#ptgn

member: yeo one / pentagon

genre: fluff? angst? we don’t kno

a/n: yeah i was 90% asleep when word for word this shit popped into my head so i yEETED myself out of bed to come and write this down. gdi

He can’t move. Well, he can move, but he won’t. 

Your body is far too close, and he’s afraid if he shifts even a little bit, you’ll wake up and this whole dream-like reality will shatter. 

He doesn’t really know how he ended up here. Maybe it started back in high school when you walked into the classroom as the bright-eyed new girl, or when you moved into his neighborhood and the only open seat on the bus was beside him. Maybe it started in college when your dorm happened to be right across from his, and your bus routes were nearly identical. 

Regardless, here you are now, in his bed, your slow breath fanning over his neck and your small hand on his chest. 

You started out on the other side of the mattress, and in your slumber, your body unconsciously inched closer and closer, until.... this. 

Your body is pressed against the side of his, and he can’t even consider the thought of sleep. 

He isn’t sure if he wants to push you away or pull you closer. He tries not to think about what he should do. Should is irrelevant now, anyway. 

He never should’ve offered to take you to his car when he found you crying. He never should’ve offered to take you to his house so you wouldn’t have to go back to your apartment where your boyfriend was waiting. You never should’ve agreed. 

He never should’ve offered you to stay the night if you didn’t feel comfortable going home. He shouldn’t have offered you his bed, and you shouldn’t have felt guilty about him sleeping on the floor. You should’ve never said, “just sleep here, we can put pillows between us.”

He can’t breathe, and all he can think about is the feeling of your skin touching his in places it shouldn’t be. Your thighs, your lips.

You have someone at home, albeit someone shitty, but still someone. 

He can already feel your scent infiltrating his apartment, his sheets, his pillows, and he hates how much he likes it. 

You shift in your sleep, a small sigh escaping your lips. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to convince himself he isn’t painfully aware of your body almost tangled with his. 

Just as he can’t take it anymore; just as he’s about to push you away and go sleep on the floor, your grip suddenly tightens.