reese

“five more minutes,” comes the grumble from beneath you.

you huff out a laugh, trying to wiggle free from his grip. awsten’s bed makes a convincing argument, though. cool sheets, blackout curtains, the steady hush of the white noise machine filling the room. it would be so easy to stay here all day. but you have errands to run, and the two of you can’t spend the entire afternoon tangled up in bed.

“awsten, c’mon,” you murmur, attempting to pull away again.

his arm only tightens around your waist. his eyes stay shut, but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. he doesn’t move an inch.

fine.

your cool hand slips beneath the loose shirt he’s wearing, nails scratching lightly across the firm skin of his stomach. he hums softly at the feeling, but still refuses to budge.

so you decide to play dirtier.

you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, nudging your nose against his cheek. little by little, you move closer until you’re swinging a leg over his lap, settling yourself against him with a smug sort of satisfaction.

that finally gets him.

he opens his eyes with a groan, hands immediately finding your hips like they belong there.

you grin triumphantly before leaning down to kiss him properly. he melts into it easily, fingers curling into your skin, warm and lazy and a little possessive.

“what do i have to do to get you out of bed?” you murmur against his lips, one hand threading through his sleep-mussed hair. your hips rock faintly against his, just enough to make him groan under you.

you shift again, feeling the way he reacts beneath you. the tiny victory makes you smile against his jaw as you kiss along it slowly. he’s still sleepy, pliant under your hands, letting you tease him however you want.

he only puts up with it for a few more minutes before he starts waking up properly, grip on your hips tightening as impatience creeps in.

deciding to be merciful, you tug lightly at the waistband of his boxers, teasing your fingers just beneath the fabric.

“is this okay?” you whisper.

the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he looks up at you like he can’t decide whether he’s more amused or ruined already.

“yeah,” he murmurs immediately, voice rough with sleep. “more than okay.”

your fingers toy with the waistband again, slow enough to make him squirm beneath you. his hands slide up your sides in response, warm palms smoothing over your skin underneath your shirt. there’s something unbearably soft about the way he touches you when he’s half-awake. lazy, affectionate, like he wants to memorize every inch he can reach.

“you’re evil,” he mumbles, though there’s no bite behind it. only a sleepy grin.

you laugh quietly when he tilts his head back against the pillow, letting you kiss along his throat this time. his fingers curl at your waist before slipping higher, nudging your shirt up little by little. silently asking.

you sit back just enough for him to pull it over your head, his gaze immediately dragging over you afterward like he forgot how to breathe for a second.

“god,” he says softly. “you’re so pretty.”

heat creeps into your cheeks under the weight of it. awsten notices instantly, smiling wider at the reaction he gets from you.

“no, seriously,” he continues, thumbs brushing along your hips. “you’re ridiculous. every time i look at you, it’s like… i don’t know. you just keep getting prettier somehow.”

you duck your head with a quiet laugh, but he catches your chin gently before you can hide from him completely.

“hey,” he murmurs. “lemme look at you.”

there’s so much fondness in his voice it almost makes your chest ache. his hands wander again, slower now, tracing over your skin while he peppers absentminded kisses wherever he can reach. your shoulder. your collarbone. the corner of your jaw.

“c’mere,” he whispers eventually, helping guide you closer until you’re pressed against him completely.

his hands slip to the hem of your shorts next, fingers hooking there carefully. he glances up at you first, waiting, even now. when you nod, he starts helping tug them down your legs.

except the angle is terrible.

you immediately wobble trying to lift yourself enough while still sitting in his lap, one knee slipping against the sheets. awsten lets out a surprised laugh as you catch yourself on his shoulders.

“hold on, hold on,” he says through his grin. “this is the least graceful thing i’ve ever seen.”

“shut up,” you mumble, already laughing too as you try to untangle yourself from both him and your shorts. one foot gets stuck completely, leaving you awkwardly half-draped across him while you fight for your life.

awsten is fully awake now, laughing into your shoulder. “baby, you’re losing.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.” he reaches down to finally free your ankle from the fabric, tossing the shorts somewhere across the room afterward like he’s accomplished something heroic. “there. rescued you.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling when he looks back up at you. his expression softens almost immediately.

