Leaf Me Alone // minsung

「⸙ ch.20 ⸙」

JISUNG

You know the feeling when you've just woken up and everything seems like a mix between your dreams and reality? When you'd just accept anything as normal and go along with in until you shake off the few bits of sleep still clinging on to you?

I squinted at the sunlight shining through the gap in the curtains. Stretching, I was attempting to sit up when I discovered that something was weighing me down, preventing me from getting up. Looking down, I saw someone's arm, toned, smooth, muscular, laying across the bare skin of my stomach. My shirt had lifted up slightly during the night, probably because I moved about when I slept, but I paid no mind to it. Instead, I continued to stare at the arm slung across me like it belonged there. Slim fingers fitted around my waist, the carefree touch from fingertips brushing against my skin enough to set fire to it. Looking to my left, I discovered who the arm belonged to.

His eyes were shut, a small smile painted on his face as he slept on peacefully. My eyes traced every part of his face, admiring the sleeping beauty that was presented before me. His hair was all tousled up, and for the briefest of moments I imagined running my hand through it, either neatening it up or making it messier, I wasn't sure which.

I pushed my luck, inching my hand closer to his face to brush the stray strands of hair away, half for his comfort and half for the benefit of being able to look at his face unobstructed.

When my hand was mere millimetres from his face, when I could feel the soft huffs of air that accompanied the rise and fall of his chest, when I was tantalisingly close to reaching him and feeling just how soft his hair was (did it feel as nice as it looked? Maybe it was just him that looked nice), he opened his eyes.

The facade shattered.

I was awake instantly, all traces of warmth and sleepiness replaced by rapidly rising panic. The soft sunlight filtering in through the curtains became harsh, a spotlight and an unforgiving witness to what had happened in this very room, in this very bed. The arm on my stomach and the hand on my waist, once a source of - dare I say - comfort, now burned, branded me with shame and fear. My lungs were filling up and being compressed all at once, the very air I needed to survive choking me. My guts twisted, and all I wanted to do at that moment was run far away and never look back.

Admist all of the fear and panic and completely rational urge to throw myself out of the window, one thought occupied the entirety of the space inside my mind, glaring me in the face and making it impossible to ignore.

What the fuck was Minho doing in my bed?

Eyes blown wide, I could only stare at Minho as he clocked what was happening. Too scared to move, to think, to breathe, I could only watch, every nerve in my body shaking, as Minho shook off the warm promise of falling asleep again to face the situation we were in.

He looked calm - how the fuck is he managing to stay calm? - and glanced at me with his galaxy eyes. Slowly, he pulled his arm away from me, and some unknown part of me immediately missed the warmth.

"Morning, squirrel."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of the sentence, unable to comprehend what logical steps Minho had walked through before deciding to open his stupid stupid mouth and utter these two words to begin this morning.

Some of it must have shown through my eyes - I was still staring at him, I didn't know what else to do with myself - because he shrugged, putting both his hands up in a it's-not-my-fault position.

"Hey, I don't really know how you ended up in my bed either. Maybe you sleepwalked or something." He grinned, and oh how sorely did I want to wipe that stupid stupid grin off his idiotically pretty lips. "At least we still have our clothes on. That must count for something, right?"