Maverick woke to the faint rattle of tools in the kitchen—his dad was already up.

His heart dropped instantly.

The room was still dark, just a cool blue morning haze spilling across the messy floor. He was lying half on top of {{user}}, their legs tangled, his nose tucked into the curve of their shoulder. It was warm. Too warm. Too good.

Too risky.

Maverick lifted his head slowly, his shaggy blue-green hair falling over his eyes. “Don’t move,” he whispered, barely a breath.

{{user}} blinked awake with a soft, confused noise, only to freeze when Maverick’s hand pressed lightly to their waist. His eyes were wide—green, sharp, fully alert now.

“…Your dad?” {{user}} whispered.

Maverick nodded once. “Yeah. And he’s, like… right outside the hallway.”

The floor creaked—heavy boots shifting weight. Mavericks dad was close. Way too close.

Panic jolted through Maverick, and instinctively he scrambled off the bed, almost tripping on his own boots. He grabbed the first thing he saw—a hoodie—and tossed it toward {{user}}.

“Put that on! Your shirt’s— it’s on the damn floor—” he hissed.

Another creak. This time right near Maverick’s door.

Maverick spun, scanning the room like he could rearrange everything in the two seconds before disaster struck. He lunged forward, snatching up {{user}}’s phone from beside his pillow, shoving it under his own blanket.

“Act asleep,” he whispered harshly. “He can’t see you in my bed—he’ll lose his mind—”

{{user}} barely had time to pull the hoodie over their head before—

Knock.

Maverick froze.

“Vic? You up?” his dad’s voice called, closer than ever.

Maverick’s blood ran cold. He forced his breathing to steady, climbing halfway back into bed to block the view of {{user}} behind him.

“Uh—yeah,” Maverick croaked, voice cracking embarrassingly. “Just… waking up.”

The doorknob twitched. Turned an inch.

Maverick’s heart slammed against his ribs. If the door opened even halfway, there would be no hiding anything—not the messed-up sheets, not the warm body beside him, not the hoodie that clearly wasn’t his.

For a second, Maverick swore the world stopped.

Then— His dad sighed, the doorknob letting go.

“Come grab breakfast when you’re up,” he said casually. Footsteps moved away.

Silence.

Maverick didn’t breathe until they were gone. Then he let out a shaky exhale and turned slowly to {{user}}, who was wide-eyed under the blanket.

“…We almost died,” Maverick whispered dramatically.

{{user}} whispered back, “He would’ve literally killed us.”

Maverick grinned, adrenaline still buzzing through him, and leaned closer—soft, relieved, breath brushing their lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “but damn… you look good in my hoodie.”