Page 113 of The Mourning Throne
Lex burned his tongue on the first sip.
Chamomile.
Not his favorite.
This wasn't working. Bitter, bland leaf water wasn't doing it for him.
Shower.
A shower would fix this. Showers fixedeverything.
Lex left the mug on the end table, crackedopen the bathroom door.
Stopped.
The last time he’d showeredwithoutMorgan had been… fuck, how long had it been? Two months? Four? He couldn’t remember.
But Morgan—reliable, trusty,schedule-drivenMorgan—was on the bed with the laptop again. Tapping away.
It wasn’t worth interrupting him.
Morgan would be awake when he got out.
Did the shower help?
Eh. Kinda.
Like—thirty percent helped.
He thought Morgan would be waiting. Sitting up in bed. Laptop still open. Fingers still typing away.
But Morgan wasn’t waiting.
He was curled up. One side of the bed still empty. Blankets tangled around his waist, one hand hanging off the edge.
He was asleep.
Asleep.
How do you fucking look at a person like that and go tobed?
Lex stood there. Dripping. Towel low on his hips. Bare feet silent on the carpet.
He watched the slow rise and fall of Morgan’s chest. Watched the way his eyes moved behind his lids.
Nothing.
“Seriously?” Lex whispered.
Lex crept closer. Lowered himself onto the bed like the weight of him might wake the whole fucking world.
He reached for Morgan—one hand hovering above his shoulder.
No response.
Another inch closer.
Still nothing.
