A/N: This story was originally titled "Fuck You, Joan Rivers", but it was deleted because it had "Fuck" in the title, so I'm just reuploading it. I don't remember any of the author notes I had written before, because they were added on here, as well I may have made edits that didn't get saved. So I apologize if there are mistakes, I'm too lazy to read through and proof this again. Blame FFnet.

I'm really sad that I lost all my wonderful favs and reviews :(. I still appreciate all of you who had reviewed and faved the story before it was taken down and thank you so much!

"Fuck you, Joan Rivers," I growl, turning off the TV angrily and dropping the remote to the floor with a frustrated groan. Sheila lifts her head from its resting place on my stomach and stares up at me with her large eyes as if to chastise me for my coarse language, and I roll my eyes at her, "Don't act like that's the first time you've heard me say 'fuck'."

She stares at me harder, until I give in and scratch the tender spots behind her ears and once again her small head is heating the same spot on my stomach.

I'm not as strong as the world thinks I am, and since when did being an actress mean that you didn't have feelings? I can truthfully say, without a doubt, that if I ever have my own show, I will never berate and put down people the way she does. It's one thing to say that my dress wasn't the right choice, it's a whole other to insult who I am and the looks I am born with. Who is she to say anything? Her face has had so much work done she doesn't even look human anymore and she probably can't even remember the last time she was able to make an expression with it.

I feel my phone vibrate from somewhere beneath my side and briefly debate whether I have the energy to lift my back off the couch far enough to slip my hand underneath and search for it. Of course I do, because I'm Lea Michele Sarfati and ignoring a text message is like leaving a present unopened on Christmas Day. It just can't be done. I try to guess who it's from as I slide my hand under my back, feeling around for the device that has almost become a biological part of me, and narrow it down to two suspects.

First, would be my Lady Di, always there to console me in my time of need, but as much as I want it to be her, I'm doubtful because she doesn't pay attention to such lowly shows as Fashion Police. That girl has her own sense of fashion and refuses to let anyone else dictate to her what is right and wrong. The fact that she was getting put down in the same episode for the astounding laser cut dress she was wearing last night wouldn't even phase her. She'd just laugh, the way that she laughs at everything that is entirely meaningless to her and then say something along the lines of, "Have you ever thought of what it would be like to have a hippopotamus as a pet?"

True story, actually. She asked me that very question in the ladies room last year at the Golden Globes, from the stall next to mine as I tried not to listen to Claire Danes pee in the stall on the other side of me. As I recall, my answer to that was, "I think I just zipped my thong into my dress."

It was a rough night.

The second person the text was likely coming from, was the only person in my life who was more diva than me, Mr. Chris Colfer. He was definitely watching the show because The E! Network was the default channel his TV turned to and all day at work he wouldn't shut up about who Joan Rivers was going to tear into tonight. Me, of course. It's not even a surprise anymore. Next year I'm just going to go naked or maybe I won't go at all. Yes, even in my own head both those answers sound stupid and childish.

My hand finally finds my phone, lodged under my right ass cheek and no wonder I couldn't feel it under all that cushion (I'm allowed to make fun of my own ass so lay off me), and Sheila is once again staring at me, but this time it's a very unamused glare because I, her bed, have been wiggling far too much for her liking.

"Go back to sleep, you," I tell her, astutely aware that I have become that girl, who talks to her cats as if they're mocking her. At least I only have one cat. I'm not the cat lady. Really. With Theo gone, though, the apartment has a lot more space and Sheila could probably use a feline companion.

I find that I'm wrong on both guesses once I illuminate the screen on my phone and see the text message.

Naya Rivera

Fuck her. U looked fierce.

I stare down at the text for a moment as I try to let the words sink in. I repeat them in my head like a mantra, in an attempt to regain some of the confidence I dropped on the floor, along with the remote. My phone vibrates in my hand, startling me from my self-help chant, and the screen illuminates to show another message from my beloved cast-mate.

Naya Rivera

Stop pouting.

"I'm not pouting," I grumble under my breath stubbornly, feeling my bottom lip protrude as I say it. Sheila has had enough of my sour mood and makes sure to step heavily on all my soft spots, causing me to cringe in pain, before she dismounts me and disappears into the bedroom. I don't need her anyways. I'm much happier being self pitying and miserable on my own.

