Nathan quickly came back into his alertness. He’d lost his chance to sleep. It would be another week until his mind gifted him the opportunity again. If he was lucky. He gripped her waist, sliding out from under and pushing her body upright, onto her knees on the mattress. All he wore were his former fitting boxers – a gift from his mother. Of course she meant to provide her son with hygienic products required to be a normal human, being but the Armani label caused it to be somewhat of an eyebrow raise to any he told. Which he didn’t tell. They were black, but you couldn’t make out much more detail than that in dimly lit morning. 

His mind was foggy, crying for him to lay back down and curl up and to rest. He usually had a trash can but it’d been snatched and taken to the den for ‘Yale’s finest innovation since DP,” beer game. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing a cardboard box that had been shoved under his desk. Textbooks had arrived in it days earlier. Stumbling over clothes and shoes, cautiously squinting to ensure he wouldn’t step on needles, he brought it to her. “C’mere,” Nathan handed her the oversized and less than ideal catch-all for her bile. Her hair band was pulled up over her bare bicep, and he slid it down her arm and off of her wrist. Using his own wrist as a place holder, he tied her hair back in a lopsided high pony, missing some of the baby hairs at the bottom. Her pretty water color tattoo was exposed now. 

Nathan rubbed his eyes, running his hands through his hair several times as if it would stay out of his face. He begun tidying their strewn clothes, organizing by owner.