Ein woke up in the guest bedroom, disoriented for a moment. As the red of his dreams retreated, his eyes set on the abstract oil painting of a cyan sea on the wall.
Sunlight streamed through the gaps between blinds, casting warm streaks across the room. Ein rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock that was funnily shaped. Artistic or weird, he couldn't decide.
There was some sort of art piece in every corner—a small sculpture on top of a drawer, a painting on the wall, a quirky rug. Adriel's home might as well have been his own personal art gallery.
Ein slumped up and made the bed. His limbs were stiff from the poor sleep, but not as stiff after sleeping in the cold storage unit.
As he stepped out of the room, he heard Adriel's voice, light and casual, floating from the living room.
Ein paused by the doorframe, just out of sight, listening for a moment. The tone was pleasant, but there was something off.
