Deep Inside of You part 6
"Well, I guess this proves it. I’ve pretty much completely lost my fucking mind," Yohji muttered to himself as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He cursed harshly as he nearly tumbled backwards down the stairs, balance thrown off by the awkward burden slung over his shoulder. He clutched at the railing until he was steady again, then hastily climbed the last few steps to the open-air balcony of his level of the building.
He reached his door, and had no trouble sliding the key into the lock and jiggling it open with one hand. Years of practice. He dragged himself and his passenger inside and carefully eased the door closed, leaning against it with a deep sigh of relief.
Okay, he’d made it inside without getting caught.
Yohji realized abruptly that by leaning against the door, he was squishing the head of the person slung over his shoulder.
Serves him right, part of Yohji’s mind snapped irritably, but he pushed himself away from the door. Muscles strained from carrying a limp body all the way up from his car, which he’d had to park two blocks away because some moron was parked in his spot behind the building, protested with dull aches as he slowly moved across his one room apartment.
He’d made it here. Now what the hell was he going to do with Schuldig?
The unconscious German let out a loud snore, startling Yohji in the silence of his apartment. He frowned. Schuldig was out like a light. Hardly surprising, since the redhead had already been about six sheets to the wind before Yohji bumped into him on the dance floor, and he didn’t think Schuldig had slowed down much after that. At about the time it was occurring to Yohji that although he knew where Schuldig lived it might not be the best idea for either of them if he called a cab for the German, Schuldig’s eyes had rolled up and he’d passed out right at the bar.
Having already eliminated the cab option, since he didn’t want to take the risk of Crawford or Nagi questioning the cabbie on who had given him his directions, and unable to force himself to just leave the German to fend for himself, Yohji had done the only thing he could do.
He dragged Schuldig out to his car and brought him home.
Yohji paused in the middle of his apartment and looked around with a heavy sigh. Now he had to make a decision.
Couch or bed?
Schuldig was dead to the world. Surely he wouldn’t notice or care if Yohji just dumped him on the couch.
But he had been thrashing around a bit in the car, so he might roll off…
I could move the table out and put a blanket on the floor...
But the couch, while great for sitting, was not exactly comfortable for lying down… Yohji was too tall for it, and Schuldig was at least as tall as he was, if not a hair taller…
He won’t be conscious enough to notice if he’s comfortable or not, Yohji pointed out to himself.
But he still found himself easing the German down on his neatly made bed.
Schuldig sprawled bonelessly across the comforter, the snoring stopping as soon as he was lying down. Yohji frowned down at the German, wondering just how he’d ended up with an enemy, a psychotic telepath assassin, no less, passed out drunk on his bed.
Shaking his head at the vagaries of fate, Yohji bent over with a long-suffering sigh and pulled off Schuldig’s shoes, tossing them off to the side, so they wouldn’t be in the way if the German woke up and needed to get to the bathroom in a hurry. There weren’t any other obstacles in the room. Despite his rather carefree approach to life, Yohji’s living space was kept meticulously neat. Ken said he was a closet control freak, but Yohji just liked to have his possessions in order. Everything else in his life was a mess, at least his room could be tidy.
Yohji carefully focused on these neutral thoughts as he removed Schuldig’s pants, relaxing slightly as he discovered that the other man was actually wearing underwear. The pants were leather, so Yohji hadn’t been sure what he would find under them. He knew Schuldig occasionally went without when he was clubbing, particularly in leather pants, which were hot enough without an added layer of material, no matter how lightweight. Yohji did the same himself sometimes.
But tonight, thankfully, Schuldig was wearing a pair of… Yohji blinked in surprise. Yes, it really was a pair of shocking pink bikini briefs.
Oh my…Yohji snickered to himself.
Yohji suppressed his amusement as he eased the tight leather pants down Schuldig’s long legs. Fine, reddish gold hairs tickled his knuckles as he worked the pants down. The skin of the German’s legs was paler than his face and arms, but still darker than Yohji’s hands.
Finally, he got the pants completely off, and tossed them after the shoes.
Now he faced a dilemma.
Shirt, or no shirt?
