Max wakes slowly, curled over his desk, his cheek uncomfortably pressed against the book he was reading, and it takes him too long to shake off the lingering images of his dream and school his tone into cautious formality when he says, "I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep."

Oskar makes a noncommittal sound; he's in his shirtsleeves, and Max only realizes now that Oskar's jacket is wrapped around his shoulders, warm and too large and smelling like the cologne Oskar uses.

"Dreamed something nice?" Oskar asks, more teasing than anything, and all Max can do is shrug and avert his eyes as he lies and claims he cannot remember.