insurgents | Chuck || Motorcity

[There was no sun shining brightly against his face to make him wake up.

There was no sound to interrupt his sleep.

There was simply nothing there that could really awaken Mike then, so he turns in his bed, rests his back against the wall it's set against, and tugs the body pillow closer to him. It's warm.

He likes warmth.]

[There's a slight feeling just beneath his skin of small pokes, nerve endings sending electrical signals up to his spine and then crawling up his brain to tell him just how hard he had been pressing on those pedals he was sure Mutt had a dent beneath the metal from all his weight. His knees snapped at every movement, joints lubricating with effort and asking for some rest at every twist and turn, not needing to fold to make their presence known. There's an itch under his sternum that Mike knows won't fade any time soon, and that he'll have some trouble falling asleep until it's subdued.

Still he leaves the bathroom, his usual t-shirt and boxers on, towel wrapped around his neck after giving his head a violent rub dry, with the idea that they left a bit of his and Chuck's life in the crash site, and what lingered on them was, like snakes that grow out of their skin, scales that protected them better, that shielded them both into invincibility...

... while making them perfectly aware of how frail a human life is.

Still, the sweat and the grit went down the drain a few minutes before, and he felt he left that mere idea outside, beyond his bedroom door, where the lights were still buzzing to life and colored everything they reached, away from the dark air of the room where Chuck waited, probably drying his hair a bit better.

For the time being he just wanted to be with his best friend. He smiles.] Tired?

Prompt: Morning routine it is!