Fixing The Bad Boy ✓

《8》

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝟖

~KATHERINE~

🎀Edited🎀

The sun strays in through the curtains, waking me up and blinding me. I have never been able to sleep when the sun, or any light, is out. Once I wake up in the morning, I can't go back to sleep; I can't have afternoon naps like my parents do on Sunday's.

The bed moves and panic rises in my chest. Who is in my bed with me? Is it a murderer? A rapist? Oh gosh, a psycho? A dude that got drunk and climbed through my window and slept in my bed? My mother who got lost in the house and thought this was hers? Or my father? Or some stranger who's pranking me? Or has to prank a stranger? What if this is some kind of initiation someone has to go through? Why me?!

I tense as I feel arms wrap around my waist and someone's face burry onto my back. What the hell? The scent is awfully familiar, but it doesn't seem to click. Who cares? People wear the same deoderant all the time! It could be anyone!

I cautiously look down at the hands that are holding me tightly and I notice how smooth and warm they are. The hair that travels up the arms tell me that this is a man. It could be a hairy woman! A cavewoman, perhaps, my brain tells me.

I slowly turn around, trying extremely hard not to wake this person up, and the memories of last night slap me into reality.

"Goodnight, Mason." He yawns and I make my way out of his room.

"Wait," I turn around to see his half illuminated face; the moonlight barely making his jaw visible. I can see the outline of him lying in his duvets, that I tucked him into like a child, and his sleepy eyes drooping as he asks, "Can you sleep here?"

As bizarre as the question was, I nod slowly. If my parents or his parents find me, I don't really care, he just needs someone to keep the nightmares at bay. I climb into his bed, awkwardly lying on my back as I feel him staring at me. He's awake now, I can feel it, but I'm too busy trying to figure out what to say to the parents if they find us like this in the morning.

"Can you lul me to sleep?" I look at him, shock clear on my face, and his pleading eyes weaken my heart to do as he says.

"Turn around, you big baby." He grumbles, but does so and I watch his arms flex as he moves. His muscular back is hot to the touch as I rub it and I start telling him random stuff, "When I was a kid my mother used to tell me that snowflakes were little flakes of magic that people who turned into stars when they died had gifted us with. I used to catch them and try and eat them to see if I would become a fairy, but to my disappointment, it didn't work." I can feel his chuckles under my hand - a deep rumble like an earthquake in the night.

"I also kissed a frog once, and no it was not to see of it turned into a prince. My friend picked it up and chased me around with it until I stopped and I didn't see her. I turned around and she put the frog forward and so we kissed. She laughed so hard; I cant even remember what it was like. It was a long time ago." His breathing is steady and his soft snores fill the room. What a baby.

That makes more sense as to why I'm not in my room and why I'm not alone in bed.

He looks so peaceful and content as his chest rises and falls at a constant rate. His eyelashes are like feathers on his high cheekbones. His once frowning forehead, now unwrinkled and his pouting lips, now turned up in a tiny smile. My hands, having a mind of their own, removes the strand of hair that fell in his face, obstructing the view, and gently the trace his face; from his hairline to his nose to his strong jaw. My eyes were too busy sitting on his lips for me to notice his blue orbs staring at me, amused, until he says, "You rock a bed-head."