The morning light filtered through the rafters.
Adrien woke up to absolute agony. His entire left leg was completely numb, the circulation cut off for the last six hours, but he refused to move an inch. Adéolá was still dead to the world.
He looked down at her face, her features incredibly soft in the early sun. A literal masterpiece.
Grrrrrrrrr.
A loud stomach growl shattered the silence.
Adéolá's eyes blinked open slowly.
She looked up at him without moving an inch.
"Will the Americans not feed their guests? Is starvation part of the culture here?" She asked sleepily.
"You've been sitting on my internal organs since midnight," Adrien rasped, his voice deep and completely ruined by sleep. "Get off me before my foot permanently detaches from my body."
She sniffed, gracefully sliding off his lap like a cat. The second her weight left his legs, a wave of painful pins and needles shot through his thigh. Adrien groaned, rubbing his face.
