Bian shifted in his spot, breath shallow and uneven. No matter how exhausted he felt, his body refused to give in completely. His mind kept jerking awake, over and over, terrified that the moment he let himself sleep too deeply, the farian would disappear and leave him behind like trash.
He blinked again, his eyes dry and gritty. The stars overhead were barely visible past the smoky haze of the ruined skyline. He turned his gaze sideways—and froze.
The farian had laid down at some point.
The bastard was sleeping. Actually sleeping.
Bian stared at him, heart pounding in his chest for a moment—not in fear, but in something harder to explain. The alien prince looked too unreal against the broken earth and scattered concrete, as though the rubble beneath him had been made to contrast with how perfect he was.