Of course, as Yohji had noted when he’d first encountered the other man that evening, Schuldig might as well not even be wearing a shirt, the way the thin material clung to him. He had on a long sleeved spandex top in shocking bright pink, which, Yohji realized in bemusement, matched the underpants. The color was really not that great on him, Yohji thought, but the tight fabric did nicely accentuate the lean-muscled torso, without revealing any of the scars that bothered the German so much.
Frowning thoughtfully, Yohji grabbed a handful of the shirt and bent over, sniffing the stretchy fabric.
He wrinkled his noise in disgust. The shirt positively reeked of smoke and sweat, and Schuldig was wearing at least one of his beers.
Not on my clean sheets, Yohji thought firmly, then winced at hearing himself. Christ, I sound like a disapproving wife…yikes. Scratch that, more like somebody’s mother… Yeah…
Shaking his head at himself, Yohji grabbed Schuldig’s shoulders and pulled the limp body upright. He was forced to lean Schuldig’s head against his shoulder so he could grab the waistband of the shirt, and the German’s head rolled to the side, half-smothering Yohji in a tumble of bar-scented red hair. Yohji squirmed his head around, trying to free his vision from Schuldig’s hair. It rubbed against his cheek, soft and fine. Schuldig had a lot of hair, but it wasn’t thick. That was why it was so flyaway and had to be tied back with a bandanna. It was loose tonight, and the German had been constantly trying to push it out of his face, getting it caught in his mouth…Yohji had been obliged to tug errant strands free about a hundred times.
Finally, he managed to find the hem of the shirt and pulled upwards, letting Schuldig slide back down to the mattress as Yohji peeled him out of the shirt. He contemplated the vacated spandex for a moment, considering that it really was a well-chosen outfit. Somebody could have had a lot of fun stripping it off Schuldig, if he hadn’t gotten too drunk to notice.
Yohji tossed the shirt on top of the pants and shoes, and suddenly found himself looking down on a vast expanse of nearly naked German.
Yohji’s breath hitched nervously in his throat as his detachment was shattered. He felt his cheeks heat, and the beginning of a familiar but entirely misplaced stirring at his groin…
Cursing softly, he turned away from the bed and walked quickly to the bathroom, stripping out of his own clothes as he went, tossing the black crop top and loose silk shirt he’d worn over it to the couch. The low-riding black jeans he kicked into a corner of the bathroom as he stepped into the shower, turning it on full force.
The initial blast of frigid water calmed him a little, but Yohji’s hormones, once roused to attention, were difficult to exorcise. The water warmed up quickly, and Yohji cursed as he felt himself hardening again.
Well, that was certainly nothing new or unusual. He would just take care of it quickly. He closed his eyes and thought of the buxom young lady he’d started out the night with. Her hair had been bleached blond, but her eyes were warm and brown, and her breasts had pressed against his chest, barely restrained by her halter-top. He remembered the feel of her hardened nipples pressed to his flesh, the thin fabric of their shirts barely impeding sensation, just enough to tease…
Yohji felt himself responding vigorously to the memory and smiled, reaching down to stroke himself slowly. Yes, she had been something…possibly too young, but if she had the ID to get her inside, that was her choice. She hadn’t objected to dancing front to back, and her firm, rounded rear pressed against his crotch, the heated friction through the tight denim he wore… His hips bucked slightly, involuntarily, at the thought, and he moaned softly to himself. Yeah, she’d really been something.
He just didn’t know why she’d bleached her hair. Bleached blondes just never really looked good. He could never figure out why people did that to their hair. One woman had told him once that it was because blondes supposedly had more fun. Yohji was naturally blond, and while he was willing to concede that he did have a hell of a lot of fun, the fact was that a lot of that fun was had with brunettes.
Asuka had had black hair, black as the sky at midnight, with those rare blue highlights…or were they red highlights? Anyway, he had loved the color of her hair, the thick darkness of it... He really didn’t go much for blondes. Black hair, like a raven’s wing, that was nice, or soft, warm brown like melted chocolate, or red…fiery crimson, like blood and copper and flames…
Yohji’s body abruptly spasmed with release, and he cried out in surprise as much as pleasure. His eyes snapped open, staring blindly at the tiled wall of the shower stall for a moment. Water ran down into his eyes and he blinked, coming back to the present.
Maybe I had a few more beers than I should have, Yohji thought uncertainly. He stepped back from the wall, letting the arm he had braced himself with drop to his side. He stood under the water for a moment, then grabbed the soap and quickly washed himself off before shutting off the water. It was beginning to get cool, anyway. He wondered how long he’d been in there.
