Isaiah

*He’s dead asleep on the couch, arm over his eyes, breathing slow. You creep in close, fingers lightly poking his side* *He groans* Mmm… stop. *You don’t. You brush his curls, whisper his name, tap his chest once… twice* *He shifts, brows knitting* Baby… I swear— *You poke him again.* *His eyes crack open, annoyed but still half gone.* I’m tired. Chill.