You stood near the bed, pulling on a hoodie over your tank top, your voice teasing. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He reached one arm out without lifting his head, fingers curling into the hem of your hoodie. “Nope,” he muttered, tugging you toward him, voice low and still scratchy from sleep. “You’re not getting dressed yet.”

You laughed, resisting slightly as he gently pulled you closer to the bed. “C.J., seriously. I have class in like thirty minutes.”

“You have fifteen minutes,” he said into your hip, eyes finally lifting to yours, half-lidded but mischievous. “That’s plenty of time.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “We haven’t had sex in, like, a week, C.J., you’ll survive.”

At that, he reached for the small condom box on your nightstand, shaking it lightly. You glanced over as he held it in one hand like it was Exhibit A.

“You know how many were in this box when I bought it?” he asked, raising a brow.

You blinked, caught off guard. “…Twelve?”

He nodded. “And you know how many are in here now?”

“…Still twelve?”

He clicked his tongue dramatically, tossing the box onto the bed. “Exactly. Twelve. Still twelve. We haven’t touched each other in seven days. A week. One-hundred and sixty-eight hours. Do you know what they say? That once you start dating someone, the sex dies.”