“beautiful girl,” he murmurs, hands smoothing over your thighs. then quieter, like he can’t help himself, “can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

his eyes stay fixed on you while your fingers curl into the waistband of his boxers again, this time with a little more confidence. he’s awake now in the way you wanted him to be, all warm hands and heavy eyes and quiet little sounds every time you kiss him somewhere new.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs softly when you finally push the fabric down just enough. his head falls back against the pillow again, throat bobbing when he exhales shakily. “c’mere.”

you shift over him carefully, suddenly hyperaware of how close the two of you are now. his hands steady your hips instantly, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin like he can tell you’re nervous despite the teasing confidence you’d had five minutes ago.

“you okay?” he asks quietly.

you nod, biting back a smile when he immediately leans up to kiss you again anyway, sweet and lingering and reassuring all at once.

“pretty girl,” he whispers against your mouth. “you’ve got me losing my mind already.”

the praise makes your stomach twist pleasantly.

slowly, carefully, you guide yourself down onto him. the second you finally settle into his lap properly, awsten lets out a wrecked sort of groan, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he has to collect himself. his grip on your hips tightens hard enough to make you shiver.

“holy shit,” he breathes, laughing softly afterward at his own reaction.

you can’t help laughing too, cheeks burning at the completely awestruck look on his face when he opens his eyes again. like you’ve just handed him the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“you good?” you tease softly, echoing him from earlier.

“absolutely not,” he says immediately, earning another laugh from you.

his hands slide up your waist again, slow and reverent, like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s fully awake.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs again. “seriously. look at you.”

you move experimentally against him, and the sound he makes almost makes you hide your face in his shoulder from embarrassment. almost.

instead, you keep going, slow enough to tease him the same way you had earlier. awsten reacts to every little movement like he can’t help it, head tipped back, fingers flexing against your hips while he encourages you through every second of it.

“yeah,” he whispers. “just like that, baby.”

he looks completely ruined already, messy hair falling into his eyes, lips pink from kissing you. but every time you hesitate even slightly, his attention snaps right back to you. kissing your shoulder. brushing your hair back. mumbling another soft praise against your skin.

“so pretty.”

another kiss.

“doing so good for me.”

it drives you insane, working you up quicker than you expected. you tighten and flutter around him, punching desperate moans from his chest. a particularly deep bounce has him shuddering beneath you.

“yeah?” you murmur, leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip. “are you close, baby?”

when he doesn’t respond, you bounce a little faster. it has him whining and gripping you tight at the hips. his eyes squeeze shut.

one of your hands wraps lightly around his neck. “i asked you a question, baby,” you murmur, still moving mercilessly.

when he forces his eyes open to look at you, his pupils are blown wide. he gasps out a few confirmations along with a few whines of your name before you feel him twitch, bucking his hips uselessly before flooding you with warmth.

he doesn’t forget about you, though, even in his euphoria. one hand leaves your hip to circle your bud with his fingers, knowing exactly how to touch you, exactly the way you like. with a couple more seconds and a whine, you collapse atop him as you reach your high.

the room is quiet as you both come down, the white noise machine the only sound besides your combined breathing. he holds you for a long moment, stroking his hand up and down your shoulder.

“we need a shower,” you murmur, shifting to slip him out of you. you both groan at the sensation.

the last thing you remember before sleep finally took you was the slow rise and fall of his back next to the bed, curled on the floor like he didn’t quite belong anywhere else.

morning comes soft but unforgiving. sunlight spilling through the window, warm against your face. you roll over instinctively, reaching for the time on the clock he keeps on his bedside. the pillows smell like him. it makes something in your chest tighten.

last night is a blur. not gone, just… smudged. but the feeling lingers. you went to bed wrong with each other. unsettled. it aches in a quiet, persistent way.

the sound of pans clinking pulls you out of it. then the smell. pancakes. warm and familiar.

you drag yourself up, blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders, and pad out of his room. the floor’s cold under your feet. the kitchen is brighter, louder, alive in a way the bedroom wasn’t. you suppose it has to do with his presence. he’s there, back turned, shoulders moving slightly to music only he can hear. you notice the way his roots are growing out. you wonder if he’ll still ask you to re-dye it for him, or if he’ll finally get someone else to help. you hope he asks you.

you slip onto a stool at the counter without a word. just watch him for a second. the hoodie doesn’t go unnoticed. you absently wish he’d stayed shirtless.

he doesn’t turn around, but he knows you’re there.

