I woke up sometime after the sun reached the middle of the bed.
Chenghai was still behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist and his hand spread across my stomach beneath my nightshirt. Zhenlan slept in front of me with his face near my hair, while Yuche lay on his back a little farther away.
Lingyun had somehow ended up across Yuche again.
His injured side remained surrounded by pillows, but one leg was thrown over Yuche's thighs and his head had slipped onto Yuche's shoulder. The man could turn any sleeping arrangement into a problem.
I stayed where I was and listened to the room.
No one was screaming from the garage. No roots were moving beneath the house, and my scar felt like old damaged skin instead of a wire tied to something under the city.
My legs still hurt.
That was Chenghai's fault.
