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The room was dim, the overhead lights off, only a small lamp glowing softly near the bed. Max stopped just inside the doorway.
The room smelt of bitter citrus peels, and the tang of salt. Max's nose crinkles at the scent of distress wafting off of the small figure on the bed.
Charles lay curled slightly on his side, knees drawn in, one arm tucked close to his chest. Too thin. Too still. There was a faint crease between his brows even in sleep, like his body didn’t know how to fully let go anymore. His hair looked limp, his eyes sunken. There were bruises visible on his skin, purple and yellow and green.
His other arm is curled protectively around his abdomen.
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