Naya Rivera

Don't even try to deny it, Mama. Ur pouting.

She knows me too well. Ever since my social status changed to 'single' that girl has been at my side with a different flavour of vegan ice cream and the newest horror movie to hit the shelves, cowering with me on my couch as we forced ourselves to watch every gore-filled second, before crawling into my comfy king-sized bed and nervously giggling about how we could sleep with the lights off if we really wanted to, but we just didn't feel like it.

You really learn who your closest friends are when you're at your lowest point and I'm really thankful for having so many.

The knock at my door scares the crap out of me and I just barely manage to catch myself before falling off the couch. I hug my phone to my chest, wrapping the fleece blanket I had over my legs around my bare shoulders, and make sure the waistband of my sweats is still sitting on my hips and I'm not exposing myself in any way. I don't need to go into specifics, but I've had a horrendous past experience where I answered the door, groggy from napping on my couch, and had my sweats a little too low on my hips. The nice older man from 501 has been back a few too many times since then to bring me my mail that was accidentally left in his box. I have my suspicions that he's paying the mailman. Maybe he is the mailman. That would explain why my packages from Victoria's Secret look like they've been manhandled too. I should probably stop using my real name on those.

I'm not really looking my best to be opening my door. My hair is in a really messy bun and I showered after work without straightening my hair, so it's got this weird frizzy-fro going on. Then I've got this navy blue camisole on that has a mustard stain on the top of my right boob. I'm pretty sure it's mustard. Like eighty-five percent. It could be also be nail polish. Nevermind, it brushed off, it was just cat fur.

Like usual, I'm not wearing a bra either, hence the reason I'm wrapping a blanket around myself. I mean, everyone's seen them anyways and when have I ever been modest, but I should at least make an attempt, right? The sweatpants I'm wearing match the camisole and they are hands down the comfiest pants ever. I wish I could live in them. I think I got them at Costco, seriously.

I would care a bit more about my appearance, or at least about not having even the tiniest bit of make up on, but I know who's at the door. This isn't know like about the suspicious cat fur mustard stain, either. Especially since she impatiently continues to knock rapidly on my door and I know when I finally open it she'll give me that sly smile that says 'Yea, I did that. What are you gonna do about it?'

And that's exactly what happens.

"How did I guess it was you," I say, quirking an eyebrow at Naya as she continues to smile and give me a one shouldered shrug.

"I gots t'make ma presence known," she answers and she's channelling Santana. She does it on purpose because she knows it makes me smile. Who are we kidding, everything makes me smile. Except Joan ugly plastic mad cow Rivers. I shouldn't say that. No need to insult cows just because Joan Rivers is a bitch.

"You gonna invite me in? I gots presents an everythin," she says, squeezing the large brown paper bag she's hugging in one arm and waving the stack of DVDs she's holding in her other hand.

I narrow my eyes at her jokingly and move aside so she can come in, "Okay, but only because of the presents."

I close the door and raise myself on tiptoes as she slips her shoes off, trying to see inside the big bag, but I'm too short and decide to go for the direct approach, "What's in the bag, Nay?"

Naya grins at me as if she's proud of herself for something and then forces the DVDs into my hands to free up hers. Between the grasp on my phone and the DVDs that have been thrust into my possession, I lose hold on the blanket and it slips to the floor. Her arm halts its progress into the bag as she glances over me and rolls her eyes, "You sure get all dressed up for me, don'tcha."

"How was I suppose to know you were coming," I pout softly, hugging the objects in my arms closer to my chest and becoming very aware of how cool they are against me. I really need to start working on this modesty thing.

"Sorry, I thought that was implied being that I'm here on all the days of the week that end in 'day'," she answers smartly and she's about to pull whatever it is out of the bag when she stops with a sudden straight face and says, "Do you think I'm here too much?"

"We can worry about it when you start keeping a toothbrush here," I shrug, once again trying to peer into the bag. Damn my vertically challenged genes.

"My toothbrush is here," Naya answers, "Remember, you bought me that red one so I wouldn't have to use yours."

