It was the dead of night, the room completely still save for the soft whirr of the fan and the occasional rustle of blankets. Mike lay half-asleep, drifting in and out of a dream, when suddenly—thud.

Something solid hit his shin.

He blinked, groggy and disoriented, but before he could even process what was happening, another kick connected with his calf. He shifted, blinking the sleep from his eyes to find you sprawled across the bed, one of your legs flung haphazardly in his direction, clearly the source of the surprise attacks. He couldn’t help but smile sleepily, watching you as you mumbled something incoherent, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were causing.

He tried to reposition himself, but no sooner had he settled than you landed another soft kick against his side, your foot cold against his warm skin. “Alright, alright,” he whispered with a chuckle, reaching out to gently hold your leg still. “Easy there, champ. It’s a bed, not a wrestling ring.”