The hush of the morning settled over the room like a soft blanket. Yu had finished tidying and was now seated at the vanity, brushing out his damp hair with slow, deliberate strokes. His ruined nightgown had been traded for a pale blue blouse tucked neatly into a long skirt; the composure in his reflection was at odds with the storm of thoughts still tucked behind his eyes.
Behind him, the bedsheets rustled. A low, rough sound escaped Callen's throat as he shifted—and immediately froze. His brow furrowed, lips parting on a hissed breath as a sharp ache seized his lower back and thighs.
"Ah—damn…"
He muttered hoarsely, sinking back into the pillows. Even the shallow rise and fall of his chest made the muscles along his ribs protest. He tried again to push himself upright, only to wince and let himself fall back against the mattress, limbs heavy as lead.
Yu turned at the sound, the brush pausing mid-stroke.
"You're awake…"
He said quietly, rising from the stool.
