Would You Rather

33 - WYR: grad school or med school (reprise)

FINLEY

I wake up before Fidan, his arm thrown over my hips, big palm wrapped up in mine. It's... not uncomfortable. I don't think I really even remember brushing my teeth yesterday, just a full hour of foreplay and making out and some good sex that put me straight to sleep. And it's not uncomfortable. I've slept in the same bed as guys before, and it's always been icky, too close, too much attention, too big of a possibility that their hands drift in a weird way. It's why I keep running out on Fidan, why I refuse to stay overnight with him. I just don't want to get grossed out by how he acts when he wants to cuddle or snuggle or whatever people like to do when they're this close to someone.

But I'm not sweaty, which has been a leading issue, and I'm not getting groped a little and I'm not skeeved out. It's not like that one time that I was hanging out with Titties Tim and he had his head on my shoulder while I was laying on my back and his whole body was koala'd around me and I hated it and clearly I was stiff and uncomfortable but he just kept talking about how nice it was.

No, Fidan's arm is over my hips, his hand is in mine, fingers hooked together but not muscularly engaged, just relaxed and holding on, and he's sleeping on his stomach on my other side, big and spread out and not smothering me.

He's like standing in front of the hearth, that's for sure, but the lack of contact means that I'm not trying to decide between sweating and keeping him happy or being a normal temperature and running the risk of hurting someone's feelings.

I sit up, shutting off my phone alarm. I don't want to let myself snooze this. I can't. I have to go meet Darius and Bronson for breakfast so they don't think I got kidnapped by the Regina Wolves. His arm drops around to my lap while I check my schedule for the day, fingertips against the edge of the shirt I stole.

I try to get ready as fast and as quietly as I can. My folded clothes for the day are in the bottom of my overnight bag and unfolding them isn't as terrifying as I thought it might be. None of them are wrinkled, at least in a way that's noticeable. I apply some very very basic makeup, just to try to lighten up the dark circles I got screwing around with a hockey player instead of getting some much needed sleep, and I'm uncapping a sharpie when I re-enter the small sleeping area.

Fidan's back is skyward, ripped and moving slowly with his breathing. I want to lean in and kiss the side of his head before I head out, as some sort of weird primitive instinct, it's way too motherly for me normally, but Fidan isn't normal. Thankfully, he stops me, picking his head up with a squint in my direction.

"Don't you dare draw a dick on my back." His voice is raw, thick, and sleepy. Way deeper than I'm used to. I stop in my tracks, staring at his body draped out across the hotel bed, limber and lean, snarky and sarcastic. My heart is thundering. One sentence and my stupid little heart is thundering. It's practically in my throat, giggling and shaking my shoulders and pointing and going that's him! That's Fidan! Look!

"Aw, damn." I cap the sharpie, swallowing over the waver in my voice. "Caught in the act."

He smiles, pressing his face against the pillow, and I just watch him for a moment. His legs shift, pushing outward, stretching, his arms next, a hundred and eighty centimeters or so and you really don't realize how big a man is until you're standing next to them, or, in this case, looking at them laid out in a hotel bed, long and lean and limber and rolling over, rubbing their eyes. And it's... he's big and sleepy and smiling at me, puffy-lipped and giving me that stupid big chipped-tooth smile.

Something clicks in my head, sliding into place like the last data point in a set, like throwing things onto a graph and spotting a trend, like some experimental variable you picked at random that just so happens to have a strong correlation after months and months of recording data.