor.
Cold. Not ice cold. Just 'get socks or suffer' cold.
The apartment was quiet. Not eerily silent, just the kind that came with early mornings and the smell of cheap cereal.
He padded toward the kitchen, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Nathan was already there, leaning half-asleep against the counter with a mug of something that might've been coffee, tea, or whatever they'd found at the bottom of the pantry last night. He looked up.
"You're awake."
"Clearly."
Nathan blinked slowly. "You sleep like a corpse."
'Technically not wrong.'
"I get that a lot," Merlin muttered, grabbing a chipped bowl from the stack beside the sink.
Nathan squinted at him. "You good?"
Merlin shrugged. "Define 'good.'"
"You're walking. Talking. Not twitching or coughing blood. That's already way above your usual standard."
"Then I'm great."
Nathan grunted and took another sip of his whatever-it-was. "What time's the thing?"