“peanut butter on your pancakes?” he asks.

of course he remembers. you hum in response, quiet.

you let the silence stretch. it’s fragile, but it’s not bad. not yet. better to leave it untouched until you have to break it.

he sets a plate in front of you, then sits beside you, close but not quite touching. his own plate stays untouched.

he speaks first.

“how much do you remember from last night?”

you take a second, sorting through the haze. pieces click into place slowly.

“i remember you were mad at me,” you say.

his expression shifts. something softer than before, something you almost miss.

“i’m not mad at you,” he says. steady. “i was frustrated, maybe. i shouldn’t have snapped. i’m sorry.”

you believe him. it’s uncharacteristic for him to be genuinely upset with you.

you stare at your plate for a second before asking, “did you mean it?”

he looks at you, confused for half a beat, then waiting.

you fill in the gap. “what you said. about… not feeling like i meant the things i was saying.”

his attention drops to his hands, picking at his nails like they’ve suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“of course i meant it,” he says eventually, quieter now, but sure.

you tilt your head slightly. “so you’d rather i be serious?” you ask. “when i flirt with you? when i mess with you?”

the words come out light, almost careless.

he flinches like they aren’t.

his face colors, and there’s nothing now to soften it. no club lights, no alcohol to blur the edges.

“do i really have to spell it out for you?” he asks, sharper than before. his humiliation is clear as day. he’s horrible talking about feelings.

you soften instantly. “awsten.”

it’s enough to pull his eyes back to yours.

he’s close. closer than he realizes.

before he can think too much, before either of you can ruin it with words, you lean in and kiss him.

there’s no hesitation. he meets you immediately, like he’s been waiting for it. like he’s been holding it back. he follows every time you pull away, barely giving you space to breathe. one hand settles at your waist, grounding you, the other finds your cheek, sliding up into your hair like it belongs there.

“what made you think i wasn’t serious?” you murmur between breaths, lips brushing his.

he doesn’t answer, not in words. the sounds he makes when you pull away say enough.

you tug lightly at his hair, just enough to get his attention back when he drifts. a soft groan drifts from his throat.

“i don’t talk to my other friends like that,” you whisper. “you never noticed?”

he exhales something almost like a laugh, almost like defeat. “have i ever been good at… this?” he says, gesturing vaguely between you.

you can’t help the small, crooked smile that slips out.

“touché.”

you shift closer, sliding off the stool to stand between his knees, closing whatever space is left.

he doesn’t stay sitting.

of course he doesn’t.

he stands with you like it’s instinct, like there was never another option.

suddenly he’s taller again, and you feel it. the shift. the way his presence settles over you, the way his hands find you again without hesitation. one rests at your waist, the other tilts your chin up just enough so he can look at you properly.

for a second, he just does that. looks at you. like he’s trying to memorize something.

then he leans down and kisses you again, slower this time. more deliberate. like he finally understands what he’s holding onto. his lips move against yours with a kind of focus that makes your chest feel too tight, your hands instinctively gripping at the front of his hoodie to keep yourself steady.

he hums softly when you pull him closer. it’s quiet, but it goes straight through you.

when you part for air, neither of you goes far. your foreheads hover close, his breath warm against your lips.

“come on,” he murmurs, voice lower now, softer in a different way. “bedroom’s… more comfortable.”

you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your mouth. “yeah?”

he huffs something that almost sounds like a laugh, a little embarrassed, a little breathless. “yeah.”

he doesn’t give you much time to respond before he’s guiding you back, hand firm at your waist, the other brushing against yours like he’s checking you’re still there. you let him lead you, feet moving almost on their own, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you again as you step back into his room.

it feels different now. warmer. smaller.

he sits first, leaning back against the headboard, and there’s a brief pause like he’s not sure what to do with his hands again.

you fix that for him.

you move in close, settling into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, knees on either side of him, the blanket still loosely wrapped around your shoulders. his hands find your waist instantly this time, more certain, fingers pressing just enough to keep you there.

he exhales, long and unsteady, head tipping back against the wall for a second before his eyes find yours again.

“you’re… killing me, you know that?” he says quietly.

you tilt your head, feigning innocence, but your hands slide up into his hair anyway, brushing through it slowly.

“i think you’ll live,” you murmur.

he smiles at that. really smiles. soft and a little helpless.

“not if you keep looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

he studies you for a second, like he’s trying to find the exact word and coming up short.

“like you mean it,” he settles on.

your expression softens, just a little. your fingers slow where they rest at the nape of his neck.

