Blink awake and toss the sheets to the ground, fumble underneath the pillow for the phone,
Watson chirruping on her stand head buried under one wind slats of moonlight through ornate curtains and, for a second, Saguru couldn't remember where he was or why he was here,
and he was six years old again and scared of the dark and scared of the man in the corner who shook and shook and shook and had taken him from the Mayfair house and
Sit up, shake off sleep, scowl at the phone. Unknown number, Japanese area code – of course.
Saguru yawned, slumped back against the sheets. His eyes gummed together from sleep, his throat scratchy and rough, he rolled onto his belly and shoved the phone underneath the pillow.
Drrrrrr. Vibrating, the pillow moving underneath his face, put his hand underneath and slid out the phone.
Sighed. Rolled onto his back (bed creaking springs shifting he needed a new mattress because the cold of Mayfair had done for this one and), because Poe wrote on both. Hello, Kaito.
Read the rest via the link in the description!