So quietly

A crowd of friends are sleeping over at my place tonight. The chandelier burns at the faintest dim above darkness. G breathes peacefully on the left; he has taken it upon himself to wake us up at a quarter to seven in the morning. S snores, restlessly tossing over every now and then on the couch; perhaps he dreams of the girl he was for a good part of an hour on the phone with a while ago. I belch up the smooth aftertaste of peppered pesto. And Svo Hljótt whispers down my eardrums.