“i do mean it,” you say, quieter now. no teasing this time. no deflection.

something in him shifts at that. you feel it in the way his grip tightens slightly at your waist, the way he pulls you closer without thinking.

“yeah,” he breathes, like he’s still getting used to hearing it.

you lean in again, slower this time, giving him the chance to meet you halfway.

he does. of course he does.

his hands slide up your back beneath the blanket, grounding, warm, like he’s making sure you’re real. like this is real. the kiss lingers, unhurried, something softer woven into it now beneath everything else.

when you pull back, it’s not far. it never is anymore.

“you gonna eat those pancakes?” you murmur, lips brushing his as you speak.

he lets out a quiet laugh, eyes closing briefly.

“not even a little,” he admits.

you smile against him, settling closer into his lap, your forehead resting lightly against his.

the kitchen feels miles away now.

you stay like that for a while, close enough that your breaths blend together, your hands still idly playing with the ends of his hair. he hasn’t let go of you once, fingers spread at your waist like he’s afraid if he loosens his grip you might disappear.

“you’re really not going to eat?” you ask again, softer this time, almost amused.

he shakes his head a little, eyes still on your mouth. “i don’t think i can focus on anything else right now.”

you hum, like you expected that answer.

“good,” you murmur, and lean in again, pressing another slow kiss to his lips.

this one lingers. it deepens without either of you rushing it, your hands sliding more confidently now, his grip adjusting like he’s learning you in real time. there’s less hesitation in him, less second guessing. every time you move, he follows.

when you pull back, he doesn’t chase right away this time. he just looks at you again, something softer and heavier sitting behind his eyes.

“you know,” he starts, voice quieter, almost thoughtful, “last night…”

you raise an eyebrow slightly. “yeah?”

his thumbs trace absent patterns against your sides, like he needs something to do with his hands while he figures out how to say it.

“when you made me dance with you,” he says, a small, breathy laugh slipping out. “you were so out of it. just grabbing me, pulling me around like i had a choice.”

you smile at that, a little proud. “you didn’t seem like you minded.”

“i didn’t,” he admits quickly. then softer, “that was the problem.”

you tilt your head, watching him.

his gaze drops for a second before coming back to you. “i wanted to touch you like this then,” he says. honest. a little rough around the edges. “but you were drunk, and i… i didn’t trust myself not to read too much into it.”

that lands somewhere deep in your chest.

your expression shifts, something more serious threading through it now. your hands move from his hair to his jaw, holding him there so he can’t look away this time.

“you wouldn’t have been reading too much into it,” you say quietly.

he exhales, like he’s been holding that in since last night.

“yeah,” he says again, softer.

you don’t give him time to sit in it too long. your thumbs brush along his cheeks, and then you lean in, kissing him again. slower at first, then a little more intent, like you’re trying to make up for something that never happened.

his hands move more this time, more sure. they slide from your waist up your back, pressing you closer, fingertips grazing under the edge of the blanket still around your shoulders.

you shift slightly in his lap, closer, and he reacts immediately. a quiet inhale, his head tipping back just for a second before he looks at you again.

“you okay?” you ask, barely above a whisper, but there’s something intentional in it. giving him space. giving him a choice.

his answer is immediate. “yeah. yeah, i’m okay.”

you nod once, satisfied.

then your hands move to the hem of his hoodie.

you don’t rush it. your fingers hook there, pausing just long enough for him to realize what you’re doing. his eyes flick down, then back up to yours, searching your face like he’s still half expecting this to be a joke.

it’s not.

“can i?” you ask, softer now.

he swallows, then nods. “please.”

that’s all you need.

you lift the fabric slowly, and he helps you the rest of the way, arms raising so you can pull it off and toss it somewhere behind you. your hands don’t leave him after that, trailing back down his shoulders, across his chest, like you’re reacquainting yourself with something you’ve thought about more than you’d admit.

he watches you the whole time. completely still, except for the way his hands tighten slightly at your sides.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

“can you blame me?” he replies quietly.

you smile a little at that, but don’t answer. instead, you lean in again, kissing him as your hands continue to wander, slower now, more deliberate. he responds instantly, one hand sliding up your back again, the other resting more firmly at your hip.

after a moment, his fingers brush the edge of your shirt, hesitating.

you feel it.

you pull back just enough to look at him, then gently take his wrist, guiding his hand where you want it.

