(Sean's POV)
Jack won't go into his own bed.
I don't push it. We end up on top of the covers, still in the clothes from the warehouse. His sneakers are still on. Neither of us thought to take them off.
He's curled into my side. Forehead pressed hard into my shoulder. One small fist gripping the front of my shirt, knuckles white, like letting go might undo something.
His breath comes fast at first. Ragged little pulls of air that catch at the top. I feel each one against my collarbone.
Then it slows.
I feel the exact second he goes under. The fist loosens by degrees — one finger, then another — until his whole hand goes soft against my chest. His weight shifts. Settles deeper into the mattress. Deeper into me.
I don't move.
My arm went numb an hour ago, pinned under him at an angle
