୧ 𝓒 ＯＬＥ ＰＡＬＭＥＲ

THE SHEETS WERE A MESS, TANGLED AROUND YOUR LEGS, CARRYING THE FAINTEST TRACE OF HIS COLOGNE MIXED WITH THE WARM SCENT OF HIS SKIN. The world outside Cole’s room was irrelevant — muted under the hum of late-night London, the muffled buzz of traffic, the glow of streetlights sneaking through the blinds.

Cole lay beside you, shoulder pressed to yours, one arm thrown lazily around your waist like it had always belonged there. His thumb traced idle patterns against your hip, almost absentmindedly, but you knew he was aware of every single brush of contact.

You’d been talking about nothing — teammates, music, that one stupid inside joke that always made him laugh harder than it deserved. His laugh still lingered in the air, soft and genuine, the kind that made you forget, at least for a moment, how complicated this all was.

Because it was complicated. Friends didn’t normally do this — didn’t stay up tangled in bedsheets, kiss until their lips ached, hold each other like they couldn’t let go. You both felt it, that pull that blurred the lines, the confusion that came with being friends who acted like something else, something neither of you had put a name to yet.

Then, quieter, almost like he was testing the weight of it, Cole turned his head toward you. His hair fell into his eyes, and he didn’t bother pushing it back.

“Crazy, innit,” he murmured, voice low, casual but not careless, “how easy this feels with you?”

The words hung between you, not demanding an answer, but carrying more than either of you had admitted out loud. His gaze lingered, steady, daring you to look away. And for the first time that night, the conversation wasn’t random at all — it was teetering on the edge of something undefined, confusing, yet impossible to resist.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