"I thought mine was the red one," I say thoughtfully, temporarily forgetting about the bag, because seriously, I've always had the red toothbrush and that is definitely the one I've been using.

"No, you made that big fuss about having the purple one and then said that I need the red one because I'm smokin hot," she says, taking her hand out of the bag, empty, and fixing it to her hip. I have to admit that kind of does sound like something I said, maybe not the smoking hot part, but I probably did make a small fuss about having the purple one.

"I guess that explains why the purple one still looks brand new," I nod, "Have to say I'm relieved, I thought you weren't brushing your teeth. Now, can we get back to the more pressing matter of what you have concealed in the mysterious brown bag?"

"Organic wine," Naya grins, pulling a bottle from the bag to finally show me, "Two bottles, cause we both know one is never enough."

"So true," I agree with wide eyes and a slow nod.

"'Kay, you set up the DVD and I'll crack this baby open," Naya says excitedly and I hesitate for a moment, watching her go into my kitchen, knowingly open the correct door that holds the corkscrew, and then open the cupboard that houses my wine glasses. It looks like she lives here and it gives me warm fuzzy feelings watching her just know where everything is. It's comforting having her around, because I'm not the type of person who likes to spend long periods alone. I almost wish she would move in and be my roomie. The apartment is just too quiet with only Sheila and I. But could you imagine the scandal? The fans are still abuzz about the short period that Di and I lived together and that was a couple years ago now. My boyfriend and I break up and a few months later Naya moves in to my single bedroom apartment. The pap would have a field day.

I've chosen the scariest looking DVD cover and slid it into the player, curling up with my blanket on the couch as I wait for Naya to arrive with the wine. She's humming when she does, managing to balance two filled glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other. She's talented that way. I'm not talented like that. I have actually mastered the art of dropping very breakable objects or knocking them over. I blame it on two things, one is the Italian in me that requires me to talk with my hands and the other is my lack of control on my excitement. Either way, when I'm around, usually something breaks. I would've been a terrible waitress, so I thank god that I'm not one of those struggling actresses working in a diner.

I take one of the glasses being offered to me and she sets the bottle down on the coffee table before sitting next to me, giving me a mocking glare until I give up half the blanket I've almost cocooned myself in and let her huddle under it beside me. I only do it because I like to tease her, I'd much rather share the blanket with her and I know that it's not going to be long into the movie before I'm clutching at her with fright. I love scary movies and I love that feeling of being scared, but only when I've got someone to hold on to. Sheila doesn't put up with it anymore. I use to be able to watch the movies with her, but after locking her in an unintentional choke hold a few times too many, she's learned to recognize when a horror movie is coming on and dashes away.

Naya looks at the empty DVD case and rolls her eyes at me, "You know I still have your nail imprints in my thigh from the last horror movie."

"If you didn't like it, you wouldn't bring them," I throw back at her, because she's trying to hide a smile from me and pretend she doesn't enjoy it. She probably doesn't enjoy me tearing into her skin with my nails, but in my defence, I don't even know I'm doing it.

"I think you're just usin' it as an excuse to get all up on this," she says, one eyebrow raised as she accepts the challenge I offered.

"Please," I say, forcing a laugh and giving her a soft shove on the shoulder with my free hand, "I don't need an excuse, if I actually put the moves on you, you'd be like jelly in my perfectly manicured hands."

I'm smiling wide, waiting for her next retort, but it doesn't come. Instead, she's staring at me. Hard. From my eyes down to my lips and back up again, and I can feel that the mood in the room has grown heavy. I start feeling a little uneasy, like maybe I said something wrong, or took the joke too far, but I can't understand why because we always joke like this. Hell, we've joked far worse than this in the past, saying things that would make Howard Stern blush.

She moves her head towards mine slightly, her eyes now entirely focused on my lips and I've been in this situation enough times to know exactly what's going on. My head is buzzing like I've just polished off both bottles of wine on my own, but I've barely even taken a sip. I'm drunk on the moment. The possibilities. It's new and confusing, because I've never even considered Naya in this way before and the thought that she has, about me, sends my mind reeling. I never had a clue.

