Morning crept in through the blinds as a thin wash of silver. For once the suite was still; no phones buzzing, no low voices from the hall, just the faint tick of the old clock on the dresser. Elias had rolled onto his stomach sometime before dawn, hair falling over his eyes, one arm flung across the empty side of the bed. The sheets smelled faintly of soap and Victor and the city's early winter air.
He barely registered the soft dip of the mattress before a hand slid over his shoulder.
"Up," Victor murmured near his ear, voice low and maddeningly awake. "We're late."
Elias cracked one eye open and saw burgundy fabric and the glint of a cufflink. "No," he mumbled, dragging the pillow higher over his head. "Not today. I'm staying."
Victor's thumb traced a slow line between his shoulder blades, a habitual coaxing. "Elias…"
"I'm serious," Elias muttered into the pillow. "Go to your spreadsheets. I'm not moving."
