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Emir’s nose twitches.

“Cute.” Sebastian chuckles, skimming Emir’s chin. “You’re not so bad asleep.” He’s on the verge of brushing Emir’s lower lip when a pair of silver eyes pop open and lock on him. Sebastian recoils at the glare-of-certain-death. His arm jerks his hand out of harm’s way.

“What the actual hell?” The sun gleams in to highlight Emir’s frown. “This is a nightmare.”

Sebastian says, “Time to practice,” as if this is so normal.

“You prick,” Emir says, voice cracked with sleep. He turns away and tries to bury his head under a pillow, but Sebastian snatches it away.

He’s already taunting the tiger; he might as well see how far he can get.

“Go away!”

A witty response is on the tip of Sebastian’s tongue, until he notices Emir is shirtless. A sick hawk with spread wings and sharp talons is inked inches below his nape, between his shoulder blades. Sebastian’s brain short-circuits, distracted by the beautiful detail.

He sputters, “What the—” but stops short, horrified about staring at Emirlike that. “Dude,” he gasps, losing a battle with his stupid mouth. He’s thrilled when Emir turns over and glares. “Um, Emi…”

Emir’s eyes are immense.

Sebastian hasn’t used that nickname since before they were teens. Now, he’s blurted it as if they’re still killing goblins and ogres on his couch back home.

“Did you—”

Frantic, Sebastian interrupts Emir. “I’m here to help, remember!” It’s supposed to be a question, but Sebastian’s voice goes screechy at the end, making it a shouted declaration. He should’ve quit while he was ahead.

Emir raises a thick eyebrow. “Help or torture me?”

“Both?” It’s not his best response, but he’s stuck on the tattoo and how the pillow crease on Emir’s cheek makes him adorable.

“You’re disturbing.”

“Does that mean we can get started?”

Emir glares at the ceiling. His brooding gray eyes shine. His jaw is tight, as if he is coming up with creative ways to kill Sebastian.

Sebastian finds the overacting more amusing than intimidating. “I’m not leaving, man,” he tells Emir.

Emir puffs out a breath. “Noted, mate.”

Sebastian scoots off the bed and ruffles his hair. He stands to the side and waits for Emir to follow. If he must, Sebastian will drag Emir’s ass to the pitch. His mind is set, and Sebastian’s no quitter. “Emir,” he says, voice edging on frustration.

“Bloody prick.” Emir finally rips the sheets away and crawls off the bed. He’s small in nothing but red boxer-briefs. “I’ve barely gotten any sleep.”

“Why?”

“I just…” Emir pauses, pink tongue brushing his lips. “This place freaks me out, okay? I’ve never been away from my family—”

“But we used to have sleepovers at my house.”

“That wasdifferent,” Emir snaps, eyebrows furrowed. His tensed muscles strain under his skin.

“How?”

Emir frowns before shaking his head. “You don’t get it,” he mumbles. “That’s when we were friends” is implied. Sebastian deems himself an asshole for broaching the topic when Emir says, “Just let it go.”

Sebastian does. He’s not here to put bandages over wounds that still haven’t healed. “Okay,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair again. “Are you up for practicing, then?”

Emir sighs. “Whatever,” he says through his teeth. “Could you like, um, stopstaring?”