𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ౨ৎ paige bueckers

𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐫

๛ ๋ ׅ ˖  𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐫 / 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭-𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 / 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐢𝐭  𝅄 ׂ⭒

౨ৎ

The sun streamed in through my window, its early morning light slowly waking me from my sleep. I groaned slightly but didn't move, unwilling to leave my warm place in bed. My eyes met the sun and quickly darted away, insead choosing to focus on the figure next to me: Paige, still asleep, face buried in my neck with our legs intertwined. I allowed myself the privilege of staring at her, a little moment I'd keep to myself while she slept. Her lashes were long, longer than I'd realized. They flickered a little bit as she dreamed, brushing the almost imperceptible spattering of freckles that rested just above her nose. If I had a pen, I could've drawn constellations: a six-pointed star here, a crooked heart there. 

"Stop staring," she mumbled, her voice husky and barely awake. I let out a soft giggle at her attempt to sound indignant.

"Or what?" I teased, a smile playing on my lips. Her eyes immediately opened, squinting at me in mock annoyance. She propped herself up on her elbows, careful to keep our bodies close, and allowed her gaze to roam over me. I could only watch her survey me, a deer caught in headlights. Her eyes landed on my mouth, bottom lip now wedged between her teeth, a clear idea forming. My breath hitched as her eyes darkened, her expression one of desire.

"Or," she murmured, voice dropping as she placed a kiss to my forehead. "I'll do..." She planted tiny kisses first to my temple, then my cheek, lingering in each spot as she spaced out her words. Her movements were slow and deliberate, savoring every bit of tension. She hovered over the corner of my mouth, never once breaking eye contact. Her eyes now shined with something different than sleep - mischief? A glimmer of lust?

"This." She whispered, leaning in to close the space between us and -

Shit. Almost overslept. 

౨ৎ

real life, present (maia's POV)

I jolted awake from the dream, heart pounding and wide awake. I shook my head in an attempt to rid myself of the image, but it persisted: her, beautiful and hungry, bridging the gap. Her, with that look on her face, her, moving all too slow, as if her pupils weren't dilated to the point of total darkness. Her, a figment of my imagination. A stupid dream.

I should text her. It wouldn't hurt, right?

With a deep inhale, I wiped the sweat off my palms and reached for my phone. The memory of yesterday lingered in every movement, images of golf and laughter and her insistence on calling me. I couldn't help but smile slightly as I moved to turn on my phone, clicking first onto Caitlin and my messages. 

Wait, what?

I quickly swiped out of the chat, now with the realization that I had hundreds of unread messages - and all within the last 12 hours. Without clicking onto anything, I scrolled, eyes widening at the sight of hundreds of different variations of "What's going on?" or "I'm so sorry". Had someone died?