“it’s okay,” you say softly. that’s all it takes.

he exhales, something unsteady leaving him, and then he’s moving too. slower than you were, more careful, like he’s making sure he gets it right. his hands slide under the fabric, warm against your skin, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he touches you.

you help him the same way he helped you, lifting your arms so he can pull your shirt off. it joins his hoodie somewhere on the floor, forgotten almost instantly.

there’s a brief pause after that. not awkward. just… full.

his hands settle back at your waist, but they don’t stay still for long, thumbs brushing absent patterns again. you’re still straddling him, still in control of the space between you, and you don’t miss the way he lets you lead it.

“you’re quiet,” you murmur.

he shakes his head slightly, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “just… trying not to mess this up.”

you lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “you’re not.”

that seems to settle something in him. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, so quiet it’s like he’s afraid to say it any louder. it sends warmth rushing to your cheeks. he leans in, brushing his lips along your jaw, his thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts, soft and curious. he hums at the sound you make, and it’s clear that isn’t enough for him.

his kisses trail lower, settling at the top of your chest. one hand drifts, thumb brushing over your nipple, and his mouth follows, hot and wet, leaving behind a messy trail of kisses.

when his lips close around a bud, a quiet, breathless moan slips out of you. he hears it. you know he does by the way his whole body reacts, the way he tenses beneath you.

you let him take his time, fingers threading through his hair, tugging every now and then.

“awsten,” you murmur eventually, giving another small pull. his eyes are glossy when he looks up at you, face flushed. he hums, hands settling back at your waist like they belong there.

“i need more,” you say softly, your hands resting where his shoulders meet his neck.

he nods immediately. he always does with you. before you can think twice about it, he’s lifting you from his lap and laying you back against the bed. he’s strong. he always has been.

he presses a kiss to your jaw. “this okay?”

“perfect,” you whisper, smiling up at him, breath catching.

his lips travel downward again, slow and deliberate, until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts. he glances up at you through his lashes, hooking a finger into the waistband in silent question.

you nod.

he takes his time pulling them down, your underwear going with them in one smooth motion. the cool air against your skin makes you shiver.

he isn’t teasing now. that much is obvious. you think you’ve learned a lot about him today. he guides your knees apart gently, one arm slipping beneath your leg. his lips brush along your inner thighs, the light scrape of stubble making you shiver. his breath ghosts over you for just a second before he finally leans in.

your head falls back against the pillow he placed there earlier, a soft whine leaving your lips. one hand tangles in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp while the other grips the sheets.

he seems just as affected as you are, low sounds slipping from him as you pull at his hair, as you press him closer.

eventually it becomes too much. your body tightens, your vision blurring at the edges, and you tug him away, trying to catch your breath as your legs threaten to close.

he looks up at you, smug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“too much?” he asks, grinning as he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“you’re going to kill me before i even get to feel you,” you manage, chest rising and falling.

he licks his lips, pushing his sweatpants down slowly. his boxers follow, and you try not to stare, even though it’s hard not to. he strokes himself a few times, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and it almost feels unreal to watch.

then he looks back at you, grounding you again.

“i don’t have protection here,” he says, brows pulling together slightly.

“you don’t have girls over often?” you tease, smiling. he smiles a little too.

“never,” he says simply. “i don’t do casual. no reason to keep anything.”

you study him for a moment.

“i’m clean,” you say quietly. “and i’m on the pill.”

“are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, serious now. “we don’t have to.”

you shake your head. “i want this. i trust you.”

that seems to catch him off guard. his face flushes again before he nods, leaning in to kiss you.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he presses into you. he pauses partway, lips brushing yours again, his hand moving between you, rubbing tight circles, helping ease you into it. when you nod, when you soften beneath him, he moves the rest of the way.

he lets out a quiet sound, forehead dropping to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. your hands move over him instinctively, tracing the lines of his sides, feeling the tension there. it’s intimate in a way that almost startles you, but it pulls you in all the same.

when he starts to move, the sounds he makes send a shiver down your spine. you watch him, trying to take it all in. the flush of his skin, the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead, the way his lashes rest against his cheeks, his lips parted.

your hands wander, exploring. his chest, his shoulders, his hair. when your fingers brush his neck, though, everything changes.

he reacts instantly. his body tightens, his rhythm faltering, a soft, helpless sound slipping from him.

you notice.

your hand returns, more certain this time, fingers curling lightly at his neck. his reaction is immediate, a quiet whine falling from his lips.