I don't know what the right thing to do is, if I'm suppose to stop her, but I'm too stunned to respond anyway. I start to wonder if I want this too. Maybe the thought has never crossed my mind, but does that make a difference? It's crossing my mind now and it makes me feel...

Fuck. All rational or even irrational thoughts leave my head when I hear the softest of moans escape her lips. We still haven't really touched, except where our legs are already meeting beneath the blanket, so I know the moan is purely from anticipation and that makes it even hotter. I want to moan back, something low and sexy, like you hear in the good porn movies (that oxymoron is not lost on me), I'm normally really good at those moans, but when I part my lips a high-pitched squeak escapes that is nowhere near sexy. I've reverted to Rachel Berry. Who knows, maybe Nay-Nay gets off on the innocent school girl fantasy. Except that I know that Naya's fantasies have always included a male partner. Do I know her at all?

She bites her bottom lip as she still moves closer so achingly slow, then lets out another sound that is less of a moan and more of a, "Mmmmmm."

I feel it across my lips and it vibrates all through my body, settling low in my nether regions which are beginning to get... sticky. My breathing is starting to get very shaky and the air I'm trying to inhale feels thick and hot, like trying to breathe in a room filled with smoke. My chest is so tight too, but I lose all concentration on my breathing when I feel fingertips brush teasingly against my knee. I jump at the sudden contact, because although that seems to be what we're working up to I'm still not prepared for actually feeling her. She covers my knee with her hand, over my sweats, over the blanket, but the heat from it burns through all that material and seers into my skin. She squeezes as she sighs against my lips, another sound that rips straight to my core, then slowly drags her hand up the outside of my thigh.

My lips are tingling and hers are so close that the only air we're inhaling is the air the other just exhaled and in someways I find that just as sexy as the sounds she's making. I can't take anymore of the anticipation, though, and my mind still hasn't had a chance to process what's going on or even decide whether I really want to take this step with my best friend, but if something doesn't happen soon I may need to throw away my favourite pair of sweatpants. And that is unacceptable.

Her lips have stopped moving towards mine and instead are hovering at such a close distance it's driving me insane. My lips move towards hers on their own, like I've lost all control and I just need to feel them against mine, know what they taste like. Her hand has made its way to my ass and she grips it tightly, causing a soft cry to escape me from the surprise as much as the sensation. The roughness of her grasp is a complete contrast to the sensual teasing she's been prolonging.

I'm so tightly wound that I don't even realize I have the collar of her t-shirt fisted in my hand and I'm pulling on it so hard I'm sure that it's stretched permanently. She's lucky I haven't ripped it off her yet. My eyes close on their own as I finally feel the slightest brush of her top lip on my bottom, but then it's gone before my mind has really let it sink in. Instead, she presses those lips to my ear, her hot breath warming me all over as she whispers in that low gravelly, sexy voice she has, "Now who's the jelly?"

It takes me a few seconds to register her words, because I will admit I have lost all coherent brain function and am one step away from a shaking mess in her arms. I will never actually admit that out loud of course, but she definitely got me good. I can't believe she convinced me, so easily, that she was about to pounce on me. What's even more unbelievable, not to mention unsettling, is how ready I was to give myself to her, one of my closest friends.

"I'm the jelly," I growl and push her away from me with a pout, "It's not nice to tease people. Especially sexually frustrated girls who haven't had sex in months."

Naya cuts from her giggles to give me a mildly shocked look as I say 'months' and I take a few gulps of my wine before turning back to the TV, that is still stuck on the DVD's menu screen, "So how about that movie?"

"You're exaggerating," she says, ignoring my feeble attempt at changing the subject.

"Oh come on, when was the last time you heard the latest adventure in Lea's sexcapades," I say pointedly, "I always tell you guys everything."

"You are queen of the over-share," she agrees thoughtfully, and then shrugs a moment later, "I still assumed you were gettin' your itch scratched somewhere."

I resist the urge to hold up a couple of my fingers, because even that hasn't happened in a long time. There was a certain downside to having Naya by my side all day and all night and even those trips I spent away from LA, I was either with Jon, too tired, or just imageless. When you masturbate, you need someone to think about, that image in your head that helps move it along, but I had nothing there. No fantasies, no thoughts of strong-armed men putting out fires, it was as if Theo took my sex drive with him when he left.

