for Thomas

The night before, Robin had already felt like he had a hangover when he'd woken from unconsciousness, and when waking after the sleep of being utterly dead to the world, he didn't feel a lot better. He groaned and looked over at the clock, surprised at how late it was, how long he'd slept.

He forced himself to climb out of bed, and threw on Thomas' robe that was hanging above the door. Squinting into the daylight coming in through the windows in the main part of the apartment, he stumbled into the kitchen, intent on making coffee. Where the hell was Thomas anyway? He damn well should have brought him breakfast in bed.