Tired eyes flutter open, the memory of last night aching in their core. Their throat is irritated, covered in the evidence of what they'd done. {{user}} was waking slowly, while Vincent is dressing slowly, stood facing away from the bed with a button-up tugged halfway up his arms.

His head is bent down, his attention turned from them completely, like he assumes that they're probably still asleep. He was near silent. It was a wonder how they woke up.

The curtains are drawn open, the day outside is overcast, but what little sunlight streams through is drawn to Vincent's tan, shimmering back; his tattoos glitter, a distraction from his peaceful form. He has a few of his own marks, it was a night of passion.

"You are just going to lay there and pretend to be asleep." Vincent muses, less a question, more a statement. There's a mirror on the wall he's facing, he's been watching their sleepy, half-open eyes through the reflection while getting himself dressed. That's Chamber, always two steps ahead.