"Theo stole my sex drive," I answer and I'm partially joking, although I'm starting to believe it. I've always been a very sexual person. Even when Theo was living in New York we made it a point to have Skype sex nearly every night. But our relationship was falling apart for months before it finally ended, and our sex life became nonexistent in the last few. It was hard to have sex with your boyfriend when he's sleeping on the couch. His idea, not mine. It was also his idea that we not see each other anymore. I can't really blame him for it, no matter how much I want to. I was the one who became distant, married to my work, to the whole life. I don't party, do drugs or the other bad habits that most of young Hollywood is wrapped up in, but I spend all my time working. It isn't unheard of to work an eighteen hour day on set only to be expected in the studio after being given only four hours of sleep. I never complain, because I live for it. I'm living the dream and loving every minute of it. Theo couldn't be with someone who wasn't there for him. Someone who chose work over their relationship. I can't blame him for that. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, or that I didn't cry myself to sleep every night for two straight weeks.

It got easier once Naya became my bunkmate. At first she stayed over on the couch a couple nights, giving me the excuse it was too late to go home, but I knew she was just worried about me. She heard me crying one night and slipped into my room, whispering "Oh Lee" in the gentlest voice that for some reason only made me cry harder. The next thing I knew she was in my bed with her arms wound tightly around me and I was sobbing into her shoulder as she repeated soothing words to calm me. We never talked about it the next day, but somehow we reached this silent understanding that at night, her place was in my bed. After that, the tears went away.

"Oh I think I just proved it's still there," she says with a chuckle, switching her wine glass to her right hand so she can throw an arm around my shoulders and pull me close to her side, "You're just not ready yet."

"Can we please start watching the movie before I start crying," I plead, already feeling the familiar sting in my eyes. It's been months since Theo and I broke up, but the wound still hasn't fully healed. I'm fine most of the time, but when I stop to think about it, about him, the sadness returns.

"You ready to get the shit scared out of you?"

Five minutes into the movie and our wine glasses have been forgotten on the coffee table. Ten minutes in and my fingernails are making new imprints in her thigh while hers are doing the same thing to my arm. Thirty minutes in we've jumped so high that I've found my way into her lap and she's holding my hand to her eyes, watching the movie through the spaces in between my fingers.

By the time the movie ends, we're absolutely terrified and I have red marks in the back of my hand that fit perfectly with the alignment of her teeth. I would complain, but she's got red marks on her neck from where my fingers may have clawed at her.

"Good movie," she whispers, keeping her eyes focused on the credits.

"I don't think I'm gonna sleep for weeks," I groan, detaching myself from her and falling onto the open seat on the couch beside her. I keep my legs stretched out on her lap and her hands settle on top of my knees as she nods her agreement.

"I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again," she sighs and finally tears her eyes away from the screen to glare at me, "Why do we do this to ourselves every night?"

I sit forward so that I can press my hand to her chest, right above her heart, feeling its strong quick beat against my hand. I take her hand and press it to mine so she can feel the pounding my own is doing.

"For this," I say, watching her eyes slowly find mine after being fixed on my chest, "The adrenaline. You gotta admit it's better than any drug."

"How would you know," she asks as I let go of her hand on my chest and I remove mine from her heart.

I don't. I've been to a lot of wild parties in the past, but alcohol is the only drug I've ever really indulged in. I've tried pot a few times, but never really enjoyed it. It makes me feel lazy and I prefer to be the opposite.

"I'm just guessing," I admit with a shrug, "Doesn't change the fact that it feels good."

"You're right," she smiles, pressing her hand to her own heart, "Feels pretty damn good."

I look over at the clock on my wall and realize it's after one in the morning. I'm glad that we don't have an early day on set tomorrow, but I still need to get to sleep soon if I want to be functional.

"We should still attempt sleep," I say, shifting my legs from her lap and onto the floor, lazily dragging myself to my feet.

