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Light, even breathing.
Kimblee opens his eyes. He'd rolled over onto his front in his sleep, so he props himself up to look at the man at his side. Miles is still asleep with his back to Kimblee, lightly clutching the blanket just to have something to hold. He had Kimblee, but they'd split off in their sleep at some point.
Kimblee inches closer and rests his chin on Miles's shoulder, right side up. It's a bit of an awkward position, and it would only be worth holding if Miles were a light sleeper. He's not.
Kimblee whistles at him quietly, not entirely committed to rousing him yet, and moves some hair out of the way of his face. Miles sighs in his sleep but doesn't seem to be stirring. He looks so comfortable.
Kimblee starts humming now, something from the radio yesterday that he didn't catch the title of. He plays with Miles's hair, idly (badly) braiding it without really knowing how. Once he's bored of that, he shakes the twists loose and ruffles his hair, almost returning it to the state he found it in. Miles is still asleep.
Time for a different strategy, maybe. Kimblee lightly blows into his ear, tickling him. He's stirring a little now, at least. Then the thought occurs to him that if he cuddles up to Miles, maybe gives him a kiss on the cheek, he'll probably growl at him and shove him off in a grumpy rage; adorable.
So Kimblee hugs Miles and presses his cheek against his, rubbing at him affectionately. Then, contrary to everything Kimblee thought he knew about Miles and their relationship together, he fucking giggles. Kimblee freezes in shock. When he can figure out how to move again, he glances at Miles's eyes; still closed.
"Miles?" he whispers, although there's no way he would have reacted like that if he were awake.
As Kimblee expected, he doesn't respond. He lets out a small "huh," and lets go of him, planning to get out of bed. Before he can get far, Miles rolls over and catches him, his arms entirely too strong for him to still be asleep.
"You try so hard to wake me up and then you just leave?" he asks, voice heavily affected by sleep, cutting out here and there and sounding a little dry, a little squeaky.
"Well, you're a good faker," Kimblee says, still a little confused. Then Miles's grip seems to loosen and his breathing evens out again.
If Kimblee could say a question mark out loud, he would. But he can't exactly complain about the situation he's in.