fifteenth

Nick is passed out on the bed. He is eerily still. The white pillows, huge and impossibly soft-looking, frame his small baby-face wonderfully. His arms are askew, his face is slack. Standing at the foot of the bed is the imposing figure of Kenny. He looks angry, but at this point I have no idea what he's thinking. He reaches out and nudges Nick's knee.

"Hey Nick, do you want to go home and sleep?" 

Kenny's slight British accent never fails to catch me off guard. It's strange that his accent comes and goes, extremely profound in its rarity. "Nick! Don't you you want to go home so you can sleep on your own bed?"

Next to me, Danny moves. He's been silently watching the scene, his arms crossed. He fidgets a little, and shifts his weight to his other foot. I turn back to the computer sitting on the desk in front of me. I take my hand off the keyboard, and then point to Nick.

"Nick. We need to get you out of here. You need to sleep in your own bed." 

Kenny's voice grows harsher, his tone angrier. His posture is not unlike that of a irate parent, about to scold his child into a fit of tears. I get up. Walk over to Nick and slap his thigh. No reaction.

Finally, Nick stirs. He mutters to himself, something in Korean. He turns his head back and forth. I have a strong urge to draw on his face, a consequence of him being unable to stay awake for more than a few seconds at a time. I share this with Danny and Kenny, who find the idea hilarious but are unwilling to actually do the deed.

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