"Yeah, I have a feeling that's not gonna be easy tonight," she says, turning off the TV and staring up at me with the hints of a pout.

I grab her hand and pull her up from the couch, keeping it in mine as I lead her to the bedroom and say jokingly, "Don't worry, I'll protect you from the monsters living under my bed."

"Ha fucking ha," she says, pretending to be annoyed as I leave her in the bedroom while I change in my attached bathroom.

I glance at myself in the mirror and am absolutely appalled by my appearance. My hair is a frizzy-fro knotted mess that cannot be ignored. I hate my hair and I thank god for the invention of straighteners everyday. It may look beautiful on TV and in magazines, but it takes a whole team of people to get it to look like that.

I plug in my straightener and brush my teeth while waiting for it to heat up, making sure to use the purple one this time. I'm not going to take the usual half hour it takes to straighten it perfectly, but just enough to make it decent.

It takes me fifteen minutes before I'm satisfied with my hair and then I slip off my sweats, leaving me in my boy shorts and tank top to sleep in, and discard the pants in a pile in the corner. I'm going to have to deal with laundry tomorrow at some point.

Naya's sitting on the bed when I come out, waiting for her turn in the bathroom, and she takes her overnight bag in with her as she goes. I crawl into my side of the bed and have just enough time to wrap myself in the blankets before Naya comes back out of the bathroom, dressed only in a pair of black boy shorts and matching black bra.

"I forgot my tank top," she sighs, heading towards my dresser and pausing beside it, "Do you mind?"

"Nope," I answer, my eyes drawn to the well defined muscles in her abdomen and the swell of her abundant breasts. I'm jealous of her body. There are parts of mine that I like better than hers, like my legs and my ass (although hers are nice too), but no matter how much I work out, I can't get my stomach to look as perfect as hers and my breasts will never be as large.

She opens the wrong drawer, which happens to hold my vast collection of panties, and picks up a lacy black and red thong.

"This is hot," she says, turning to face me and holding them against her boy shorts. Apparently her earlier prank hasn't worn off on me, because I can feel myself begin to flush as I picture her in my lacy thong.

"First drawer on the left," I say, covering my sudden arousal with a roll of my eyes and she chuckles as she puts my panties back in the drawer and searches out a tank top. She finds one, laying it on the top of the dresser as her hands reach behind her and release the hook on her bra. I roll over so that I can't see, even if her back is turned, I don't want to chance seeing any bit of her breasts. I'm wound too tightly and the last thing I need is to complicate my friendship with her. She's undeniably attractive and I'm open to the idea of being with a woman, even have in the past, but not Naya. She's a friend and the only reason I'm even thinking about this is because I just need to get laid.

"So what do you think," she asks and for a second I'm afraid she's been reading my mind. She's standing at the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips and I'm trying hard not to show that I notice my small tank top is stretching tightly across her breasts.

"What," is all I can manage, wondering if I had missed out on a conversation while I was desperately trying to curb my sudden spike in libido.

"You think we can survive the night with the light off," she asks and I'm inwardly kicking myself for all these stupid thoughts going through my mind.

"I think we'll be alright," I answer and she flicks the switch before leaping onto the bed beside me and settling in under the covers.

"You really did look smokin' in that dress last night," Naya whispers, breaking the silence that had fallen for the past five minutes, "Joan Rivers doesn't know what she's talking about. None of them do. And you definitely have the body to be sexy."

The words make me smile and I shuffle closer to her, until I'm curled against her side, "Thanks Nay-Nay."

Thirty minutes later and I'm still wide awake. My brain won't turn off and I can't get Naya's prank on me off my mind. It's the most action I've had in months and my body is still tingling from it. It doesn't help that I'm quite uncomfortable. I've always enjoyed sleeping naked, but with Naya here, I've been forced to wear clothes. It may not appear to be much, boy shorts and a tank top, but to me I may as well be wearing a parka. As big as I am on fashion, what I really love is to wear nothing at all. Even if I could just take off my top I would feel so much better.

I wonder if I could take off my top without Naya noticing. She's probably asleep anyway and if I move really slow and keep the blankets against my chin, she'll never know the difference. My fingers are gripping at the hem of my top as I continue to debate the idea in my head, knowing that I will be able to sleep so much easier if the top half of me isn't obstructed by my shirt.

