Maybe you're a little late, maybe you're a hurricane.

It just starts at some point. Maybe Randal comes over to Dante's place, and then it gets too late to leave, so he stays the night and they decide it'll be cool to sleep in the same bed because they can talk all night and laugh. Besides, all friends have sleepovers, right? Dante gives Randal his old stretched-out t-shirt, but then quickly regrets it — for some reason, looking at Randal in his own clothes is almost unbearable. And Dante definitely shouldn't have known that Randal's pale shoulders are covered in freckles. This fact causes a sudden attack of tachycardia, although the night goes fine: they do laugh a lot and talk until almost three in the morning, occasionally shoving each other jokingly and stealing the blankets from each other. In the morning they wake up, drink coffee in the tiny old kitchen, and Randal leaves, accidentally taking Dante's t-shirt with him. This realization makes Dante's stomach tighten sweetly, but he blames it on the sour milk.

And then it happens a few more times, and Dante likes it when Randal stays with him and they talk all night long. But something's wrong. He doesn't understand why he feels this strange feeling in his chest every time they accidentally touch feet under the blanket, or when Randal's whisper sounds almost intimate in the warm darkness of his room (even if they're discussing stupid movies), or when the stretched-out t-shirt slips off his shoulder and reveals the scatter of freckles on his skin again. Damn freckles, they're almost driving Dante crazy.

And then one morning Dante wakes up in Randal's arms. Well, it's more like a warm cocoon of his arms and legs, and at first Dante lies still for a few seconds, afraid to breathe, paralyzed and enchanted by Randal's warm breath on his neck and the feeling of his steady heartbeat. He doesn't know how it happened: Randal must have done it unconsciously in his sleep, he thinks Randal warned him that he tosses and turns a lot, but he doesn't remember exactly... And before panic completely freezes his limbs in an icy grip, Dante manages to admit to himself that waking up in Randal's arms is unexpectedly very nice and warm. But at the same time it's SO embarrassing that Dante has to carefully untangle himself from his arms so as not to wake Randal, and almost run to the bathroom. He urgently needs to wash his face with cold water to put out the fire on his cheeks.

Then it happens a few more times, and Dante really likes waking up in Randal's arms (because it's warm, cozy and nice, and also Dante doesn't have a girlfriend), but he feels so awkward about it, and he doesn't understand what's going on... They're friends, right??? Then why does he blush every damn time, and what is this sweet feeling in his chest that always appears when in the mornings he feels Randal's warm body pressed against him from behind? He needs answers.

In the end, he decides to talk to Randal about it. It doesn't look easy either in theory or in practice, and Dante spends a good half a week agonizing and trying to figure out how to approach this conversation. Randal isn't the type to miss a chance to tease Dante about it, and anyway, it's not like they've ever talked about anything... like that. He's sure Randal doesn't even have a clue what Dante goes through every time he wakes up in his arms, because he slipped out of bed long before Randal opened his eyes.

Randal doesn't take it as anything serious. He looks confused, but only for a couple of seconds, and then he just shrugs and says something like: "Oh, sorry, man, I told you I move around a lot in my sleep. If it bothers you or it's... um... uncomfortable? I can keep an eye on it. No problem, buddy." Dante mumbles something in response, and they quickly drop the subject.

And... the next time Dante doesn't wake up in Randal's arms. No more limbs wrapped around his body, no more warm solidity of Randal's chest behind him, no more hot breath on his skin, and no more steady heartbeat at his side. He opens his eyes in disappointment and looks around: Randal is sleeping next to him, with his back to him, and Dante suddenly feels an inexplicable emptiness and cold.

And at first Dante tries to convince himself that everything is just fine. No more morning embarrassment; now he doesn't have to get up before Randal, afraid that he'll notice their awkward position; no more cold showers and burning cheeks. It seems like this is what he needed for a normal life. But in reality, he quickly starts missing those weird "accidental" hugs, and every night he desperately hopes that now Randal will toss and turn, and then turn around in his sleep and hug him, like he did every night before. But Randal doesn't... he doesn't do it anymore, and Dante starts slowly going crazy.

At some point he completely despairs. So much so that one night, when Randal is staying over, when they're already lying in bed in the dark (which hides his blushing cheeks), Dante, constantly flustered and stammering, asks Randal to hold him. He feels like he sounds like a pathetic, desperate chud and Randal will laugh at him. Not that he's wrong. Randal does smirk and doesn't stop teasing him, so Dante even gets offended and turns away from him, muttering under his breath, inwardly regretting ever bringing it up. But a second later he feels Randal press against him from behind, feels his arms wrap around his waist, feels the warmth spreading over his skin where Randal's chest touches his back, feels the familiar beat of his heart filling his entire being with a soothing metronome again. And he hears a mocking hum in his ear: "Oh, don't whine, Dante. I'm not going anywhere." And Dante feels SO calm in the warmth of Randal's arms, he MISSED this feeling so much that he almost groans from how good it is. He falls asleep almost instantly, exhausted from worrying and lulled by the beat of Randal's heart at his side and warm breath on the back of his head.

And it keeps happening every time Randal stays the night, only now it's not an accident. Not anymore. Now, every time the lights go out, Dante knows that Randal's warm body will press against him from behind, his nose will bury itself in his neck, his arms will wrap around his waist, and their legs will tangle under the blanket. Randal has cold ankles, but Dante is willing to warm him up as long as Randal holds him in his sleep. He's never felt better.