“you like that?” you breathe, your voice barely steady.

he doesn’t answer right away, so you press just a little more, testing, watching him carefully.

“yes,” he finally manages, voice strained. “feels so good.”

you smile slightly, emboldened. your other hand tugs gently at his hair. “yeah? am i gonna make you cum?”

he responds with a low sound, picking up his pace, his face dropping back to your neck. “you first,” he murmurs, his hand slipping between you again, repeating the same motion from before.

it’s too much. your body tenses, your thoughts scattering as everything builds too quickly to stop. you barely register it before you’re overwhelmed by it, breath catching as everything goes bright.

your grip tightens without thinking, and that’s all it takes for him. his movements break, a rough sound pulled from deep in his chest as he follows right after you. he spills into you, warm and deep, a sensation of fullness that you’ve never experienced before. somewhere in the haze you wrap your legs around him, holding him close as he breathes your name like it’s the only word he knows.

afterward, he stays there for a moment, both of you catching your breath. his weight settles against you, heavy but comforting.

eventually, he pulls back, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. you both make quiet sounds at the loss.

“i’ll grab a towel,” he says softly.

you watch him pull on a pair of boxers and disappear into the bathroom. he comes back with a warm washcloth and an old band shirt, tossing the shirt toward you with a small smile. you catch it, pulling it on as he climbs back onto the bed.

he’s gentle, careful as he cleans you up, like he’s worried about hurting you. you squirm. when he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside somewhere before settling next to you again.

for a while, neither of you says anything.

then you laugh quietly.

he looks at you, confused but smiling. “what?”

“we’re so stupid,” you say, still smiling. “i’ve wanted that for months.”

his expression shifts. “you’re serious?”

“of course i am.”

he laughs, shaking his head. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“i don’t know. you’re always busy. the band, your brand, everything. you never date anyone. i figured you didn’t want to.”

he’s quiet for a second, then leans in to kiss you again, slow and easy this time.

“you’re so oblivious,” he murmurs against your lips.

you don’t push it further. not now. not when everything still feels soft and warm and a little unreal. instead, your thoughts drift back to something simpler.

“what about the pancakes?” you ask.

he huffs out a quiet laugh, settling beside you. “i’ll order something later.”

you smile. “okay. can we go back to sleep?”

he nods, reaching over to turn off the lamp. the room dims, filled only with soft morning light. he curls into you, his head tucked against your neck, one leg thrown over yours.

your fingers move through his hair, scratching lightly, the way you know he likes.

“i don’t care if you’re coming or not, i’m going either way.”

awsten stayed quiet for so long you had to pull the phone away and check the call hadn’t dropped. he doesn’t drink. never has. straight edge down to his bones. but you do, especially nights like this, when everything still feels too fresh and too sharp. and really, who was he to say no when you asked for company?

“fine,” he sighed at last, the sound heavy and dramatic. you could hear him moving around, sheets rustling as he got out of bed.

“sooooo… you’ll pick me up then?” you asked, a grin sneaking into your voice. ubers on a saturday night were ridiculous anyway. “i’ll buy your sodas at the bar.”

“keep your soda money,” he shot back, but there was no real bite to it. you heard the jingle of keys being grabbed. “i’ll see you in twenty.”

true to his word, awsten pulled up right on time. he drove you to your usual spot, the kind of place that was always dim and loud, music vibrating through the walls, drinks cheap enough to justify bad decisions. he slid onto a stool beside you at the bar and ordered a soda while you went straight for a couple of shots.

he watched you knock them back, face twisting in exaggerated disgust as he made a loud, drawn out “yuck.” you shoved his shoulder, laughing.

“you’re such a baby,” you teased.

he turned a little pink when you touched him, though the lighting hid it well. you always made him feel warm. “you’re the one who needed a babysitter to go out,” he said, rolling his eyes, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “how old are you again?”

