sleepy
warnings: no warnings, just fluff.
synopsis: cuddling billie, falling asleep in her arms.
Finneasâs living room is full, but not loud, warm with the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses, the sound of old friends catching up over soft music pulsing from speakers tucked into corners. Laughter moves in waves across the room, easy and familiar. You sit tucked beside Billie on the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket that someone had tossed over the backrest earlier, your legs curled beneath you, shoulder resting against her side. Sheâs animated, talking with her hands, eyes lit as she adds something to a story that has the rest of the room laughing. But youâre quiet. Not from discomfort, just⊠tired in a way that doesnât fully make sense. Your body feels heavy and still, like youâve folded yourself down smaller than usual, a little closer into the corner of the couch, a little deeper into Billieâs space than normal.
You blink slowly, your gaze unfocused as it drifts across the room, not really seeing. The heat from Billieâs body beside you is constant, her thigh pressed to yours, the edge of her hoodie brushing your arm, her perfume soft and grounding. Your head tilts, barely thinking about it, until itâs resting lightly against her bicep. She notices, of course she does, but doesnât make a thing of it. She doesnât pause her sentence, doesnât shift, just gently adjusts so youâre better supported, her arm curling behind you like it belongs there. Her voice lowers not dramatically, not pointedly just enough that it slips into something quieter, softer. She keeps talking to the others, laughing still, but her hand finds your hair, her fingers combing slowly through it in a rhythm thatâs comforting without drawing attention. She keeps you close. Protective without being outwardly overt about it.
Minutes stretch. You donât say much, if anything, but Billie doesnât push. She knows when to fill silence and when to let it be. Her fingers continue to drift through your hair, and then down your arm, drawing small circles with her thumb at your elbow. Your eyes are barely open now, each blink longer than the last. Youâre not exactly sad but youâre not really okay, either. It feels like a low fog hanging just behind your ribs, something unnamed and thick and a little cold.
Eventually, Billie leans in slightly, her breath warm above your ear, her lips brushing just barely against your hair.Â
âAre you falling asleep on me?â she whispers, her tone low, not teasing. You nod faintly against her shoulder, a small crease forming between your brows.Â
She tilts her head, voice barely audible now.Â
âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
You shrug, slow and tired. Your lips part, barely enough to let the words slip out, âNot sure.â
She doesnât press. She just hums quietly in understanding, like she already knows. Her fingers move again, soothing and slow, her touch more deliberate now long strokes down your back, soft circles on your arm. You breathe in deeper. Your hearing dulls at the edges, the voices around you slipping into a muffled blur. Billie doesnât move away. She doesnât stop talking to the others, but her voice stays quiet, her body still molded to yours. One of her hands tucks the blanket closer around your shoulders. The other never leaves your arm. As your face turns into her hoodie, your nose presses lightly against her skin, and you let go. The weight in your chest eases just slightly, and you fall asleep to the sound of her heartbeat under your cheek and her fingers moving in quiet, endless circles, Billieâs lips slowly coming down and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
