Rowan awoke with a start in his own bed, lungs sucking in a great breath of air as if he were newly born. Or perhaps, newly re-born.
The sun from his open patio door shone on the foot of his bed, warming his legs where they lay on the top of his blankets. Birdsong floated to his ears, carried to him by the slight breeze that tickled his skin.
It felt good to be back in his real body, in his garden, with the sun and the song and the breeze to welcome him. The only thing that was missing was Wren's arms and legs wrapped all around him, hogging the blankets but keeping him warm in even better ways.
Wren's fingers curled loosely around his where Rowan's arm stretched across his mattress, but he wasn't in the bed where he should have been.
Leaving that hand as it was because any connection of their skin was better than nothing, Rowan rolled to his side to face the man who'd apparently fallen asleep as he knelt on the floor at his bedside.
