Avin stirred from his sleep with an unusual sensation — warmth tugging at his lips. For the first time in… longer than he cared to measure, he woke with a smile.
A faint, quiet smile, the kind that clung to the corners of his mouth as if embarrassed to be there. He stretched lazily, savoring the rare comfort of it, before sitting up on the edge of his bed.
"This guy has no adaptation skills," he muttered under his breath, grin widening. The dream lingered in his mind — Avin flailing against simple technology, baffled by elevators, panicking at toilets. It was absurd, but gods, it was hilarious.
A yawn ripped out of him. He slapped a palm over his mouth as his arms stretched wide, joints popping in protest.
"So stupid…" he chuckled to himself.
Then his foot caught something.
THNK.
He pitched forward. "Fuck!" He caught himself on the bedframe, eyes darting down.
The suitcase.
Of course.
