mornings #2
A deep, reluctant, I-hate-being-alive kind of groan as he finally, finally started to stir for real this time.
Chance barely had a second to process it before Guest shifted again, arm flexing slightly around his waist before—
He stilled.
And Chance knew.
Knew the second it happened.
Knew the second Guest fully woke up.
Because everything changed.
The slow, easy breathing against his skin turned sharp and uneven. The relaxed weight against his body tensed, muscles locking up in realization. The fingers curled into his hoodie twitched, like they were just now registering what they were doing, where they were, who they were holding.
And then, very, very slowly—
Guest pulled away.
Chance barely held back a sigh, already bracing himself for the inevitable backpedaling, for the sharp, snappy deflection, for the way Guest would shove himself to the other side of the bed and pretend like this never happened.
But instead—
Guest just stared at him.
Sleep-mussed, bleary-eyed, expression unreadable.
And Chance?
Chance stared right back.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
The air between them felt thick, heavy with something Chance couldn’t quite name, something that made his chest feel tight and his hands feel restless and his brain feel like it was running a thousand miles a minute.
And then—
Guest cleared his throat, blinking slowly, like he was still trying to process what was happening.
- “…You’re thinking too loud again.”
Chance huffed out a laugh, more breath than sound, shaking his head.
- “Yeah, well. Hard not to when you’re—” He cut himself off, hesitant, unsure.
Because what was he supposed to say?
When you’re holding me?
When you’re looking at me like that?
When you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be?
Guest just blinked at him, then let out another sigh, dragging a hand down his face before flopping onto his back with a groan.
And just like that, the moment was over.
Chance bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to let himself feel disappointed, trying not to let himself get too in his own head about it.
Because it was fine.
It was whatever.
It didn’t mean anything.
…Right?
Guest let out another long, exhausted sigh, rubbing at his eyes before mumbling,
- “Too early for this.”
Chance snorted, rolling onto his side to look at him. “Too early for what?”
Guest just grumbled, turning his head to glare halfheartedly at him.
Chance smirked.
- “For existing? For dealing with me? For—”
-“Shut up.”
Chance laughed, because of course.
Guest huffed, rubbing at his temples like just being awake was enough to give him a headache.
And honestly? Same.
Because Chance had no idea what the hell just happened.
What it meant.
If it even meant anything at all.
But one thing was for sure—
He wanted to find out.
Guest sighed.
Not his usual I hate everything sigh. Not the I regret waking up sigh. Not even the Chance, shut the hell up sigh.
No—this was something different. Something heavier, but not in a bad way. Something weighted with exhaustion and something else Chance couldn’t quite name.
Then, before Chance could blink, Guest moved again.
And holy shit.
Chance barely had time to process it before Guest was shifting, rolling over, and then—pressing into him.
Not just pressing up against him like before, not just touching—but settling onto him. Like some oversized, stubborn, sleep-heavy cat, draping himself across Chance’s chest without a second thought, his face tucked into the curve of Chance’s neck, his arms wrapped around chance..
Chance froze.
Because what the fuck.
What the actual fuck.
Guest didn’t do this. Guest didn’t initiate things like this. Guest didn’t—
But he had.
He was.
His body was loose, warm, completely there, not a single part of him hesitating or bracing like he wanted to escape. His breath was soft, steady against Chance’s skin. His weight was solid, grounding, and Chance—
Chance couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
Because if he did—
If he acknowledged this—
Guest might disappear.
Might snap out of it. Might realize what he was doing and bolt, and Chance—
Chance wasn’t ready for that.
So he stayed still.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t ruin it.
And then, slowly—so slowly it felt like it happened on instinct—Chance lifted a hand.
Threaded his fingers into Guest’s hair.
Paused.
Waited.
Because he knew how Guest was. Knew that touch, no matter how casual or unintentional, was always a risk. Always something he treated like a trap.
And—
Yeah.
Guest flinched.
His whole body jerked, muscles locking up like Chance had hit him instead of barely touching him.
Chance held his breath, fingers still tangled in Guest’s hair, not daring to move.
Guest didn’t pull away.
Didn’t snap at him.
Didn’t shove him off.
He just—
Froze.
Chance’s chest ached, something tight and ugly clawing its way up his throat.
But he didn’t say anything.
Didn’t move his hand.
Didn’t do anything.
Just let the moment exist.
Let Guest breathe.
And then—
Another sigh.
Softer, this time. Less sharp. Less defensive.
And just like before—
Guest melted.
The tension drained from his body all at once, like something inside him had just given up. His shoulders relaxed, his breath evened out, and instead of pulling away—
He pressed closer.
His face burrowed further into Chance’s neck, his arms tucking in more like he was comfortable, like he was choosing to be there.
And Chance?
Chance thought he might actually die.
Because this?
This was—
- “Could stay like this all day.”
Chance’s brain short-circuited again.
Because what.
Guest had said that. Out loud. With his mouth.
Chance blinked, staring at the ceiling like maybe, if he focused hard enough, it would tell him what the hell he was supposed to do with this information.
It did not.
So, naturally, his brain panicked.
- “You—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone casual. “You do realize what you just said, right?”
Guest grumbled something incoherent against his skin, shifting just slightly.
And—okay, yeah. That was unfair. That was illegal. That was foul play.
Because Chance could feel the way his breath ghosted against his neck. Could feel the way he moved, slow and lazy, like the weight of sleep was still dragging him down.
It was a miracle he didn’t combust on the spot.
- “I mean, I could move,” Chance continued, purely for the sake of getting some kind of reaction. “If I’m that comfy, I could just—”
A hand lazily smacked at his side.
Chance grinned.
- “Oh, so you do know what you said.”
Guest made a noise. Some kind of sleep-heavy grumble that might’ve been words but was mostly just noise.
Chance snorted, fingers twitching against his scalp.
- “Is that your way of telling me to shut up?”
Guest grumbled again.
But this time, his fingers curled against the fabric of Chance’s hoodie.
Held on.
Didn’t let go.
Chance’s grin softened.
He let his fingers move again, slow, careful. Let himself memorize the way Guest felt like this—warm, heavy, completely at ease.
It was unreal.
It was unbelievable.
But it was real.
It was happening.
Guest made another low, content sound at the feeling, and—holy shit.
Chance had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from reacting too much.
Because, seriously.
What the fuck.
Who was this? Where was the real Guest? Who had replaced him with this soft, sleep-dazed version that wanted to stay like this all day?
Guest shifted slightly, breath warm against Chance’s collarbone.
Then, barely above a whisper—
-“…Shut up.”
Chance grinned.
- “Didn’t say anything.”
-“You’re thinking too loud,again...”
- “Okay, now that’s not my fault—”
Guest groaned, muffled against his neck.
- “Shut up.”
Chance laughed.
Because, of course.
Of course.
But he didn’t push. Didn’t tease. Didn’t ruin it.
Instead, he just exhaled. Let his body relax into the weight of Guest’s. Let his fingers keep moving, slow and steady, through his hair.
Because this?
This was good.
This was safe.
This was enough.
And, eventually—slowly, quietly, with the steady rhythm of their breathing and the warmth of each other’s presence—
They both drifted back to sleep.