“Ouch,” Ryan says, the moment Alex opens the front door.
Alex has clearly only just tumbled out of bed. He’s wearing jeans with the fly down, and his shirt hasn’t been buttoned. His hair is even messier than usual, he’s barefoot, and there’s a crease mark on his left shoulder from where he must have been tangled in bedding.
But it’s the fresh shadow combing the edge of his left cheekbone, almost done with the transition from red to berry-purple, that draws Ryan’s comment.
“Bad night?” Ryan asks.
Alex shrugs, yawns widely, and shakes his head.
“It’s half ten,” he mutters.
“Sure,” Ryan says, “but Nan says she has to go shopping so she’ll drop us off in town if we want. You in?”
Alex shrugs, yawns again, and retreats into the house. Ryan takes it as a cue to follow, shedding his shoes
