Kyle dragged himself to his bedroom after covering Aiysha with the blanket on the couch. The day's emotional weight pressed down on him like a lead blanket, and though his stomach growled for dinner, his body rebelled. He hadn't even bothered to heat up leftovers or grab a snack—just stripped down to his boxers, flicked off the main light, and collapsed onto the mattress. Exhaustion hit hard, pulling him under before he could even process the bizarre ice cream they'd shared or the way Aiysha's laughter had lit up the room for a fleeting moment. His eyelids drooped, muscles went slack, and sleep claimed him fully, snoring rumbling from his chest like a distant engine.
Ella's key to the apartment meant no frantic doorbell rings would jolt him awake if she dropped by. She knew the layout, trusted the space, and wouldn't bat an eye at Aiysha crashed out on the couch. Hell, Ella herself would appreciate she didn't find her on his bed.