He stepped out of the shower and toweled off, rubbing vigorously at his hair before knotting the towel around his hips as he stepped back out into the main room of the apartment.
He glanced at the bed and saw that Schuldig had not miraculously disappeared. He had moved, though. He’d pulled his legs up onto the bed and curled into a ball, facing away toward the wall.
"Don’t peek," Yohji warned the German in a whisper before dropping the damp towel to the floor and rummaging through his drawers for something to sleep in. Yohji didn’t generally wear clothing to bed, but he did have a few items around to use in case of unusual circumstances. He finally located the faded black sweatpants, now almost gray, that had been washed so many times they had shrunk halfway up his calves, and a sweatshirt that had once been red before someone had thrown a pair of new blue soccer shorts into Yohji’s wash by mistake. It was now sort of purplish, and looked almost tie-dyed.
Yohji pulled on the clothing, squared his shoulders, and turned back to the bed.
As he approached, he could see that Schuldig was shivering slightly. Hardly surprising, Yohji had stripped him nearly naked, then left him uncovered while he went off for a shower.
Well, it’s not my fault he’s plastered. Nodding his head in brusque agreement with this rather uncharitable thought, Yohji slipped his arms beneath Schuldig’s bent knees and around his shoulders, and lifted him just enough to toss him to the other side of the bed.
Schuldig landed with a grunt of protest, curling into a tighter ball but showing no sign of waking. Yohji pulled back the sheet and blankets and leaned on one knee on the mattress, grabbing the German under the arms and dragging him back to his original location. Schuldig made more sleepy, disgruntled noises, but when Yohji pulled the blankets over him, he just sighed and relaxed slightly.
Yohji found himself grinning foolishly at the contented little smile that curved the German’s lips. Shaking his head in disgust at himself, Yohji walked over to the couch and collapsed on it. He tried to stretch out, discovered for the thousandth time that he was about six inches too tall to do that on this particular piece of furniture, and curled up with an irritated grunt.
He yanked the folded throw blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it over as much of him as it would cover. He shoved his feet under a pillow, hoping they’d stay warm there.
"The things I do for you," he growled irritably in the direction of his warm, comfortable, occupied bed. Then he shut his eyes, and fell quickly asleep.
And woke to pained whimpering.
The unexpected noise roused Yohji to instant alertness, his instincts making him freeze in his current position until he could identify the sound that had disturbed him. He realized he was sprawled across his couch, one leg hooked over the back, one trailing on the floor, and the throw blanket wrapped around his head. Only one ear was uncovered, which explained how he had heard the noise that woke him.
A moment’s thought reminded him why he was on the couch, and that information supplied the answer to who was making the strange noises. He pushed himself to a sitting position, unwrapping the blanket from his head and tossing it to the far end of the couch. Then he looked over to the bed, frowning in confusion. What the hell was Schuldig whimpering about over there?
Yohji squinted at the bed, trying to see in the darkness. The moon had set, which meant it was just a few hours till morning, but also meant there was very little light left in the room to see by. Eventually, though, Yohji’s excellent night vision revealed that Schuldig had kicked off all the blankets and was curled up in a tight little ball again, this time facing into the room.
Is he just cold? Yohji wondered. Well, what the hell, I’m already awake…
With a resigned sigh, Yohji stood up and shuffled over to his bed, gathering up the discarded blankets in his hand and tugging them up over Schuldig’s shivering body. This time, though, Schuldig didn’t relax at all, and the whimpering didn’t stop. Frowning, Yohji knelt down beside the bed, peering in confusion and mild worry at the sleeping German’s face. The sharp features were tightly drawn, pinched in defensive fear or anger, Yohji wasn’t sure which. It was a bit hard to see behind the veil of fine hair that fell across the German’s face, so Yohji reached out and lightly pushed the hair back, his fingers barely brushing Schuldig’s cheek.
