"Jesus, five?" Like he's got anything better to do. Like there's anything else he'd rather do than pin Carmy down in the blue light of dawn and relearn him all over again. "Sure, just wake me up, man."

Richie keeps his arm draped over Carmy, contemplating whether he can get away with stealing another cigarette before he passes out. Probably not. He draws idle circles on Carmy's skin instead, which is almost as good when it comes to being self-soothing, another little discovery about himself on top of all the other discoveries that have taken place this evening. No wonder he feels like he could sleep for a week.

The storm growls above them, not so angry any more. After a beat or two, Richie plucks at the blankets, whatever he can pull up over the two of them. He settles back on the pillows. Then, belatedly remembers:

"I forgot the wine. Sorry."