Elliott was most definitely not an early riser. His twins attempts to wake him up were meant with muffled grunts. He groaned as he got jabbed in the side and he wiggled further away from the offending finger. "It's the dead of night," he mumbled, despite the light of day slowly pouring into the bedroom window, the curtains not entirely blocking the light out.
And in barely a second, his eyes flew open and he sat upright, his hair askew. "We're ten."
And in barely a second, his eyes flew open and he sat upright, his hair askew. "We're ten."