The telepath’s eyes snapped open, startling Yohji, but Schuldig didn’t seem to actually be awake. Yohji stared into those wide green eyes, and saw the pupils were expanded, the green irises were just thin rings of emerald around the deep black pools. But…there was something…like a swirling vortex, in Schuldig’s eyes…he had seen it before…
In the memory of the day Schuldig’s mother died. The little boy’s eyes had whirled dizzyingly with power, like they were now. There was something almost hypnotic about it, something that drew you in, pulling, tugging… And that was familiar, too. Like the day Schuldig had so carefully drawn Yohji’s mind back into his own body, he felt that pull again…and he was just as helpless to fight it…
The darkness in Schuldig’s eyes expanded to fill Yohji’s vision, and he felt himself falling and -
He blinked, looking around in confusion at the smelly, dank alley he found himself standing in. It was just like any number of smelly, dank alleys he’d been obliged to explore as a private detective and later an assassin, but there was something different…
It didn’t take him long to realize it was the smell of the place. Both his shadowy professions had required a quick mind and sharp observational skills, no matter how often he liked to play the airhead. The alley itself smelled of the same detritus and waste found the world over, but the air carried a faint hint of difference that immediately told Yohji he wasn’t in Tokyo. Hell, he was pretty sure he wasn’t even in Japan.
An unintelligible mutter from behind assured him his guess was correct. He hadn’t been able to make out the words, but he had no trouble recognizing the language. He spoke it now, after all.
"You better not even fucking think about not paying," a familiar nasal voice growled in reply to the first, also in German, and Yohji sighed. He’d thought he was done with this. But no…
He turned slowly, not really wanting to see whatever Schuldig was dreaming about, but not having much choice. He had no idea how he’d ended up back inside the German’s head, so he’d just have to wait for Schuldig to wake up and fix things. He didn’t think he could avoid the dream if he tried. He felt rooted to the spot.
The scene he discovered as he turned was hardly surprising, but no less upsetting for that. He’d known Schuldig had lived alone on the streets, and he’d known, better than most, what that kind of life entailed. Yohji had been lucky, he’d been put in an orphanage when his father had been killed for his gambling debts to the Yakuza. Yohji had been twelve, and had no other family. Life at the orphanage hadn’t been wonderful, but he was old enough to know it was a hell of a lot better than being on his own on the streets. And Asuka…
But it felt wrong, somehow, to think of Asuka inside Schuldig’s dream. Yohji pushed his thoughts aside and tried to study the memory with detached interest.
Staring at the bright blood running down the little redhead’s pale, skinny thighs before he jerked his ragged jeans back up, Yohji acknowledged that detachment was not going to be possible. He would settle for not vomiting.
"You got blood on my pants. For that, you should pay me," the middle aged man standing a few feet away from the scruffy boy declared irritably. He was bent over, trying to look at his bloodstained gray suit pants over the rounded bulge of his gut.
"I got blood on my pants, too," the boy snapped back. Yohji shifted his weight nervously at the frigid glare the little redhead was giving the oblivious businessman.
"So what? You don’t have a boss or wife to explain such things to," the man complained. "Rotten little slut, I only did it because I felt sorry for you, standing on the corner shivering, begging for a few marks…"
"Yeah, you’re a real fucking humanitarian," the boy growled, hands tightening into fists. "So give me my money, and we’re done."
Finally, the businessman looked at the boy in surprise, but Yohji could tell the arrogant idiot didn’t recognize the danger he was in. Of course, Yohji had the advantage of knowing what kind of monster the boy would grow into from such apparently humble beginnings. The businessman, he supposed, saw only a dirty, skinny homeless child. Which made him no less an idiot. Just the look in those narrowed emerald eyes, no matter how childishly young the face they were set in, should have had the man emptying his wallet, if not his bowels.
"Where did you learn a word like that?" the businessman asked, and Yohji wondered if the man was referring to the obscenity, or "humanitarian."
"I pick stuff up all over," the boy informed him with quiet menace, answering either question.
The man shrugged, dismissing the issue. "Well, I do not think I will pay you today," he declared, sealing his fate. "Perhaps tomorrow, if you are still here…" he added suggestively.
Yohji noted that the boy’s hands actually relaxed, hanging limply at his sides, as a nasty smirk settled on his face. It was a startlingly familiar expression, and it bothered Yohji for some reason to know that Schuldig had developed it so young.
"Oh, I’ll still be here," the boy murmured.
