cassidy stacy had never been allowed to have sleepovers.

his mother, edith, had frowned upon him having any friends over. to others this decree was utterly illogical, especially as he had turned eighteen years old.

but as his mother—the wicked witch as you called her—was in california, cassidy’s father allowed him the leniency to have you over for an evening. you’d proposed the endeavour—so it was reasonable of him to be slightly frenzied.

in his rampage, he’d refolded his sweaters five times, stuffed his amen army youth camp shirt under his bed and lit various bath & bodyworks butterscotch candles to mask the fragrance of lavender incense that had been burning through the rest of the house—he’d prefer you not be high on the latter.

the evening itself had been cozy; the power had gone out in the town for maintenance purposes. the presence of three inches of snow falling outside proposed the perfect pretext for cocooning beneath layers of quilts, steaming mugs of hot chocolate warming your hands. you’d even downloaded an entire season of euphoria so you had entertainment, although the contents were mildly scandalising.

waking up however, was another sort of hell.

“oh my g— shit.” was the first thing out of cassidy’s mouth when he woke up. the lights were dim, the air chilled from the low temperature that had permeated the air—and explained why he was draped over your body like a blanket, nose pressed into the crook of your neck like a shrew.

with comedic haste, he flung himself to the opposite side of the bed, his limbs tangling gracelessly in the blue sheets. his cheekbones were dusted with a mortified blush as his mahogany curls stuck up in directions that would give his barber an heart attack. his eyes darted away from you, pupils dilated with sleep.

“lord, i am so sorry, could you breathe? are you alive?” he questioned ruefully, lashes fluttering as he tried to blink away sleep before he got hit by another surge of horror. “i told you this was an dreadful idea, my mother may actually murder me."