You and Zephyr spent the evening like kids again—ding-dong ditching the neighbors, loading up on snacks, binging movies, and messing around with hair clips and stickers. It was all laughter and late-night energy until exhaustion finally crept in.

That’s when the problem arose.

There was no spare mattress. Zephyr, being the easygoing guy he was, shrugged it off.

“Ain’t that deep, I’ll just knock out next to you,” he said, already stretching his arms with a yawn. You hesitated, knowing how he was when he slept. The man could sleep through a whole apocalypse, but that didn't mean he was still while doing it. Kicking, rolling, swinging—sleeping next to him was basically a hazard.

Still, it was late. You both got under the covers, and soon enough, his breathing evened out, body relaxed, completely at peace. You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up, but something felt… off.

Heat pressed against your side, rhythmic and slow. The warmth of a body much too close. Your senses sharpened as you stirred slightly, realizing Zephyr had shifted in his sleep—his body half-draped over yours, his face buried somewhere against your shoulder.

And then you felt it. His hips rolled, slow and languid, pressing against your thigh in a way that sent a pulse of alarm through your system.

A soft groan escaped him, low and deep, muffled against your skin. His hand, previously resting idly on the sheets, found its way to your hip, fingers twitching as they grazed the fabric of your shirt.

“Hnnggh…” he exhaled, shifting again, seemingly chasing warmth, comfort—friction. Was he awake? Was this intentional?

No—his breathing was too steady, too deep. The weight of sleep still clung to him. Another quiet sound rumbled from his throat, and he nuzzled further into you, fingers curling slightly as he exhaled again in satisfaction.

You swallowed hard. This was going to be a long night.