The businessman barely had time to smile in smug triumph before his hands flew to his skull and he began screaming in agony. He fell to his knees and the boy frowned irritably at him. "You’re making too much noise," he muttered, and the man was abruptly silent. His mouth gaped open still, but no sound emerged as his face turned red, then purple, his pale eyes bugging out of their sockets. Veins stood out on the man’s temples and thick neck, and the little redhead watched it all with a sort of sleepy, detached interest. He looked utterly calm as the businessman writhed helplessly on the filthy concrete.
Finally, the man was still, and the boy shook his head, smirking disapprovingly at the limp body. "Just look at all the stains on your nice suit now," he remarked sarcastically.
"Did you kill him?" a cold voice asked from behind Yohji, and he spun to find himself facing a lanky, black-haired teenage boy.
Crawford looked much the same as a teenager as he did now, Yohji decided. Now there was a little more muscle on his tall frame, and he carried himself with more calm assurance than arrogance. Now he was a man come into his power. Then he had been a child on the verge of manhood, testing out the waters of control. The brown eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses were fastened intently on the redheaded boy.
Yohji stepped back so he could watch them both. The boy had already crouched down over the body, busy hands exploring pockets. As Yohji watched, the boy produced a thick wallet with a feral grin and emptied it of cash before he looked lazily up at Crawford.
"What do you think?" he asked carelessly, tossing the wallet on the man’s chest and not bothering to rise from his kneeling position. Yohji wondered if that was a show of submission for Crawford’s benefit, or if it was intended as an insult, that Crawford wasn’t worth rising for. From the frustrated scowl on the older boy’s face, apparently Crawford wasn’t sure either.
Then as Yohji watched, the American’s eyes glazed over briefly, and his scowl deepened. Crawford abruptly pulled a gun out from the small of his back, beneath the light jacket he wore. In one smooth motion, he aimed and fired.
The bullet slammed into the man’s head, barely a foot from the redhead’s kneeling form, but the boy hardly flinched as the body jerked convulsively and blood oozed from the small hole in the man’s forehead. He did stare at the blood with a sort of dull fascination, though.
"You’re too soft. He would have had the cops down on you by tomorrow, and we can’t afford that. If you’re going to use your powers, you’d better finish the kill," Crawford advised coldly.
The boy just shrugged and looked away, stuffing the money he’d stolen into a pocket of his torn jeans. "What the hell are you doing out here anyway, Brad?" the boy asked. "Slumming for kicks?"
Yohji frowned to himself as Crawford’s lip twitched in a silent snarl at the challenge in the boy’s tone. The kid didn’t notice, though, his head was turned away. Crawford smoothed his features, cleared his throat, and replied, with just enough awkwardness in his voice that it sounded nearly genuine, "I just…wanted to check on you. Make sure you were all right."
The redhead scowled up at the older boy, cradling one skinny arm against his chest. "I’m fine," he muttered. "I said I wouldn’t do it again."
"Yes," Crawford agreed quietly, "you said." He walked over and crouched down within touching distance of the boy, and Yohji noted for the first time that the black-haired youth was carrying a shopping bag in his left hand. He set it on the ground as he stared intently into Schuldig’s wary eyes.
"I can’t hear you," the boy observed softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "Why can’t I hear you in my head?"
"I’ve been trained to keep my thoughts to myself," Crawford replied. "I would think you’d enjoy the silence," he added, the tone almost lightly teasing.
The boy made a noncommittal noise and looked away, staring down at the cooling corpse beside them. Neither of the two seemed particularly bothered by the dead man’s presence. He seemed to be just part of the landscape to them.
"I brought you a present," Crawford announced, picking up the bag again and reaching inside it. The boy watched him in suspicious confusion as he pulled out a bulky bundle of green cloth. Crawford rose gracefully to his feet and shook it out, revealing…
Oh, that can’t possibly be…How could it have held together this long? Yohji wondered incredulously.
And yet, it was Schuldig’s so-familiar green overcoat. It was short on the man now, and clung almost indecently tight, but as Yohji watched the boy shrug eagerly into it, he saw that it came down almost to the ground and gaped voluminously about his small, skinny child’s body.
"This is…for me?" the boy asked hesitantly, carefully rolling the long sleeves up over his hands. He glanced up at Crawford to see the older boy nod. "Why?" the little redhead asked suspiciously.