"Just do it," Naya grumbles and I freeze in place, wondering how the hell she knew what I was thinking. Was I just thinking it, or did I start talking out loud?

"Really," I ask, once I realize that she has just given me permission to take my shirt off.

"Yeah," she says rolling onto her side, facing me, but keeping her eyes closed, "I've been thinking about doing the same thing."

Naya wants to take her shirt off too?

"Wouldn't that be weird," I say, thinking about us both taking off our shirts and wondering if I would have the willpower to stop myself from turning things sexual. In my current state, I wouldn't put money on it.

"I would feel better if you did," she says, opening her eyes sleepily and the moon is bright enough so I can see her clearly.

"You want me to," well that seems a little weird. Maybe her prank has had an effect on her too.

"I'm too lazy to do it myself," she answers and now I'm thinking about Naya taking my shirt off me, with her on top of me, making those same sounds I heard earlier, and my shorts are suddenly wet again.

"I want you to do it for me," I whisper, before I even realize I'm saying it or give myself the time to go over the pros and cons in my head. This is such a terrible idea. I don't know what I would do if things went badly and I lost one of my closest friends. And we work together.

She lets out a soft sigh and I close my eyes as I feel her fingers brush against my hip, somehow managing to keep in the moan that her touch is creating.

"Maybe we should just leave it," she says, her hand flattening against my stomach before dragging across to curl against my side. The weight of her arm feels good on top of me, holding me against her, but her words are disappointing. I need this, I need her, right now. I'm not going to let it slip away because I would rather she rip my shirt off me than me take it off myself.

"No, I'll do it," I say quickly, but notice her arm is resting over top of my shirt and I can't take it off with it there, "But you'll have to move your arm."

"Can I put it back," she asks, moving her head from her pillow to share mine and I can feel the entire length of her body press against my side.

"Yes," I smile and she takes her arm off me.

I sit up, gripping the bottom of my tank top when she says, "Then hurry up and turn on the light."

My hands fall from my shirt, confused. She wants to do it with the lights on? Not that I'm opposed. I'm comfortable enough with my body and I wouldn't mind the chance to admire hers, but I've never actually been told to get out of bed to turn on the light before having sex with someone.

"You want to do it with the lights on," I ask because I feel the need to clarify the situation and I'm having a real hard time understanding what's going on. Months of her sleeping beside me and not once did anything remotely sexual come from it, not even a single impure thought. Suddenly, tonight, my hormones are working on overdrive and coincidentally hers are too? I'm starting to feel like I've entered The Twilight Zone.

Naya gives me a crooked smile and raises an eyebrow as she says, "If by do it you mean cuddle while sleeping with the lights on, then hells yeah. I can't get that creepy little girl's slashed up face out of my head."

I replay our conversation in my mind and within seconds I realize she was talking about the lights the entire time. I must've been fidgeting or something while trying to decide whether to take my shirt off or not and she assumed I was having trouble sleeping in the dark.

"You alright, Mama," she asks, her hand reaching up and giving my shoulder a squeeze.

"Sure," I nod, moving my legs to swing over the side of the bed and I notice how wet I am. If I get up and turn on the light, there's a very good chance she's going to see the obvious wet spot on my shorts and as much as I would love to embarrass myself and make things awkward between us, I actually really wouldn't. I lay back down and turn onto my side, facing away from her, and I reach behind me, taking her arm and pulling it tightly around me. She presses herself flush against my back, burying her face in my hair, and I try to ignore how good this is making me feel as I whisper, "I think we can get through this with the lights off. If you get scared, you can just hold me tighter."

I feel her arm tighten around me for a moment before loosening again and the soft sigh that she makes raises every little hair on my body. She tucks her fingers beneath my side, locking me in her embrace, and I let out a sigh of my own. She calms me every night. Protecting me from my insecurities and chasing away my nightmares. It's been a strange night and if I try to dissect it and think about what it all really means I'm going to drive myself crazy.

It's a strange night. Tomorrow's a new day. Everything looks a lot more clear after the sun chases away the shadows.