If you’re asking, I can’t say no

The sound of an incoming text stirs Eliot from uneasy sleep. He feels hungry and sick, and part of him wants to curl up and return to unconsciousness, but there’s a sense of urgency from the muddle of half-remembered stress dreams that makes him reach for his phone.

One arm reaches out from the cocoon of the duvet and fumbles at the nightstand. Eliot winces at the chill of cut crystal against his hand, and the subsequent soft thunk as the whiskey glass tumbles to the carpet.
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