“oh, shut up.”

the night blurred the way it always did with him. time slipped through your fingers, easy and light. even sober, awsten kept up with you, laughing at your buzzed rambling, letting you drag him onto the dance floor over and over again. he went along with it without much protest, hands hovering near your waist just in case you stumbled. not everyone got a person like that. you trusted him enough to let go, to drink until the edges of everything softened, knowing he would still get you home in one piece.

sometime around midnight, things started to tilt. you barely registered awsten guiding you toward the door, his voice low as he muttered something about it being late. his coat settled over your shoulders, warm and heavy, his hand steady at your arm as he led you to the car.

the next thing you really noticed was him helping you out again, except it wasn’t your place. the parking lot was wrong. the hallway was wrong. his apartment.

you stumbled in the doorway, grabbing onto his bicep to keep yourself upright. he felt closer now, solid and warm, but quieter than he had been all night. you hadn’t noticed the shift. it must’ve happened sometime in the car.

“cat got your tongue?” you giggled, leaning into him as he shut the door behind you.

“fuck off,” he muttered under his breath, locking it, toeing off his shoes. there was something tight in his voice, something you didn’t quite catch.

“who pissed in your cheerios?” you huffed, dropping into the big chair in his living room. the cushions swallowed you up as you bent over, fumbling with your laces.

he watched you for a few seconds, your fingers clumsy and uncooperative, before crossing the room without a word. he knelt in front of you, hands moving to untie your shoes, careful and quiet, eyes fixed anywhere but your face.

you stared down at him, at the top of his messy blonde hair. “you look good like that,” you said, almost absentmindedly.

he let out a short scoff. “what?” the word was barely there.

“on your knees, i mean,” you added with a small laugh.

that got his attention. he looked up at you then, eyes sharp, searching your face like he was waiting for you to push it further.

you didn’t.

after a beat, he finished with your shoes, setting them aside before standing up quickly, like he needed the distance. “bed?” he asked, holding out a hand.

you took it, swaying a little as you got to your feet. “i’ve got a shirt you can borrow,” he added, already turning toward his room.

you followed him, steps uneven. “bed with you?” you teased, bold in the way only alcohol allowed, a crooked grin on your face.

he didn’t answer.

he just pulled a shirt from his closet and tossed it at you, the same way he always did, like every other sleepover, like nothing was different at all. you barely caught it.

you frowned, the haze in your head not enough to ignore the shift anymore. “what’s got into you?” you asked, your tone softer now, a little frustrated. he usually played along. he usually found it funny.

tonight, he didn’t.

awsten lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to yank the words out of his own head before they come out wrong.

“what’s got into me?” he echoes, turning to face you fully now. his voice isn’t loud, but there’s something tight in it, something frayed at the edges. “you keep saying shit like that and then acting like it’s nothing.”

you blink at him, swaying slightly where you stand, the room tilting just enough to make it hard to focus on the way his jaw is set. “like what?”

“like—” he cuts himself off, exhaling hard through his nose. his hands land on his hips for a second before dropping uselessly to his sides. “like you don’t realize what you’re saying.”

you frown, genuinely confused, your head too foggy to follow whatever line he’s trying to draw. “i’m just joking, awsten.”

“yeah,” he snaps, quicker this time, and it startles even him. his expression falters immediately after, guilt flashing across his face. “i know you are. that’s kind of the problem.”

the silence that follows is heavier than anything that’s passed between you all night. you shift your weight, clutching the shirt he gave you, suddenly feeling a little smaller under the way he’s looking at you.

his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh, like whatever fight he was gearing up for just drains out of him all at once. “you’re drunk,” he mutters, softer now, more to himself than to you. he drags a hand down his face. “this isn’t—you’re not gonna remember half of this tomorrow anyway.”

“i will,” you insist weakly, though even you don’t sound convinced.

he shakes his head, not arguing anymore, just tired. “just change, okay? take the bed.”

you hesitate. “what about you?”

“i’ll figure it out.” he doesn’t meet your eyes this time, already turning away, busying himself with grabbing a blanket from the corner of the room.

you watch him for a second longer, like you want to say something else, but the words don’t quite form. eventually, you shuffle past him, disappearing into the bathroom to change.

by the time you come back out, he’s already dimmed the lights. you crawl into his bed without much ceremony, exhaustion finally catching up to the alcohol in your system. the mattress dips familiarly beneath you, smelling faintly like his detergent.

awsten lingers in the doorway for a moment, watching to make sure you actually settle. your breathing evens out quicker than he expects.

“…goodnight,” he murmurs, even though you’re already half asleep.

he turns away before you can answer, dragging the blanket with him as he settles onto the floor beside the bed. it’s not comfortable, not by a long shot, but he doesn’t bother trying to fix it.