A/N: So this is chapter one. And that's basically as embellished as this A/N is getting, alriiight!
It's 3:06a.m. and the two of us are still awake. Why do I know it's exactly that time, asks the enthusiastic audience in my head? Because Sam just murmured that critical information into my shoulder, goodness knows why she'd do that considering my shoulder has no sound perception, but she did and now I'm nervous.
This is why Sam and school nights, especially those school nights that proceed math finals, don't mix.
I can feel her eyelashes flutter against my skin and at the sensation, I clench my fists underneath the blanket.
This is also why Sam and school nights, especially those school nights that proceed math finals, don't mix.
Yes, sleep deprivation before a test that determines 25% of your grade is pretty bad. Established fact. But being a ridiculously hormonally charged teenager with a best friend that happens to regard personal space as a mythical story tale is pretty bad, too.
I feel her throaty laugh reverberate through my body, her mouth still pressed against my shoulder as she sits snuggled close against me watching Family Guy. Yeah, that's enough of that.
"Sam," I say, gently wiggling my hip against her to try and gain her attention.
"Mmmph," comes the reply. Her intelligence, it blows me away at times. Really.
"Come on, you know it's late. Bed time, ahora."
"What did you just call me?" I hear her mutter mock-incredulously.
"Now," I clarify, softly laughing. "Let's go get our whopping four hours of sleep, deal?" She only snuggles closer, wrapping her arm around my stomach and tilting her forehead until it was pressed against my curve of my neck.
"Only if you carry me on your back, Carls." she says clearly. "Then," she pauses to solidify the seriousness of this declaration, "then we will have a deal."
I let out an exasperated sigh and nudge her away from me with my shoulder, slowly rising to my feet from the couch. She melodramatically lets herself fall against the cushions with an groan and stares up at me, one eyebrow cocked. We stay there for a few moments, in a faux glare-off until she huffs and begrudgingly stands. Victory and Shay? They're actually synonyms.
As we make our way to my bedroom, I can hear her mutter that I'm a plague upon humanity, a stain on her apparently carpeted soul, a wretched, vile puppy-hater. Her sensitivity, really, I love her for it. And her creativity, even when the previous grand titles she bestowed upon me are reduced to a grumbled 'dork' as she works her away underneath the sheets of my bed, is even better.
"You're the devil," she says towards the ceiling.
"But you know you love me," I retort, pulling the covers up over my shoulders. She readjusts herself in bed until she's resting an arm underneath the pillow, with her face against the other side, eyes towards me. Her hair is mussed, pooled around her in a way that's really just begging for me to run my fingers through it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to distract myself. Self-restraint, I has it.
"I don't want to go to school tomorrow, Carls," she groans, "I just want to stay in bed forever." A jolt goes through my body at images that rush behind my closed eyes.
"Tomorrow's Friday, Sam, you'll have the whole weekend to do that," I whisper hoarsely, in a haze of lethargy and lust. She moves closer to me, letting her arm drape casually over my waist. My whole body tingles at the contact and I desperately hope she doesn't notice the shivers her platonic touch is eliciting.
"S'long as it's your bed I'm in," she simply says.
I'm in no position to argue.