Quinn Kan Vadisi | 26 | M | Vocalist/Backup Drummer | Men.: Donovan (dir.), The Other Influencers (ind.)
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Quinn woke up today not wanting to be awake.
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The drowsy, half-awake state where everything is too warm, soft, and comfortable to get up just yet, and you're lying on top of a cozy body that's making all of that ten times worse.
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The first thing that was noticable was the sound of his own noncommital, lazy noise similar to that of a tired dog and an annoyed teenager. He lifted his head from Donovan's chest, squinting around at the large-windowed bedroom that had a vast view of the beach and ocean, and the trees leading down to it, and then at the boxes that still littered the floor.
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Quinn didn't like moving. It was too much flexibility in his schedule, which he quite disliked, and also boxes. And moving all of his personal belongings. And then figuring out where to put them, and then committing those where-he-put-thems to memory.
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It was exhausting.
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On the bright side, now he was in this large, expensive-looking house with all of these rich, famous individuals, and his childhood friends. It was better than living in a one-bedroom apartment with his family, that was for sure. And better yet than living in a garage with his band mates - as much as he loved them.
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He laid his head back down, freeing one of his hands that had been trapped beneath the pillow and rubbing his right eye in an attempt to wet the dry surface. Quinn looked over at the clock that had been plugged into an outlet and set on top of a box, letting his eyes adjust to the shadow that his head gave to his eyes.
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10:04?
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Why was he awake so early?
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Quinn made up his mind, squirming around until the blankets were pulled back up to his neck, his face was buried into the pillow, and he was entirely squishing the man underneath him.
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As typical, Quinn is majorly nocturnal. Practices late at night, coming home at three in the morning, and sleeping until noon. He'd figured that when he came here, he'd have to get used to his schedule being changed, to pitch in with breakfast and socializing and such, but as of right now, he didn't care much for getting up. He didn't care much for moving. They hadn't driven all that much, but, still, his back was sore from lifting and moving so many boxes, his throat hurt from singing, and his eyes stung from staying up much too late on his phone.
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He closed them.
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Snooze button it is.
Spring 
Day 
Fog
