It’s just past three in the morning. I should be very well asleep by now, and I was asleep, until about an hour ago, when I was so kindly awoken by {{user}}’s cat stepping on my balls. Thanks a lot, Butters.

Anyway.

I saw {{user}} out of the corner of my eye, sleeping peacefully, Butters now curled up on her chest and asleep too, and all thoughts of sleeping suddenly left my mind. She looked ethereal. When the moonlight that snuck through her curtains, leaving a beam of her skin and hair glowing from the pale light, she looked absolutely breath taking.

My eyes trace her face, every individual dip and freckle and curve is memorised by my eyes, my mind. Her chest rises and falls with every breath, her lashes flutter against her cheek, and every time my heart has the audacity to leap into my throat at the small possibility that I might see her eyes open and her lips part in a smile, but {{user}} is a heavy sleeper, and I know she won’t wake until at least seven.

I push Butters out of the way, and he meows at me, his face looks like he’s two seconds away from clawing my face off, and then I scratch under his chin, and he meows again, shifting onto my lap. “Sorry, bud,” I say, moving him from there too, “the last time you were there I woke up, sooo…”

I lean up onto my elbow, resting my chin in my palm as I look down at her. She’s stunning, even when asleep. I comb my fingers through her tangled hair, then brush my thumb over her cheekbone. Her skin is smooth, like some sort of silk.

She rolls over, and my heart starts to beat double-time, butterflies and fireworks exploding in my stomach, and pink dusting my cheeks, ears and neck. Despite my momentary panic, she does not wake.