We Were Friends.

9. We Were Friends.

What was she thinking? She shouldn't have come over. She shouldn't have allowed herself to stay.

She slept in his bed without permission. How rude was that? How could she allow herself to do that?

She had messed up his entirely made up bed. The soft bed that smelled of him. His smell was so comforting and intoxicatingly enjoyable. So warm and snug.

The blanket was big, and she felt herself get even more comfortable, pulling up his comforter to her nose and taking a big inhale, sighing in bliss. He was here.

Not physically. But he was there, wrapping her in warmth and solace.

Her eyes were closed, taking in his sacred place, a place where he rested and became one with the darkness.

She opened her eyes, before turning onto her back and pulling down his comforter to her stomach, her hands clasped above it.

She sighed. What am I going to do? This wasn't part of the plan; I wasn't supposed to come here to steal his bed and sleep.

She turned to her side, facing his desk. She spotted his clock—a blue glow emanating from it.

2:53

She quickly sat up. She looked at the window, and sure enough, it was dark. She sighed in annoyance.

Not only had she come unannounced, and slept in his bed without his permission, but she practically had taken it from him far longer than she had thought.

She pulled herself out of his warm comforter, the coldness of his room gave her shivers. The little light from outside and the clock was enough for her to notice that she had taken off her sweatpants. This was why she was shivering nonstop. She pulled the comforter, trying to find her sweatpants.

As soon as she found them, she pulled them on.

She slowly walked to his door.

Happy that his floors didn't creak. She gently twisted the doorknob and pulled it open. The whole house was dark. But she could make out a small glow coming from the living room. She opened the door wide enough for her to step out.

She walked out, following the little bit of light there was. And when she reached it, she discovered him sleeping on his couch. His arm under a cushion that held his head. He was on his side, sleeping soundly. He had a throw blanket over the lower part of his body.

She smiled before taking a seat on the floor, right across from his head. She leaned close, taking in his features.

He slept comfortably on his couch. She wanted to run her hands through his soft dark hair, down his face, and finally test them on his chest.

She wanted to feel the organ that helped pump blood throughout his veins.

She wanted to feel the organs that helped him breathe - do their job.

She wanted to feel his warmth and heart and lungs.

But she resisted her wants, and just watched him.

It wasn't normal to watch someone sleep; then again, she was far from an average person.

He felt a presence. He felt someone watching him. But he ignored it and continued to sleep.

She smiled as she heard a small grunt come from him.

She was close to him, and she was happy. He made her happy. He was the light that brought her warmth on days that she felt nothing but rain and dark clouds would surround her.

He was the only she felt at home with. The only person she felt like she could trust and love and cherish.

She glanced at the small clock on his bookshelf.

4:21

It was early morning and still dark. She smiled tiredly and turned to look at him once more. She no longer wanted to resist feeling him. And so she took a deep breath, shoving her anxiety out of her head as much as she could, and stood up. She pulled his arm, and he groaned tiredly. She smiled.

She gave one more tug before he slowly opened his eyes. He looked at her, trying to make out her face.

He closed his eyes, too tired to strain them. He felt her cold hand tug one final time before he understood what she meant.

He slowly got up, not letting go of her hand. She guided him down the hallway and into his room. She let go of his hand, and he walked over to his bed.

She closed the door behind her. And watched as he laid in his bed, once again going to sleep.

She waited to hear his breathing go back to a regular rhythm before she walked over and crawled into bed. She pulled the comforter over them and got close enough to him so that she could rest her hand on his chest.

He shifted slightly before wrapping his arm around her. She smiled.

She felt his warmth wrap her whole body; she felt at home.

A small tear ran down her face. She was crying. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, she cried over the warmth and comfort she was feeling, and not the loneliness and sorrow she always felt.

He woke up to sunlight seeping through his window and onto his face, the heat of the sun, hugging him. He closed his eyes once again before finally opening them. He felt her against him, and he was feeling unsure of what he should do. He watched as her breaths were even and calm. Her eyes were moving under her lids. His arm had been around her, while her hand rested in between their bodies.

She looked beautiful. Content.

Yet, he felt himself grow upset.

Not at her. But at himself. How could he let himself do this?

He was holding her; it was too late to pullback with anger and discomfort. So he just stayed frozen the way he was.

No, he pulled her closer to him. He wanted to feel her warmth.

He wanted to preserve this particular moment. He tried to keep it safe from what it would become of the situation soon.

As he held her, he felt sensed another feeling. It wasn't his, though. As he held her, he felt sadness and guilt. He felt disgusted and anxiety.

He looked down at her dark hair. And knew it was her feelings. He didn't know what to do. He knew these were feelings that no one could shake off just like that.

But he was forlorn. He couldn't do much to help her.

And so, he tightened his grip on her, and hope that just holding her would at least help a bit.