"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
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I woke up to the distinct sensation of being smothered. At first, I thought I'd wrapped myself too tightly in the blanket again, but then it hit me—blankets don't breathe.
I cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it. Marco's arm was draped across my chest like a steel band, his face squished against my shoulder, and his leg—dear God—his leg was wrapped over mine like I was some kind of human body pillow.
I tried to wiggle free, but the guy was holding on. "Marco," I croaked, my voice hoarse from sleep. "Marco, get off me."
Nothing. Not even a flinch. Instead, he mumbled something incoherent and tightened his grip.
I let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a gasp for air. "Marco, seriously, you're killing me!" Still no response.
Desperation took over, and I lifted my hand, hesitated for a moment, and then brought it down with a sharp slap against his cheek.
"OW!" Marco shot up, clutching his face. His wide eyes darted to me, full of betrayal. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"You were suffocating me," I said, shoving at his arm. "I couldn't breathe!"
His eyes, still half-closed, narrowed in confusion. "So... you slapped me?"
"Yes!" I shot back, sitting up, "You were literally crushing me! What was I supposed to do? Politely ask you to stop killing me?"
Marco blinked again, his hair sticking up in every direction, making him look like a puppy. "You can't just slap someone awake, James. That's—" he yawned, stretching his arms over his head, "—that's barbaric."
"Barbaric?!" I sputtered, sitting up and pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You were literally trying to murder me in my sleep, and I'M the barbaric one?"
Marco shrugged, completely unbothered. "If you were dying, you should've just died. No need for violence."
"Oh, for the love of—" I grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him with it, hard.
He let out a startled laugh, catching the pillow before I could swing it again. "Wow. Violent and dramatic. Mornings really bring out the best in you, huh?"
"I'm violent because you tried to murder me," I shot back, glaring at him. "You were clinging to me like some kind of deranged koala!"
Marco just shrugged, leaning back against the headboard with an unbothered grin. "What can I say? You make a great pillow."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," he said, his tone annoyingly smug.
"Actually, I do," I shot back, crossing my arms in defiance.
Marco's grin widened, smug as ever. "Sure, родной," he said casually, the foreign word rolling off his tongue with ease.
