The morning sun poured through the mildly thick curtain that failed to keep its brilliance at bay, basking the room in a warm, golden radiance that painted the space in soft hues of life. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams of light, swirling in the quiet atmosphere as though they too were reluctant to wake.
Within the modestly furnished room, a boy no older than eighteen lay sprawled upon the bed, his chest rising and falling gently with the steady rhythm of sleep.
His breathing was so calm and controlled that it seemed as though even the act of slumber had been practiced and perfected, as if he treated rest like an art rather than a necessity.
Asher's eyelids fluttered open at last, the invading sunlight striking his face until his lashes twitched and parted. With a long, drawn-out yawn that echoed faintly in the stillness, he stretched his arms above his head, joints popping softly from the movement.
