“What do you think—” I started, turning to Shea. He was asleep. Not just dozing, full-on knocked out. His cheek was pillowed against my shoulder, his mouth open, his exhales tickling my neck above the collar of my T-shirt. He’d passed out with his pen in hand, our notebook open on his lap.
🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
