An Opened Door

Chapter 8: Half-Asleep and Possibly Regrettable Conversations

Ah, I couldn't resist the calling of Lams! Get prepared, this is now officially a shippy, fluffy, possibly smutty fanfic!

I don't really remember anything past 9:00—we had just hit the halfway point in White Chicks, and Lafayette and Laurens were bickering over which one would be which white chick. I must have drifted off after that, because, now, I'm laying down on Laurens' couch, my head resting on... his lap.

The TV is still on, and a new movie is on. I hear Laurens laugh, and I know that he's awake.

"I could be a mass murderer. You just let me sleep in your apartment. I could have bombs strapped to me right now." I say, halfway through getting caught in a yawn. Laurens looks down at me, his eyes clearly tired.

"Yeah, well—" he yawns, "—you're wearing tidy whities. You'd die of shame yourself before you could get the chance to kill anyone else."

I drift off again after that.

-

-

When I wake up this time, I expect to find only 30 minutes having passed from when I last woke up. Instead, I feel a different surface under my back. I look around to see that I'm in a bed—Laurens' bed. For a second, I wonder where Laurens is, until I hear movement near the foot of the bed.

I sit up and peer over and downwards to see Laurens, wrapped in three gray blankets, resting on a black pillow.

"Laurens," I stage-whisper. No response.

"John." I repeat. No response again.

"John Laurens." I say, at full volume. He jolts awake, his eyes darting across the room until he finds me. He still looks generally panicked.

"Hey," I mutter. "You know, you don't have to sleep on the floor. You can come up. I'm fine with it. My male ego isn't so fragile that I have to avoid sleeping in the same bed as other guys."

No, in fact, I'd done much more with other guys, and my ego can still fill a football field.

John is silent for a few moments, and I almost expect him to say that he isn't fine with it. I lay back down onto the bed, turning to face the empty spot.

I hear the sheets rustle, and then feel body heat. I open my eyes and come face-to-face with John Laurens' hazel eyes. Neither of us say anything. He looks exhausted—what time is it?

"What time is it? Where's Lafayette?" I asked him, not making any move to get out of his bed.

"The last time I checked my phone, it was 2 A.M. Lafayette went home at about 12—right before you woke up the first time." His freckles are nearly invisible in the low light, so I focus on his mouth.

"Oh," I whisper, barely audible. We're both silent for a while.

"John?" I ask.

"Alexander," he replies. I see the corners of his mouth turn up.

"Get breakfast with me in the morning?" I ask him, judgment half-impaired by my half-awake state.

He's full-on smiling now.

"Yes." He answers, and I feel his hand move. For a moment, I think he'll kiss me. Instead, he turns around. I do the same.

Am I seriously in this guy's bed after only meeting him this morning? And did I seriously just ask him out on a date? Does he know it's a date? Did he just say YES?