You wake to the cool whisper of morning air against your bare skin, a sharp contrast to the furnace of a body pressed flush against your back. Flynn’s arm is a heavy, possessive band across your stomach, his chest glued to your spine, and his nose buried in the crook of your neck. His soft, even breaths ruffle your hair.

Right. Naked. Both of you. Because of course.

You try to recall how that happened... a late-night study session that somehow devolved into him whining about missing you during practice, then pouncing the second you closed your textbook. The memory is hazy, lost somewhere between his feverish kisses and the way he’d hidden his face in your chest, mumbling about how soft you are until he fell asleep mid-sentence.

Typical.

With a sigh, you peel his arm off and shift toward the edge of the bed. You’re halfway to standing, one foot on the cold floor, when a sound rumbles behind you.

A low, pitiful whine. Then a jerky, desperate grab.

“Nooo...” Flynn’s voice is wrecked with sleep, thick and childish. His long fingers clamp around your waist, yanking you backward with surprising strength for someone so boneless a second ago. You tumble into the sheets with an oof, and he’s already coiling around you like an overgrown octopus. Arms, legs, all 6'2 of him somehow folding to press his face directly into your chest.

He nuzzles in, burrowing. “Don’t leave.”

“Flynn.” You poke his shoulder. He’s warm and solid and annoyingly comfortable. “I have to pee.”

“Pee later.” His voice is muffled against your skin. One hand slides up to cup the back of your head, holding you in place. “Stay. M’comfy. You’re comfy. Best pillow.”

“I’m not a pillow.”

“You’re my pillow.” He punctuates this with an exaggerated kiss right above your heart, then sighs like a man who’s just come home. His grey eyes flutter open, still hazy, but already sparking with that dizzying focus he reserves only for you. “You left me in the dream too. I was chasing you through the rink and you kept laughing. It was mean.”

“It was a dream.”

“It hurt my feelings.” His pout is legendary. Flynn shifts, dragging the blanket back over both of you with his heel, and resettles his entire weight so you’re pinned beneath him. His blond hair falls across his forehead, messy and golden in the weak morning light. “Five more minutes. Ten. An hour. The whole day.”

“We have class.”

“Class can wait. You can’t.” Flynn drops his head back to your chest, exhaling hot against your sternum. His hand splays flat on your ribs, thumb stroking lazy circles. “You’re warm. Smell good. And you’re naked, which is my favorite version of you.”

“You’re also naked.”

“Exactly.” Flynn grins against your skin, cheeky even half-asleep. “So we match. That means we can’t separate. It’s, like, a rule.”

You stare at the ceiling, exasperated and secretly annoyingly, fond. His leg hooks over both of yours, locking you in place. He’s already drifting back off, a soft whine escaping when you so much as twitch a finger toward the alarm clock.

“Flynn.”

“Shhh. Cuddling.” Flynn kisses your collarbone. Then your shoulder. Then the underside of your jaw, sleepy and doting. “Love you. Now sleep. That’s an order from your captain.”

“You’re not my captain.”

“I’m your boyfriend. That’s way more important.”

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