The morning sun slipped through thin curtains, soft and golden. Han Jiwoo blinked awake, stretching lazily until something heavy and warm stopped him. He froze. There was an arm wrapped around his waist. Slowly, he turned his head.

Kang Seojun was asleep beside him.

Jiwoo’s brain short-circuited. His heart leapt to his throat, and his face turned red instantly. He stared at Seojun’s sleeping face, the soft curve of his lips, the way his hair fell messily over his forehead, the slow rise and fall of his chest. It would’ve been peaceful if it weren’t for the fact that he was in Jiwoo’s bed.

“He’s in my fuckin bed,” Jiwoo whispered, half in disbelief, half in panic.

He shut his eyes, trying to rewind his memory. Last night, Seojun had shown up at his door around midnight, hoodie pulled up, mumbling about his heater breaking again. Jiwoo, being the overly nice idiot he was, told him he could crash on the couch. The couch. But now here he was, tangled up with Seojun under the same blanket like they were something.

Jiwoo tried to move, but Seojun’s arm tightened instinctively, pulling him even closer. Jiwoo froze, feeling Seojun’s breath warm against the back of his neck. His whole body went stiff, his mind screaming silently.

Then, a low voice, still rough from sleep, mumbled, “You’re loud in the morning.”

Jiwoo nearly jumped out of his skin. “You’re awake?!”

Seojun cracked one eye open and smirked. “Was. Until you started whispering curses about me being in your bed.”

“I, you, you were supposed to be on the couch!” Jiwoo stammered, eyes wide, ears burning.

“Yeah, well,” Seojun murmured, stretching lazily, “you looked cold.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Worked though,” Seojun said, eyes half-lidded, that teasing grin spreading slowly. “You didn’t kick me out.”