One day Randal gets sick and tells Dante over the phone in a hoarse voice that he won't be able to come. At first Dante is upset: today they were going to re-watch "Jaws" together and then order pizza, but in the end he decides not to make a big deal out of it. Either way, Randal will get better soon. However, in the evening, Dante realizes with horror that he overestimated himself: he CANNOT FALL ASLEEP. The pillow suddenly seems too hard, the blanket starts to itch, and the sheet heats up quickly from him constantly tossing and turning from side to side. The bed in general seems too spacious for one person, uncomfortable and cold, even though the room is quite warm. He tosses and turns all night and only falls asleep at dawn in a shallow, restless sleep. In the morning, dark circles under his eyes and a dissatisfied, almost martyr-like expression on his face in the bathroom mirror await him.

When Randal comes to see him the next time — recovered, but with a slightly red nose after being sick — Dante suppresses the overwhelming urge to squeeze him in a hug right on the doorstep with all his might. All day he can't wait for them to go to bed, feeling with his skin an acute need to touch his best friend. And as soon as the light goes out and Randal, with a familiar motion, pulls him to his chest, Dante turns around and hugs him back so tightly that Randal inhales in surprise, but then buries his nose in his neck. Dante mumbles: "I missed you so much, I couldn't sleep," and Randal smirks and laughs: "I knew you were a fucking sap, man". Dante is too happy to be offended, so he just says "shut up," to which Randal smiles again and starts rubbing his back. Dante falls asleep with a smile on his lips, knowing that tonight he will definitely get a good night's sleep.

Of course, it couldn't go on forever. Randal stays over too often, and Dante gets used to it too quickly. And everything has its consequences.

Probably one of those nights they're lying there, and Randal is hugging him again, but Dante can't sleep, and he knows Randal can't sleep either, because he's drawing warm circles with his finger on Dante's chest, right under his heart. It makes him feel very good, calm and cozy, but those obsessive thoughts start visiting him again. What are they to each other? What do all these nightly hugs mean, which started as an accident and then gradually became a necessity? Dante constantly feels some strange, itching under his skin need to do something with Randal, but he doesn't know what exactly. From the thoughts that come into his head when he thinks about it, his cheeks start to burn.

He feels Randal shifting behind him, getting comfortable, and burying his cold nose in the place where his neck meets his shoulder — his hot breath tickles his skin, and it immediately breaks out in prickly goosebumps. He hugs Dante even tighter and whispers: "Can't sleep?" Dante nods, knowing that in the dark Randal will feel the movement. They lie in silence for a while, but then Dante can't stand the hanging (weak, but relentless) tension in the air and turns around in the embrace. They almost bump noses, look at each other for a few seconds (it's dark around, but Dante sees how the blue light from the window softly highlights Randal's cheekbones and how his suddenly close eyes sparkle), and Dante starts: "Randal, I...", but Randal interrupts him: "Don't say anything," leans in and kisses him.

Feeling Randal's dry and warm lips on his own, Dante instantly understands that this is better than all the hugs and better than all those nights combined. He moans helplessly into his mouth (almost sure he looks pathetic from the outside) and immediately responds to Randal, kissing him back. Randal grabs his face, digs his fingers into his cheeks, as if Dante might go somewhere (as if he COULD, even if he really wanted to; Dante doesn't want to tho) and pulls him closer. Randal tastes like the warm milk he drank before bed, and like home. He suddenly slides his big warm palms under his shirt and strokes the bare skin of his back, and Dante, breathless from incredible pleasure, desperately wanting to be even closer, throws his leg over his hip, so that they completely merge, fuse into some kind of single whole, fit together like puzzle pieces, and Dante clearly feels that Randal was made for him: the curves of his body mirror the curves of Dante's body, and there is nothing better than finally feeling this complete, warm fusion with another person. Randal's hair under his fingers is so soft, and his lips under his own are so warm and responsive, and he sighs so sweetly into the kiss every time their bodies touch perfectly at a new hot point that Dante feels like any more and he won't be able to take it.

Then Randal, as if reading his thoughts, pulls away from his mouth and buries his face in his shoulder, pressing even closer and trying to catch his breath. He whispers in a breaking voice: "Dante, you have no idea how many nights I wanted to...", but he doesn't finish and almost feverishly leaves a few warm kisses on his neck and collarbones, and then more and more, as if he can't stop. A pleasant realization spreads through Dante's chest like hot syrup: it's because of him that Randal is so... so. Vulnerable. Needy. Insatiable. Although it was more Dante who couldn't sleep properly without those damn hugs. Who almost whined because the sheet next to him was empty and cold.

This memory, in contrast to the reality (where warm Randal is pressed against him and kissing his skin), fills his heart with such boundless tenderness that it threatens to spill over and leave wet tracks of tears on his cheeks. So Dante has no choice but to take Randal's face in his hands and kiss him deeply, and then start showering his entire face with wet kisses and leaving moist whispers on his flushed cheeks. "Me too" and "I missed you so much", and then a very quiet "I think I might love you".

And Randal, who had already started to melt under his passionate-tender assault, suddenly pulls back and looks into his eyes. Dante can't tell if there are warm glints of laughter there or if Randal is really asking seriously.

"You might?.."

Dante looks at him, at the despair and uncertainty at the bottom of his eyes, which Randal is trying with all his might to hide behind sarcasm and indifference, and understands that this really matters to Randal. He smiles softly and gives back the phrase Randal said earlier: "You're a fucking sap," and kisses him before Randal can start protesting. Then he pulls back, looks at him and suddenly exhales shyly: "No... not "might", you idiot, I do," and kisses his cheek.

Randal's face immediately transforms and blossoms into such a sincere smile that it almost glows in the dark. He quickly flips them over so that Dante is now drowning in the pillows, pinned to the mattress by warm Randal. Dante looks up at him and sees his eyes shining.

"I love you, Dante," Randal whispers, looking at him as if he's the most precious creature in the world, so that Dante's eyelashes get wet. Good thing Randal won't see in the dark that he's about to cry.