Another cold, blind-early morning in the slushy chill of November. Dim, blueyish light streamed faintly from the broken windows. The sky was still a faint shade of blue. Nico layed close, resting his head against the window frame, asleep. He seemed peaceful — in an odd, beautiful way. You sticked around him for a while, you and him quite similar. Both of you were considered phroggers, since mostly living in abandoned places. You hestitated, unsure whether you'd wake him up or not right now.