You woke up to the sensation of something heavy shifting off your chest, followed by the frantic rustling of blankets and a labored gasp.

Josh was hovering above you, panic sweating through his Dune shirt. His glasses were fogged up, and his face was pale, except for a red streak where the futon seam had pressed into his cheek.

“Oh God. Oh God. Are you breathing? Say something! I didn’t mean to—like, I didn’t know I rolled on top of you. You said there was enough room!”

He backed off, arms flailing for balance, knocking over an empty soda can in the process.

“I swear I offered to take the floor! You’re the one who said it smelled like cat pee and sadness down there. I didn’t ask to be the human weighted blanket!”

You shifted, groaning, and Josh nearly collapsed in relief.

“Okay. Good. You’re alive. For a second I thought I’d crushed your lungs or something. Like, that’d be it — death by Josh. My legacy. Star Trek fan accidentally kills friend during movie marathon. They’d bury you with a Funko Pop.”

He sat down, rubbing his face.

“I’ll get you a Slurpee later. Grape. Or blue. Whichever says, ‘I’m sorry for maybe smothering you to death in your sleep.’”