When finally Marcus woke for real, it was to the sound of his phone in his room.  Confusion furrowed his brows as he wondered why it was so far away and what position was he even in?  Was this even his bed?
His eyes opened, and he looked around.
Nope, not his bed.  It was the couch, and he was part of a cuddle pile.
He and Mike were on either side of literal ice cream girl, Abby, whose icy feet pressed against one of his legs.
Regardless of the annoying alarm, he was pinned by the two humans leaned up against him, trapped listening to that maddening noise.
His lips twitched tighter for a moment before he started to wonder why there was a cuddle pile in the first place.
Why it wasn't in an actual bed, as well.
Regardless, his body ached from a night of stillness, and he tried to shift a little.
Hello there.
That was morning wood, yes it was, and the enjoyable pressure as his pajama pants pressed down against it was not helping at all.  He shifted slowly back to how he'd been before, but it was too late.  He knew it was there.  He could feel it, now.  The 'joys' of awareness.
He glanced toward the still-sleeping duo atop him, then downward as he shifted to free one arm.
He gave himself a quick adjustment before he wiped his hand on his pants, then glanced over to the other two again.
Abby was awake.  Looking at him.
He screamed internally as he fought to keep a neutral expression.
"Mornin," she said in a quiet, sleep-husky voice before she, without seeming to care she was disturbing Mike, shifted herself to lay on Marcus's lap.
The action kept him from hiding in his blanket, and with her chest against one thigh and her arms folded over the other as a head rest.
His internal screams nearly drowned out her question of how he slept, and he answered, though he couldn't have managed to recall later what it was exactly he said as he stared forward.  Now he was cold and awkward and sore all at once, and his mind ran in futile circles as it tried to figure out what to do about it.
"Are you poking me?" she asked after a moment, and he felt his soul die.
The answer came out slow and awkward. "You're... laying on it," he muttered as he turned his head away, face bright red."
"Huh?" She looked up, then jerked her head back down.  Her eyes widened, and she looked back up, then towards Mike.
It felt like an eternity to Marcus before she hurriedly pushed herself back upright.  She knocked against the stiffie on her way up, and Marcus doubled forward as stars danced in his vision.
He doubled forward so far he fell off the couch with a loud bang, then saw still more stars as he tasted blood in his nose. "Fuuuuck," he groaned as he cradled his groin.
"Marc?  You ok?"
Great, Mike was awake, too.  Lovely. "I'm... good..." he lied."
"I... I accidentally nailed him when I was getting up...!"
"I'm good, just... give me a moment," Marcus wheezed.
"I'll get a rag for your nose," Mike said.
"And um... ice!" The two departed quickly, with Abby scrambling and Mike managing to hold his own.
Knock knock knock!
It happened just as the ice machine started up.
"Hello?  Is everything alright in there?" Mr. Jennings called from the other side of the door.
Marcus forced a deep inhale, then called out, "Y... yeah!  Is... is fine!"
The knob started to turn, and panic touched at Marcus.
"Marcus?  You don't... sound so well..."
Marcus scrambled to his feet.  He didn't notice his pajama pants catch on the table until they reached his ankles and he tripped, one leg left in and one out, the rest of him flat against the floor.
"Marcus!?" Mr. Jennings sounded less concerned and more alarmed.  The door opened and let the hall light inside, along with the fresh scent of not only Mr. Jennings, but also Ms. Hastings, who lived across the hall.
Marcus... wanted to die.
"Oh...  Oh dear...  Marc—... um... Marcus...?"
Marcus couldn't bring himself to look up.
"Um..." Mr. Jennings remained there.  Marcus could feel his gaze on him, and the wish to just keel over and die grew stronger.
"Oh, stop that!" Ms. Hastings huffed. "Marcus, stop being dramatic!"
"Please kill me," he groaned.
"Hm?  Oh, hi, Ms. H and Mr. J!" Mike greeted, then paused. "Marc?  Why you on the floor?"
"I dripped," Marcus answered as he rolled his head to one side. "Help me... ged my pands bag on...?"
"Couldn't ask Mr. Jennings or Ms. Hastings?" Mike asked.
"No!!" Marcus's voice broke, it went so high.