It was all his bloody fault. He was the one who'd wanted to watch the scary movie marathon. Why she'd agreed, she had no idea. Well, yes, she did have an idea: she'd wanted an excuse to curl up next to John. Not with nefarious intent (or so she told herself) but because he was the most important man in her life. He was her best friend, and she was his.
Rose hated scary movies, and John knew that, to an extent. What he didn't realize, though, was that it wasn't the blood or the gore that frightened her. Oh, no, it was the psychological thrillers that did her in; she didn't like things that went bump in the night.
Unfortunately, that was the theme of all of the movies contained in the marathon.
After five hours of sitting in the dark with her face buried in the soft material of John's jumper, Rose had had enough. She bade him goodnight with a peck on the cheek (purely platonic) and shuffled to her room in the flat they shared (again, purely platonic), using her mobile for light.
The wind was picking up, howling through the old building. The full moon cast shadows on the floor. With every step she took away from John, the more unsettled she grew; she was half-tempted to flee back into the safety of his arms and put up with the rest of the marathon.
But after giving herself a firm pep talk, she continued on until she was in the safety of her bedroom.
Lying in bed alone in the dark, Rose jumped at every small noise; the whistling wind, the scraping of the bare tree branches against the building, the typical creaks and moans of the flat, the pitter-patter of dead leaves blowing against her window.
A large shadow suddenly crossed her floor in the shape of a large, rounded, hairy creature. She bolted up in bed, heart hammering, and tried to find the source of the shadow; when a loud mrrrooow echoed through the room, that was when she shrieked.
Fumbling to get out of bed but finding herself trapped in the sheets, Rose fell onto the floor with a loud thud.
"Rose!"
John came bursting into her room, looking alarmed and angry.
He flicked on the lights and looked down at Rose, still on her bum and tangled in sheets.
He exhaled sharply in relief when he found no evidence of injury or an axe-wielding murderer in her room.
"Blimey, Rose," he said breathlessly, moving forward to help her to her feet. "I thought you were being attacked."
"So did I," she muttered, her gaze darting around the room to find the source of her fright.
Her eyes finally landed on the small black mound of fur curled up on her window sill.
"Your bloody cat nearly gave me a heart attack!"
John followed her gaze to the nearly-sleeping feline (who was glaring at them with a look of contempt that only cats could manage) and couldn't help but laugh.
"Oi, not funny!" she said firmly, swatting him across the chest. "You can't blame me for being jumpy after having watched that creepy film with that bloody cannibal!"
John at least had the good grace to look sheepish.
He folded his arms across his chest and said gruffly, "Sorry 'bout that."
And truly, he was. He hadn't realized how frightened she really was of those films; he'd just been enjoying having her in his arms half the night.
"Tell you what, how 'bout I make us a cuppa, and you can put on any movie you'd like?" he offered, smiling at her hopefully.
She nodded enthusiastically, and grabbed his hand as they walked down the hall.
Five minutes later, when he entered the sitting room with a tray of tea and biscuits, he found the beginning notes of The Lion King echoing through the room. He smiled a little at her choice.
He sat down in his usual seat, disappointed that with no more scary movies, he wouldn't have an excuse to hold Rose anymore.
But when Rose situated herself tightly against him with her head on his shoulder, he stiffened. They didn't usually cuddle like this; tonight had been the glorious exception.
Rose seemed to realize what she'd done, and stiffened as well.
"This all right?" she asked softly, still holding herself slightly away from him.
His cheeks hurt from grinning so widely and his heart felt like liquid lava, melting into his stomach.
"Of course."
He tucked her into his side once more.
"Thanks for saving me," she said softly, her eyes glued to the screen.
"From scary ol' Tardis?" he teased.
When he saw the flush on her cheeks, he regretted the jab.
"Hey," he said, squeezing her shoulder to get her to face him.
When she did, he smiled softly at her and said, "Anytime, Rose. You know that."
She offered a shy smile and slowly leaned forward to brush her lips against his.
He inhaled in surprise, his lips tingling and mind going blissfully blank.
Rose quickly withdrew, taking his startled gasp and subsequent silence for rejection. Her cheeks were flaming as she pulled away and she began to stutter out an apology.
John cupped the back of her neck and brought her lips to his again, firmer and more insistent. She hummed in approval, and scraped her fingers through his short-cropped hair, sending little shivers down his spine.
They took a few minutes to leisurely explore each other's mouths. When they broke apart, John was pleased to see the flush in her cheeks and her red, kiss-swollen lips. She gave him a daft grin which he was sure mirrored his own.
"That all right?" he asked, mirroring her question from earlier.
Her eyes sparkled as she gave him a tongue-touched grin and said, "Absolutely fantastic!" before bringing their mouths together once more, the movie effectually forgotten.