Thomas's breathing changed first, before he stirred or started to rub at his eyes. Krem considered stopping his gentle rearrangement of Thomas's unruly, sleep tousled hair. By then, Thomas was already rubbing at his eyes, making protesting sleepy noises that dragged a breathy chuckle out of Krem.

He burrowed into the blankets, into Thomas's warmth, despite the ache in his body. He snuck an arm under Thomas's chest and cast the other one over his back, holding him close. Even though he'd stayed over before, they had always been planned occasions, and there was something so tender, so wholesome about the spontaneity of this. Something honest about it.

"Sorry," he whispered, like he could lull Thomas back to sleep rather than rouse him further with his voice. "I didn't mean to wake you up."