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·° 。: ✰ : ·° 。
SLEEPING HAD NEVER BEEN EASIER. The simple act of retiring to bed was proven to be a strangely difficult task for Rosalie Monet during the last few months. Recurring nightmares about death and odd dreams filled with complex people did tend to have an effect on the brunette's psyche; but this morning, slumbering was as easy as breathing.
In fact, it was probably the most comfortable she'd been. The Monet was certain that she must've taken stronger sleeping pills the night prior. That night! she recalled with masked awareness.
Rosalie wanted to question everything, to bolt to Alaska's room and spill all the inquiries that gathered in her head; but everything was so heavenly. It was as though she was inhaling something utterly rejuvenating. Andㅡ
Seriously, what is that?
The musky scent of pine, and lavender, and dried paint seemed to cling to her nostrils, seemingly bringing on a wave of comfort. Rosalie braced herself, then peeled her eyes open.
A handㅡher handㅡwas daintily placed on something that was rising and falling. She furrowed her eyebrows, only realizing that this something was a someone, whose warm body was currently trapped in her death like cuddle. The brunette raised her head, which was previously tucked under this someone's chin, and she looked towards the foot of her bed. The comforter was nowhere to be seen; but her legs, clad in Winnie the Pooh pajamas, was tangled in a mess of limbs with someone else's jean covered legs.
The brunette slowly turned her gaze to the opposite direction, nervous of what, or rather, who she'll see.
What the actual fuㅡ
Rosalie yelped, startling away from the man like she had been electrocuted. The jump caused her to tumble backwards to her side of the bed, head narrowly missing the bedside table. The loud thud that followed en suite and her groans echoed throughout the previously quiet room.
"Rosalie?" came a panicked voice from her mattress, "What's going on? Are you all right, love?"
The brunette sat up from her sprawled position on the cold floorboards, rubbing the back of her head. Her golden irises, although droopy with sleep, could make out the outline of his face. His dark blond curls were mused from the pillow, eyes red rimmed, and lips parted in surprise. He was tired, but that seemed to increase his already beautiful features.
And that voice.
Rosalie shivered, pulling herself upright. She stood up and brushed her pajamas, as though there were some invisible specks of dust trapped in the clothing. "Whaㅡ" she stuttered, staring at him in disbelief. Her hands were held in front of her, like she was gesturing for time to slow down.
