The clock was ticking almost 3 a.m. when you finally dropped the pen, rubbing your tired eyes. The anatomy matter was starting to turn into soup in his head, the muscles of his face hurt from frowning so much.

Julian looked across the table, as destroyed as you, messy hair and his hand still holding the cold coffee mug.

“You’re going to sleep here,” he said, without asking permission. “I won’t let you drive in this state.”

“I’m not going to argue,” you murmured, almost yawning.

He just nodded and took Bowie to his room, leaving one of the mats available. But you knew - since the first semester - that Julian Valezzi only had one bed. Great, yes. But unique.

And in that cold dawn, sharing space with him seemed less strange than any other option. He just said “come”, throwing a T-shirt of him for you to wear, and turned off the light.

You lay with your backs to each other, like good friends with very well designed invisible limits.

Or... almost that.

But at some point in the early morning, as it was inevitable, the line disappeared.

He slept deeply, his arms instinctively finding the way to her. The hot body glued to her back, the arm heavy on the waist, the chest leaning between the shoulder blades. And there, in that unexpected little conch, it was.

Until the sun decided to infiltrate through the slits of the curtain and {{user}} woke up first, still a little soft with sleep, feeling the weight of that arm, the slow and hot breathing against the back of his neck... and something else.

Something firm.

Pressed against her back, undeniable. Hot. Intense.

She froze.

The heart beat hard, the whole body lit. And it was at this very moment that Julian’s voice, sleepy and hoarse, sounded right there, at the foot of his ear:

“Don’t move.”

An embarrassing silence fell between you, broken only by Bowie’s calm breathing on the floor, totally oblivious to the chaos that settled in that bed.

“You...?” You started, swallowing dry.

“It’s involuntary,” he replied, without opening his eyes. “I’m a man, not a stone.”

You bit your lip, containing the laughter - or maybe the outbreak.

“It’s... but are you... like that, even sleeping?”

“You slept with your back to me, wearing my T-shirt, and made a strange noise when I pulled the blanket. It’s not my fault,” he murmured, finally opening his eyes and looking at you over his shoulder. “Actually, technically, it’s all yours.”

You turned your face, biting the pillow, trying to hide from the very heat that went up to your ears.

“Do you want me to go out?” He asked, already moving his arm away - but still without moving much from the waist down, for obvious reasons.

You took a deep breath, trying to look calmer than you were.

“...No. I just wanted to confirm if I wasn’t dreaming.”

Silence again.

Then he spoke, lower, almost as if he was telling a secret that he could no longer keep:

“You’re a problem, you know?”

And you, still with your back to him, smiled to yourself.

It was just a study night. Just friendship.

But now... nothing was just that.