Crawford frowned briefly at the tone, or perhaps at being questioned, but then he again schooled his features into a gentler expression and leaned over, resting his hands on the younger boy’s narrow shoulders to look intently into his eyes. "Because you are very important to me," he said slowly, firmly, squeezing the boy’s shoulders slightly to emphasize each word. "There’s a snowstorm coming, and I don’t want you to get sick because you’re too cold. I wish I could take you back with me, but it’s not safe for you there yet…so you have to stay out here. But I wanted to make sure you’d be okay," Crawford continued gently.
Yohji stared in amazement at the scene. He hadn’t thought Crawford had that kind of acting ability. But the kid… judging by the thinly veiled adoration shining in the boy’s wide emerald eyes, he was buying every word of it.
With the sort of abrupt transition Yohji had experienced before, the dream suddenly ended, and he found himself standing in the alley with the corpse and a fully-grown Schuldig. The German looked a bit confused, and he was staring at the rolled up sleeves of his green coat. As Yohji watched him silently, he began to slowly, almost reverently, roll them back down over his arms.
"So, how long did it take you to figure out he was faking?" Yohji finally asked, as much to see if Schuldig knew he was there as out of curiosity.
Schuldig looked up at him, swaying slightly, and Yohji realized the German was still drunk. Schuldig didn’t seem surprised or bothered by his presence though, just confused by the question. "Faking what?" Schuldig asked vaguely after a moment.
Yohji frowned, and opened his mouth to explain, then shook his head, changing his mind. "Forget it, it’s not important," he muttered. "What is important is how the hell did I get here? And how do I get back out?"
Schuldig cocked his head thoughtfully. "How did you get here?" he asked.
Yohji shrugged. "You were…making noises, woke me up. I came over to check on you, and I touched you I guess, because your eyes opened. And then I just kind of got sucked in," he explained, gesturing vaguely at the dreamscape around them.
Schuldig grunted in acknowledgment, leaning against a grimy wall with a thoughtful frown. "Well, it’s nothing like last time," he declared. "You’re not really here, just a little part of you…astral projection or some shit like that, maybe," he muttered to himself. He shook his head and shoved away from the wall, walking over toward Yohji. "Anyway, easy fix," Schuldig declared as he approached.
He came closer and closer, and Yohji resisted the urge to bolt. The last time he’d been inside Schuldig’s body…and Schuldig had come closer, and closer, they’d ended up…
Schuldig stopped when only a few inches separated their bodies, close enough that Yohji imagined he could feel the German’s warm breath on his face. He stared intently into those fathomless emerald eyes, fearing, hoping, that he knew what was coming…
And Schuldig smirked at him, and pushed lightly against his chest with one finger.
Yohji felt himself falling again, in a rush of dark wind and white flowers and the faint sound of laughter…
And then he opened his eyes with a start, to find himself slumped against his bed. He blinked in momentary confusion, then turned his head to find Schuldig watching him with emerald eyes that no longer held a maelstrom in their depths. They just looked tired, bleary, and strangely warm.
Yohji shivered. The room seemed to have gotten colder, and his knees ached from kneeling on the floor for God knew how long…
Schuldig lifted the blankets slightly in silent invitation.
Yohji considered for a moment…then shrugged and waved the German over, crawling onto the mattress and shamelessly taking possession of the warm spot.
After all, it’s my damn bed, Yohji thought to himself.
"Always trying to justify yourself," Schuldig muttered, pressing up against Yohji’s side. The other side of the bed was cold, Yohji could almost feel the chill of the sheets against his bare skin…
But my skin’s not bare… Yohji thought warily.
" ‘M too tired to shut you out," Schuldig murmured against Yohji’s shoulder.
Yohji had to admit he was feeling pretty tired himself. It had been an awfully long night. And this wasn’t really uncomfortable. With his eyes shut, Schuldig was just another warm body in the bed, and Yohji hated sleeping alone anyway.
"Me, too," Schuldig agreed blearily, but the reminder of who was pressed against his side didn’t bother Yohji this time. Trying to get completely comfortable, he rolled toward the warmth and wrapped an arm around his companion, who snuggled contentedly closer, making soft, sleepy noises. That was nice. Soothing.
Yohji smiled slightly and buried his face in soft hair, searching for a scent beneath the smoke. Mmm, there it was, just a hint of strawberry shampoo.
He liked that smell.
He drifted off to sleep again.