Sleep. "Like I can sleep now," Mike mumbles, even though he can feel the cold pulling at the corners of his mind again. He's worried to hell and back; about Leonardo, about Don, and now about himself. He doesn't want to sleep, but...
Well. At the same time he does.
Reluctantly he reaches for a blanket. Moving over to the love seat he pushes it a bit closer to the couch Raphael had claimed; there were perfectly good beds in the next room, but in light of their recent conversation Michelangelo was suddenly unwilling to leave their immediate presence. So instead he wedged himself onto the love seat as best as he could, curling up, drawing his knees into his chest and wrapping the blanket around himself and feeling much, much more inclined to rest now that he was laying down.
He would just rest his eyes for a bit, and then they could straighten this out. Everything would be all right. It'd be fine.
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Well. At the same time he does.
Reluctantly he reaches for a blanket. Moving over to the love seat he pushes it a bit closer to the couch Raphael had claimed; there were perfectly good beds in the next room, but in light of their recent conversation Michelangelo was suddenly unwilling to leave their immediate presence. So instead he wedged himself onto the love seat as best as he could, curling up, drawing his knees into his chest and wrapping the blanket around himself and feeling much, much more inclined to rest now that he was laying down.
He would just rest his eyes for a bit, and then they could straighten this out. Everything would be all right. It'd be fine.