[It almost felt like one dream had ebbed into the next - that he was Aracha again, indulging in another sleepy morning curled up against the man he loved. The warmth was the same, the scent, the softness of the sheets.

Then... the ache. That dry brained throbbing in his head. The vaguely nauseous, exhausted feeling that no amount of sleep had replenished him. This kind of sucks? It sucked bad enough that it actually resembled the sinking weight of reality...

...

And that's when Miguel got shoved off the bed to the sound of screaming.]

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?